Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

Page 18 text:

16 THE GOLDEN-ROD small pasteboard box, wrapped in white paper. “Don't open it until you are ready to go to bed. It may bring you happy dreams. It's the best I’m in a position to do for you. Good night.” The uninvited visitor of Dr. Johnson put the box in his pocket and left the building, presumably in the same manner in which he had entered it. Henry Squire, besides being a pretty good actor, was a thief with imagination. As he hurried through the darkened streets, exciting ideas rushed through his mind. Perhaps in a certain pasteboard box carefully tucked away in his pocket was money—lots of money. The man had probably given him a good sized roll. Hadn’t he said “The best Tin in a position to do for you”: “Guess that poor simp really thought I was dead broke. Same old hard luck story—it always works.” He did not open the box until safe within the seclusion of his third floor flat. Then and there, upon unwrapping his treasure, he learned the full extent of Dr. Johnson’s benevolence. On the box was the following label: Dr. Johnson’s Sneeze Tablets Take two Each Hour The Singer’s Bracelet Josephine Brown Signora Costella, famous opera singer, lolled among the soft cushions of her car, well satisfied with herself. She had just got rid of a formidable rival, and that business of last week, when she had run over and killed a boy, had been satis- factorily cleared up. The car was driven deftly through the east side streets of Xew York. Her des- tination was the pawn shop of Master Diggs. She wondered, lazily, if he had got over his grudge against her yet. for that last time when she bought a valuable string of pearls for one-tenth his price, when his assistant was keeping the shop. As her over-dressed body entered the dark, little shop, a tiny figure looked up blinkingly. Ah—what a smile spread over its face! So, the grudge was for- gotten. “Signora Costella.” said Master Diggs, T have the very thing for you.” All the while he was talking, he was nervously- drawing on a pair of gloves. When from a box he drew out a bracelet. Xo wonder the Signora let out a sigh of rapture. It was an exquisitely chiseled article, with diamonds glowing in a price- less beauty, and rubies, and sapphires complementing them. A faster Diggs named a price. “Oh! it is robbery,” screamed the singer. And so they fought, until finally Signora Costella beat him down to a third of the original price by an unusually easy victory. “It was given to my daughter,” related the man, “by her husband before they were married. He got it in the Philip- pines. They went away today, bound for there and my daughter gave me the brace- let to sell.” More than ever pleased with herself was the Signora Costella as she was driven away in her luxurious car. It was a year later and two theater- goers were talking over the latest star. “My,” from the first one, “she certainly is better than Signora Costella. By the by, what happened to the Signora: She dropped from stardom so suddenly.” “Why, haven’t you heard:” asked the second one. “She was shipped to the leper colony in the Philippines.” “What!” gasped the first. “How? It is such a rare disease.”

Page 17 text:

THE GOLDEN-ROD 15 The Doctor’s Dilemma Ina Walls, J’28 That hot July day had been a hard one. Business had not been good and the in- spection of bills payable and bills receiv- able is very taxing, especially with the thermometer at 90 degrees. That night Dr. Frederick T. Johnson slept very lightly. His bedroom was directly off the dining-room, where, as was his custom, he kept a light burning, a single low- power bulb. Careless, as he always was in the ab- sence of his wife, he had strewn his clothing all over the furniture, and, upon the table in the center of the room, had left his leather billfold containing be- tween twenty-five and thirty dollars. He had slept for nearly an hour and a half when something awakened him. Fie hardly had time to open his eyes when there broke upon the stillness a series of violent sneezes from the adjoining room, accompanied by a clang of metal striking cn the hardwood floor. The now thoroughly awakened doctor leaped from the bed and scrambled for the gun which evidently had slipped out of the man’s hand. The intruder stood there, helpless in a paroxysm of sneezing. Keeping a tight grip on the captured weapon. Dr. Johnson ran around to the other side of the oblong table, thus put- ting himself between the burglar and an open unscreened window. His caller was a thin, nervous-looking man and did not have the appearance of a hardened, desperate criminal. All at once, doubtless to the burglar’s astonishment, Dr. Johnson began to laugh heartily. He had caught a glimpse of the figures reflected in the buffet mirror—a fat, pudgy doctor in striped pajamas pointing an unsteady pistol at a burglar just about to sneeze. Finally, remembering the seriousness of the situation, the doctor stopped laughing and asked soberly: “How long have you been at this risky sort of business, my good man.5” The doctor’s laugh had cleared the at- mosphere and there was no trace of nervousness in the man’s voice as he re- plied : “Not very long. Fact is, this is the first flat I ever tried to rob. Maybe you don’t believe me, but it’s so.” “I suppose you got out of work, were up against it and became desperate.” “You betcha I was up against it.” The doctor glanced at his billfold and scrutinized the other thoughtfully. “Now that I’ve caught you, what the deuce shall I do with you?” For the easy going, good natured and kind hearted doctor, this was a problem. As a law abiding citizen it was his duty to raise some sort of an alarm that would bring the police upon the scene. The fellow had broken into his apartment with intent to rob. He was silent for what, to the other, must have seemed an endless period of time, with his free hand drumming reflect- ively upon the surface of the table. There was the other side to this per- plexing business—the human side. After all, no real harm had been done. A police record is a handicap for a man. Fie had no doubt that this was the fellow’s first attempt and, perhaps he had learned his lesson. Dr. Frederick T. Johnson was a sympathetic man. Somewhere a clock struck one. “Guess I’d better be going.” The doctor looked relieved. Oddly enough he had not thought of that solu- tion. Fie came to a decision. “I don’t believe you’re really such a bad sort. I guess you were hard up to do it. It’s mighty hard not to have money. Wait here a minute.” Taking the billfold with him, likewise pocketing the revolver Dr. Johnson went back into the bedroom. He had no trouble in finding what he sought; he returned in an instant. In the hand he extended to the burglar was a

Page 19 text:

THE GOLDEN-ROD 17 “Yes,” nodded the other. “It was traced to a bracelet which she bought in some pawn-shop. It seems that the pawn-shop's keeper’s daughter contracted the sickness from the same source. Her husband, a sailor, bought the thing from a leper in the Philippines, only he did not know it, of course. He got it, too.” “Oh,” shuddered the first one, “it is horrible. But we arc well rid of a waning star!” Fright Frightened, I was fairly petrified! At six in the evening it began. My supper included a goed-sized dose of castor oil. Sleep! No sleep for me after that, and besides, groans of all descriptions reached my ears from adjoining rooms. Daylight proved a godsend and, as it grew quieter I dozed to be awakened by the arrival of my breakfast, a cup of black coffee. Then I was clothed in white, even to leggins, my head was completely encom- passed by a white cap, and my face greased with vaseline. Truly, I must have presented a charming sight. Then, there entered a vehicle, a sort of an iron- ing board in wheels and on which they placed me. I thought my days were over, my voice refused to function from sheer fright as down the corridor they rolled me. I entered a room entirely void of furni- ture except for a white screen from behind which I heard metallic sounds. Suddenly my fears mysteriously left me; I sailed along as if on a cloud to enter a delightful oblivion from which I awakened to find I had lost my appendix. Florence H. Brown. iiimiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniii THE SECRET OF THE WILLOW TREE Florence Cushing, F. ’30 See that stately willow yonder Bend her graceful form so low? She is whispering to the fir tree A secret we may never know. Is it of an event that's coining? Or a dream that has come true? O is it of some handsome lover? Oh how I wish we knew. It may be of some unknown sorrow; But no. I'm sure rtis glee For other trees nod happily. They know the secret of the willow tree; Jhcy tried their best to keep it, But it was so full of cheer That it spread throughout the wide world. The joyful tiding, “Spring is here . The Literary Editor wishes to say that the poem “A Friend,” published in the last issue as the work of Alice Harabedian, was written by Frank Dempster Sherman. THE SEA Have you ever been down to the sea. When the tide was running high And swooping above, the gull With his screaming. And the waves dash on the rocks. Throwing the spume and the spray. And the wind is shrieking and whining O’er the mountainous waves of gray? Now there stands the sailor. With his clothes of a dirty gray, But his face is beaming, and his eyes Like the Hashing lighthouse nearby. The sun is down and the clouds arc up, Fading each star in the sky. The sailor is gone in his boat to get A log which has drifted by. A ship stands off to the weather. Plunging her bow in the deep, Her decks are streaming and running, The ropes arc taut to the sheet. The water is green and flecked with foam. The man at the wheel is thinking of home. But rain, sleet or storm nothing can harm Our boy on the water this night. Jack Devlin, |. ’27.