Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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of Hotel Ponce de Leon. THE GOLDEN-ROD 11 Walter.” He took out his pen to write a check, but he paused for a moment and chuckled, put his pen and check-book away and thought, “This will be a good lesson for him.” During the week Walter pawned his golf clubs, a suit case, and sold all his possessions except the few clothes he wore. Each day he had visited the hotel to sec if any word had come from his father, but always, “no.” He wondered why he had not heard from his parent. Perhaps the telegrams did not reach him? But there were so many that he must have received one. This thought prevail- ing in his mind, and hunger prevailing in his stomach combined, almost drove him mad. On Sunday of the next week he was sit- ting disconsolately in the park with his eves glued to the ground as though look- ing for something, and was hardly con- scious to the fact that someone had taken a seat beside him. “Whatsamatter, bo?” asked the tawdry looking man who had seated himself next to Walter. “Pm starved.” “I got four bits,” the stranger said, and held a piece of silver before Walter’s eyes. “That’s two bits each,” he said after a lengthy mental calculation. Walter eagerly followed this good Sa- maritan, and was soon enjoying a cup of coffee and dish of beans, as only one who has not eaten for two or three days can delight in masticating victuals. While thus engaged, the stranger heard the other’s story and said, “Why don’t you work your way home? You’ll get home quicker that way than if you hang around here waiting for something to happen.” Walter asked him for his name and address, and then said that he would take his advice. Then began the real education of Wal- ter. He learned to sleep in barns, and like it. He walked from Palm Beach to Jacksonville, sleeping anywhere, chopping wood, and doing odd jobs to earn his meals. He took advantage of a freight train going to Richmond, Va., and rode leisurely in a freight car behind some boxes of crackers, which served for food as well as to hide him. He remained in Richmond just as long as working in a restaurant would permit him to buy a new suit, shoes, hat and procure a shave. He now looked respect- able, and his life in the open had given him a wonderful physique. He hitch- hiked to New York, and arrived there just eight months to a day from the time he had left. How happy he was to arrive home among his traffic cops, elevated trains, subways, and the seething multi- tudes that comprise the world’s largest and greatest “melting pot.” Arthur Lord had begun to feel worried about his son, and had sent a description of him to the Florida State Police, who were of no assistance. He had advertised in the papers to no avail, and was angry with himself for not sending his son the money when he had received the flock of telegrams. Almost every other day he forgot his business for the moment and wondered what had become of his son. It was while he was meditating thus one afternoon, that the office boy glee- fully announced that a man wanted to see him. Mr. Lord Sr., said, “Show him in.” The boy withdrew and in walked Walter. “Son!” cried his father, who was across the room in two bounds and shaking Wal- ter’s hand until their arms were numb. When the young man had told his story Arthur Lord sent the tawdry looking in- dividual of Palm Beach a check for five thousand dollars. Herbert Hambro, J. ’27.

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10 THE GOLDEN-ROD The Reformation of Walter Lord Walter Lord glanced savagely at his wrist-watch. Almost four o’clock! “How much longer before we reach Palm Beach?” he shot at the dusky, in- offensive porter, who was shuffling by his chair on the Pullman. “Pahm Beach?” “Yes, Palm Beach.” “We all gets to Pahm Beach in ’bout three hours naow.” Walter grunted and so the porter left him, gazing at the water-covered window! pane. It had been raining since before he had vacated his narrow berth early in the morning, and the blurred view did not show the Florida swamps to advantage. The rain evidently had dampened his disposition as well as the “Magic State.” He bought a popular magazine and en- deavored to read. Just as he was becom- ing interested in a story, “To be contin- ued,” greeted his eyes. He began a story which was rather “dry,” so he placed the periodical aside. He gazed absent mind- edly at the different occupants of the car, and then at the odd pattern of the sombre rug. He had left New York on the previous daw opposing his father’s wishes. His father, Arthur T. Lord, a figure of eminence on the “Exchange,” was opu- lent to such an extent that he owned a stately mansion on Riverside Drive, and a beautiful summer home on Long Island, with grounds many acres in extent. Walter’s mother had died eighteen years before when he was but an infant. His “old man,” as he called his father, had given him everything he desired, and the inevitable occurred. He had a yacht and two cars. His chief interests in life were to loaf, play golf and go yachting. He had left New York to see Florida, and his impressions thus far were not to his liking. But even the longest three hours must pass, and these three were no exception, as was proved when an cbony-hued “Sony of the Jungle” announced, “Pahm Beach” with the usual southern drawl. When Walter alighted, everything was dripping from the recent rain which had ceased by this time. Taking one of his two grips in either hand and his golf sticks under his arm, he stepped into the “Ponce de Leon” bus. As the bus drew away from the curb he noticed the wide, smooth, palm-bordered avenues, and the low, Spanish type residences with pic- turesque, vari-colored tile roofs. The houses were now illuminated as it was after half past seven. How different from New York! How much more peaceful! When he finally arrived at the hotel it was all aglow with luxuriant splendor. The polite clerk at the huge marble desk assigned Walter to a large room on the third floor for thirty dollars a day. After paying in advance for a week, a “bellhop” took the luggage and led him to room 337. As Walter leisurely crossed the spa- cious lobby on his way to the dining room later that night, he brushed by a well- dressed man who deftly obtained the leather wallet from Walter’s pocket. At the conclusion of an expensive sup- per, the waiter handed him the bill. Wal- ter calmly placed his hand in his back pocket, but no wallet. A frantic search through all his pockets, then another and slower search, and finally the unwelcome realization that he had been “fleeced.” “I’ve been robbed!” he exclaimed wildly. The next day he pawned his watch, with the proceeds of which he paid for supper the previous evening, and sent many urgent telegrams to his father ask- ing for money. Mr. Lord, Sr., was busy in his office at three o’clock that afternoon looking at some reports when his well-paid office boy entered with an envelope in his hand. “Telegram from Western Union.” “Bring it here.” Arthur Lord opened it and read: “Arthur T. Lord 43 Wall Street N. Y., N. Y. Have been robbed. Need two thou- sand dollars at once. Send to me care

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12 THE GOLDEN-ROD Mischief He was a sight to behold, and yet he stood there, laughing up at me, his big sister, with such an impish innocence in his big blue eyes, that I could not but smile, a little ruefully, perhaps, at the picture he presented. His adorable curly hair was no longer curly, but stringing into his eyes and dripping muddy water down his neck and over his face, and his pug nose, although still beautiful in my eyes, was not a darling, babyish pink- and-white, but muddy black. His eye- brows were caked with mud and his face so much so that it seemed miraculous to me that he could still smile. He had always had a ravishing little dimple in his chin which now was more ravishing than ever, being full of water which had trickled unevenly down his nose and landed in the dimple. His ears stood out like sign- posts leading no one knows where, and he was wriggling from the coldness of the water on his dirty little neck. His Timid beautiful white linen collar which had been so carefully starched and pressed was hanging, rumpled and crumpled, by one thread. The lovely sailor suit was wringing wet and several buttons were minus. One shoe and one sock were gone, and his wet, muddy toes were wrig- gling ecstatically in the cool grass. The other sock had slipped down to his ankle and the shoe was soggy and filled with mud. I was displeased and knew that it would take one-half of my whole after- noon to clean him up and wash out the wet clothes, but still I knew I would yield to that sunny, innocent smile and kiss him. Why, oh why do these child experts say that we should be strict: They never dealt with John and his after-naughti- ness smile. Then the oracle spoke: “Mar- gie, ’oo won't tell mamma, wil ’oo?”— and I kissed him, mud and all. Margaret F. Thompson, J. ’28. Grace Before they started for Arkansas Edith Randall told her cousin Grace Doyle that xsl e did wish she could see a hold-up. “I’ve lived in one place all my life with- out a thing out of the ordinary happen- in’,” she said, “and I’d like to have some- thin’ excitin’ happen before I die. Land sakes, Grace, here I’m fifty years old and in all my life never saw anything more than a mouse to jump at.” Grace Doyle shivered at the thoughts of a holdup. She was small and colorless and timid. A mouse was quite large enough for her to jump at. It was partly because of this timidness that Edith Ran- dall hated to take Grace such a long way from home. “But I couldn’t get anyone else to take the trip with,” said Edith to her neigh- bors, “and it’s not pleasant traveling alone. Besides, Grace has a lovely dis- position, even if she is skeery, and we’ll get along fine. She hasn’t any too much money, either, and as I have more than I know what to do with I thought it would be nice to take her with me on my trip to Arkansas.” Once they had set out on their journey the two cousins found a great deal to talk about, at least Edith Randall did. Her ancestors had been pioneers and she loved to tell how her great-great-grandfather had combatted nine Indians single- handed. Land sakes!” exclaimed Edith, “You afraid of a holdup: Well, you take my purse and I’ll take yours. You trust me and I’ll trust you. All my money is in my purse, Grace, so take good care of it.” That afternoon the cousins noticed a newcomer in the dining car. He was sitting across the aisle and, when Edith accidentally dropped her handkerchief, he picked it up and restored it to her. After they returned to their seats the stranger sought them out. He said his