Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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T h e Golden - Rod 7 where he found his father seated in the arm- chair, taking luxurious puffs at a big cigar. “Pop,” he exclaimed, exultantly “who said I can’t disguise myself?” “Huh, you better get out before I lick you again,” answered Mr. Royden, chuckling to himself. —Russell C. Johnson, ’17. SCARABAEUS MUMMY. (Continued) “Such a long and dreary night,” moans the captive as he nervously watches the ascend- ing moon. The chanting and evening songs of the Bedoins have ceased and all is wrapped in deathly silence, broken only by the melan- choly notes of a turtle dove perched on a dwarf olive snag growing among a pile of crumbling rocks in view of the prison window. Slowly the moon ascends, casting its misty purple shadows on the cold, solitary prison. It has at last reached its zenith, and;the captive with a triumphant jump springs to the door, inserts the key, gives it a twist, and the massive door swings noiselessly open. Cleopatra sits mounted on a small white Arabian horse among the rustling palm trees like an immovable statue. The breeze gently parts the veils about her face, exposing a countenance of rare beauty. It is this picture that is disclosed to Von Hohenlohe as he trudges over the sand in the direction of the oasis. His heart leaps with joy as he nears her. Pointing coldly to a horse, she motions to him to mount and, without uttering a word, silently leads the way down the palm-girt path and out into the open desert. Suddenly shouts and cries that the prisoner has escaped fill the air and the camp that they have left behind them is all astir. The escape of Von Hohenlohe was undoubtedly discovered by one who was set on guard and has spread the news among the sleeping Bedoins. The chief soon appears and orders his men to mount as quickly as possible and follow him. Leaping into the saddle and digging the spurs into the Hanks of his horse, he dashes down the path through which, only a few moments l e- fore, Cleopatra and Von Hohenlohe had van- ished. The moon gives insufficient light to dis- till guish anything a great distance away, but reasoning out which path they have prob- ably taken, with a few hurried orders to his men, he plunges forward with ten or twelve of their number following him, their sabres clashing against their stirrups and their turbans flying in the air. Steadily they cover ground, rising and sinking into the dunes. “We are discovered! They are closely following us!”gasps Cleopatra as the heavy panting of their horses and the thud of the footfalls reaches her ears. “Spur your horse, we have yet some chance of out-running them.” The pursuers are now on the rise of a dune and the pursued in the trough. “Oh, Allah, forgive me!” Cleopatra cries when she sees that their capture is inevitable. “I should rather die and my bones whiten on these vast deserts unknown than be discovered thus by my father.” At the close of this simple Egyptian speech she draws a small pearl handled dagger from the folds of her silken garment and muttering “My escape depends upon you alone,” thrusts its sharp point into her heart, burying it to the very hilt. She falls face downward, pale and limp, upon the neck of her terrified horse and still firm in the saddle is borne by it into the sight of Von Hohenlohe, who dazedly clutches his forehead, unable to collect his thoughts, he is so astounded and horrified at the suicidal actions of the one who has set him free. But! What is that, that glistens upon her exposed arm? It is a band of beaten

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6 The Golden-Rod “We’ll see who’s right, me or him,” he soliloquized, chuckling with satisfaction. The garments were crammed into a suit-case and shoved under the bed. That night at supper George timidly asked, “Pop, can I go over to Jimmy Nichol’s house to spend the rest of the week? His mother says she don’t care if ! come.” “Go ahead,” was the answer. “You’d go anyway, so I might as well say yes.” Supper over, he made hasty preparations. So, after his mother had seen that he had several essential articles and had drilled him on manners, he departed. Bright and early next morning while the Roydens were at breakfast, the front door bell began to jangle violently. “Confound it!” exclaimed Mr. Royden, rising from the table. “Who’s out this early?” He opened the door and there on the steps stood an unexpected spectacle. The vision was a uniform of vivacious red with big sparkling brass buttons. The uniform was filled by a person with the blackest face, broadest grin, and whitest teeth he had ever seen. “Am yo’ lookin’ foil a first-class butlah?” questioned the sight. “Yes, but why?” asked the bewildered Mr. Royden, not comprehending the situation. “I’m him,”said the black person, grinning even more broadly while he pointed at his flashy breast with a long, bony finger. “Come in. Come in, and I’ll see what I can do for you.” The butler stepped inside and stood twirl- ing his hat on his finger while he shifted from one foot to the other. After a whispered conference, they decided to give him a trial. Mrs. Royden showed him his room. “You will begin right off,” she explained, “as I see you’re all ready. But where’s your suit-case?” “Nevah had one ob dem things.” “Is that all you have?” she asked, point- ing to his uniform. “Dasall.” “Well, come and I’ll show you where to begin.j, He followed obediently. The day quickly sped. Aside from trip- ping over the rugs and placing the white sheet last in the bed the day was very success- ful for Rastus. (That was the name he had given, adding that people “call me mos’ anythin.” When Mr. Royden came home from his office that night, Rastus met him in the hall. He took his hat and coat and hung them up with great dignity. Rastus also brought him the evening paper, lighted his cigar, and procured his slippers. He created quite an impression on Mr. Royden. At supper that night Rastus’ luck took a decided change. First, he tripped over the rug at every trip between the kitchen and dining room. Also, he put salt in the sugar bowl when requested to refill it. These things made Mr. Royden sputter wrathfully. Things reached a climax, however, when Rastus spilled the cream all over the table. “Confound it, you black rascal! Have you got any brains at all?” roared Mr. Royden. “Don’ know. ’Spects I have,” Rastus answered rather reproachfully. Things quieted down somewhat until Mrs. Royden noticed black spots all over her clean linen table cloth. “Rastus! Rastus! come here quick!” she called, rising from her seat. “Comin, Missus,” sang his voice among the rattle of dishes in the kitchen. “Whah’s mattah?” he asked as he shuffled into the room. “Let me see your hands,” she said, pre- emptorily. “Wha’ foh? Der’s nothin’ de mattah wid dem.” Nevertheless he reluctantly produced them. Straight to the sink she led him and soon plenty of water and soap was administered. A dirty white began to appear. Mrs. Roy- den gasped. “Leggo! Leggo o’ me!” wailed a voice with which she was familiar. The scrub- bing continued with added vigor. That night George sneaked into the library,

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8 1 h e (Golden-Rod gold studded with jewels, rare and priceless. There is not another piece of goldwork like it in all Egypt. He has it now. This is the woman whom he had saved from the Arabian thieves at the Pyramid but because of her veils he had no way of identifying her before. But, as it will be remembered, he had taken special notice of that rare piece of jewelry, which had been the object of the attack of the thieves. In spite of his ignorance of her identity she had recognized him and had en- deavored to repay his deed by setting him free. Why she did not plead with her father for his release and perform the deed honor- ably is a question which will remain unsolved. With shouts and threatening gestures the Bedoins encircle horse and rider. The chief catches sight of the limp body of his daughter, the stain and the protruding, dagger. Covering his face with his hands he offers a silent prayer to Allah, mingled with the forgiveness of his daughter and his own sadness. Von Hohcnlohe is roughly torn fron his saddle and with glances of hatred the Bedoins threateningly swing their sabres above their heads. He is securely bound and placed upon his horse and without further delay brought to Cairo and given with little ceremony into the hands of the jailers there, where he is impris- oned, pending his trial, charged with the theft of a mummy and attempted escape after imprisonment. CHAPTER III. In the twilight gloaming the figure of a man appeared on a deserted street with a night shroud drawn about his head and slinking from one protective shadow to an- other until he had reached a spot beneath a barred prison window. Here, drawing the cover from his head, he whistled softly. Presently a head appeared at the window. “Is that you Achmet?” questions the man behind the bars in a soft voice. “Yes, Sahib, it is I,” is the equally soft response. “Did you get the mummy to Alexandria safely?” “Ah, yes, safely indeed it is hidden,” proceeds Achmet glancing cautiously about him to see that no one hears, “in the cellar of my brother Mohammed Hassan’s house. He is an honest merchant of that city and you may feel sure that he will care for it as well as if it were his own.”-“Hist, the guard is approaching. Go, Achmet, or I fear that I shall have a companion in this dank cell.” The day dawned clear. The invigorating morning air gently wafted into the cell of the prisoner, and he sleepily arose from his cot and strode to the window to breath in more of it and to gaze out into the narrow streets. What a sudden change had come over the city since yesterday. The balconies of the crowded houses were hung with festal tapestries and throngs of people were surging into the streets. To the beat of a drum a band of soldiers passed by followed by more, gor- geously arrayed in red and gold; these formed themselves in two long columns on either side of the street. What did all this mean? Per- haps the Khedive was coming, but that was a usual event and no such display was made of it. As he stood there thinking, suddenly the cry of “Hail, the Emperor! He approach- es!” filled the air, and people suddenly opened the casements ol the balconies and stept out, bearing garlands of flowers which they threw down into the street through which he was to pass; and the people on the street pushed and craned their necks impatiently that they might catch a glimpse of this notable person- age. Presently his coach comes into view. There he sits, surrounded by the leading men of Egypt. His face Vcn Hohenlohe recognizse as one he has often seen in pictures. It is not an Egyptian potentate but the Emperor of his own native country on a visit to the Orient. As he gazes upon his clear open face he can not help but regard him as a close friend, although the gap of relationship between them is of in- credible width and of unfathomable depth. The