Red Bank High School - Log Yearbook (Red Bank, NJ)

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If it doesn’t end O. K., we give it that K. 0. (Forgive me, 1 couldn’t help it.) The next one we try reads, “The terrible beast grew nearer” ha! More like it. “And sprang full in the face of—” Great! “Harold, who- No, I never did,” said Stanley. Wot tha? Oh-h-h! A page is missing. With a sigh, we put it back, hoping Harold received no injuries. This one looks fine! Let’s read it. “The shining sun sank in the South, The golden West was not.” With a shudder we drop the book and two seconds later the bell rings. Believing in Fate as the best chooser, we turn around seven times and pull out the first book we touch. We sieze our slip and dash upstairs. Just in time, too. But there is enough time left for us to discover that the book was the same one that we took out two days ago. —C. V. L., '23. The Mystery Man. A dark figure moved along the dockhouse wall toward the light shining brightly from the night watchman’s window. As he looked in he saw a young fellow of, perhaps twenty-four, sitting beside an oil lamp, buried in a book on “Traffic Man- agement,” while beside him on the table lay a newspaper dated 1918. The man on the outside stood, uncertain as to what the next move should be. Finally he reached his conclusion, and pushing open the door, he said, “Good evening, Mr. Floyd.” “Oh,” exclaimed Jim Floyd, startled by this sudden intrusion, “Hello, Hen- drickson, what are you doing down here this late at night?” “I came down to see McGregor, I thought that he was on night duty.” “He was taken sick yesterday and I’m taking his place until he comes back. Why, is there anything I can do for you?” “No, I guess not,” was the reluctant reply. Jim was not very friendly with Hendrickson, whose sly, sneaky traits did not appeal to him. Hendrickson was sometimes called the “Mystery Man.” He had come into this country as a member of the crew of a Swedish vessel and he had the typical characteristics of a Scandinavian—large frame, light hair, blue eyes and a sulky disposition. Ever since landing he had hung around on the piers, and es- pecially on Pier No. 50, North River, where Jim was employed as a shipping fore- man. Hendrickson always dressed fairly well and seemed to have plenty of spare cash. Of course, Jim knew' all the men on the pier by name, for he was very popular among them. He made friends easily, hut the Mystery Man had always avoided him. This was the first time that Jim had been in close contact with him, and as they sat there facing each other in the lamplight, Jim wondered just what was passing through his visitor’s mind and what the real motive of his visit was. Hendrickson, on the other hand, remained undecided. Suddenly he said, “Say, Mr. Floyd, my friend McGregor used to lend me a skiff when 1 needed it. That’s what 1 came down for tonight.” His mood seemed too affable to be natural, yet Jim could think of no reason why the boat should not be taken, so he gave his consent. He sat for some time after the man had gone out, wondering about this strange individual. Finally, casting the matter aside, he re- sumed his book. If Jim had known where the Mystery Man was going and whom he was to meet, he would not have picked up his book so soon. At midnight, when he went his rounds, he heard the “putter put” of a power boat, far out on the river. Jim thought it queer at this late hour, but did not con- nect it with the fact that Hendrickson had not yet come in. The next night when he was again making his rounds, his toe struck a small round object which lightly bounded away. Picking it up he found it to be nothing more than a plain rubber ball. He took it into the office to examine it carefully by the light. It was of about the same size as the average rubber ball, but the rubber itself was different. This was jet black and of a softer quality. Also he found it to be a German made toy. As he was handling it he noticed that there was a small slit just below the words “made in Germany.” Prying this slit open he was able to withdraw a piece of 10

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stubborn and effective resistance that they did. Had Liege fallen sooner than it did, no human power could have stopped the tide of Prussian Imperialism on its march to conquest. Who knows but that the world owes its present peace and security to this glorious sacrifice of a noble hearted boy? The tragic news of the episode just related finally reached the Chateau de Modave. In the shifting of German officers to and from the castle, two young- officers were detailed there. They were given a suite vacated by the previously mentioned officers. Since the rooms had been left in their chaotic condition, the new arrivals rebuked the Chatelaine and demanded an explanation. For reply she showed them two particular entries in the visitors’ book. The truth of the matter was so evident that their arrogance was shocked into silence. To relieve the awk- ward situation they asked in more courteous tones, to be shown over the immediate grounds. After a walk through the park they strolled to the banks of the Oerth. It will be recalled that some of the bottles of wine had been deposited in the stream for concealment. A ludicrous thing had happened. The labels had been washed off and had floated to the banks. The officers caught sight of them and the Comtesse wondered whether they would gather from the evidence before their eyes, what had been done. They remarked about them, picked up several of them and read the names of the vintages, but were too obtuse to penetrate the mystery of the phenomenon. To prevent any possible discovery by this, she hinted that these were the only relics left of several Bacchanalian orgies indulged in by their fellow officers since the occupation of the castle. The officers, having before tasted of her acumen, made no further comment. Returning to the Chateau through the gardens and orangeries, the conversa- tion reverted to the experiences of the men while in Liege. They told of a clever ruse, in which they had participated, the object of which was to effect the capture of the commanding Belgian general. A shudder passed over the Comtesse’s frame. They continued to narrate how their plan was frustrated by the quick perception of a young Belgian officer, adding in a cold blooded and almost jocular vein, that his interference resulted in his death. Their hero’s mother was petrified for the moment, in the consciousness that she stood face to face with the murderers of her son. Through her mind in quick succession passed emotions of hate, revenge, and then an anguish which rent her heart. With supreme self-control, stiffing the seeth- ing passions burning within her soul, she majestically proclaimed to them that it was her son who had fallen before them in fulfilling the “last full measure of his devotion.” The grandeur of her spirit, for one moment at least, pierced the callous hearts of her hearers and evoked a sentiment of compassion and reverence. Then she said proudly: “Do not feel that, by your act, you have deprived me. On the contrary, by his immolation, 1 am everlastingly glorified as his mother.” The tale will go down to remote posterity; a tale of deep infamy and lofty honor, and to Charles, the victor, who played the game, shall go the prize—IM- MORTAL FAME. The School Library. What would we do, in our spare period, if it were not for the school library? Our lessons done (?) we scamper to the desk, securing a slip, then rush downstairs with a book. It may be anything, from “Horace’s Satires” to “Four Buckets of Blood.” Let it suffice that it is a book—by name. Giving the slip to the librarian we turn in our reading matter. How the time flies, as we search frantically for another one. This one looks nice. We open it. “The irreverance with which humanity regards our topic is stu- pendous.” Nuff said! We want a book of fiction; not a dictionary. Ah, a pretty cover. Let’s see what’s inside. “Cum esset Caesar in Citiore Gallia.” Wow! With a sigh of relief we throw the book back and glance fearfully at the clock—half the period is gone. This sounds nice. “The Tragic Fate.” Let’s see the end of it—“With a last sob of despairing agony, she hurled herself from the cliff.” None of that stuff.

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brown paper, and much to his amazement upon unfolding- it he found certain hiero- glyphics. One can easily imagine his astonishment when he made such discovery. The United States embarkation piers were almost directly opposite Pier No. 50, which made an excellent place on which a spy could operate. The full force of his dis- covery did not strike him at first. How long had this hand of spies been operating on Pier No. 50? Perhaps information leading to the torpedoeing of American ships had been handled on this very pier. Who was the leader? He picked up the message and studied it intently for some minutes. Suddenly he exclaimed excitedly, “I have it,” and hastily grabbing pencil and paper he wrote down a key. Then taking the message again he spelled out the words by locating the different forms on the key. The forms narrowed it down to a possible three, while the position of the dot determined which of the three letters was correct. In this way Jim read the note. The first word was Hendrickson. At any rate, he had found out one member of the band, probably the leader. It then went on to give the sailing dates of various U. S. transports. When he had finished, Jim muttered, “The Hun! I suppose his accomplice came past here in a boat and tossed that ball out for Hendrickson. Then 1 beat him to it! Maybe he’s out there now looking for it.” He turned out his lamp and went out into the dark. Over the Palisades and Steven’s Point, to the north-west, dark clouds were piling up and frequent flashes of lightning told that a thunderstorm would strike Manhattan in a very few minutes. Every thing was quiet and hushed, as it so often is just before an electrical storm. The river was calm and still and the flood tide brought the water level threateningly near the planking of the dock. The night was ominous and forboding and seemed to bear tidings of impending danger. As Jim moved forward he saw the rays of a flashlight moving to and fro on the end of the pier. He caught Hendrickson unawares, and as the spy reached for his gun, young Floyd was upon him. Snatching the revolver from him, Jim hurled it into the river. The German stepped back for a minute, and then swung heavily at Jim, who artfully dodged and came in with a quick upper-cut. From then on the science of boxing and wrestling was thrown to the winds. They were no longer men but wild beasts, each desperately striving to throttle the other. Back and forth across the dock they reeled, first one and then the other having the advantage. Hendrick- son knew well enough that for him it was either a case of killing Jim Floyd or facing a firing squad, for Jim had the signed and addressed letter. Both men were be- coming exhausted and the outcome of the struggle depended largely on their en- durance. Finally Hendrickson, in stepping backwards, caught his heel in a piece of rope, which threw him head-first into the river. With a loud resonous splash he struck the water. The ghastly expression on his upturned face remained always in the memory of Jim, the night watchman. On the following morning readers saw this item in their paper: “Find unidentified body of man in North River. The body was found by the police near Peck slip. In the pocket were papers made out to Arnold Hendrickson. The man is six feet tall, weighing 200 pounds. He had light hair and was clean shaven. Had been in the water, apparently, only a short time.” —C. K., ’23. “An Original Story.” Mr. ALLEN HURST, a married man from ELBERON, was secretly in love with Gertie BELMAR of SOUTH AMBOY. He wanted to SEA GIRT to get her to COMOver to his cottage, AVON-BY-THE-SEA, and to go rowing with him on SPRING LAKE. At JERSEY CITY he bought a MANHATTAN TRANSFER from Mr. MORGAN, who told him to SEAWAREN BRIELLE of MIDDLETOWN about building a WOODBRIDGE out of CLIFFWOOD or BRADLEY BEACH wood with a PORT READING CROSSING. So he said to Mr. JACKSON, “I will go to MATA- WAN, draw out a LITTLE SILVER from the RED BANK and unless he HA DET the contract out I will close the DEAL. Then I will get a LONG I rA fCH of BOYNTON BEACH wood out of ASBURY PARK, near the WEST-END of OCEAN 11