Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

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8 SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR A COURAGEOUS CROOK Charles Platt, 21. On a hot sultry August day, a motorist, touring through the country section of Vir- ginia was forced, by engine trouble and short- age of gasoline to stop at a small garage in a little country town. As the motorist looked hot and tired, the garage-keeper, who was also the stationmaster and postmaster, besides being the police and fire departments, invited him to be seated. The motorist, thanking him, sat down on a rickety chair at the end of the platform (the garage was also the railway station) and took a survey of his surround- ings. It was a typical country town of tre hilly section of Virginia. A short distance from the highway was a cluster of old-fash- ioned houses, evidently composing the vil- lage. through the midst of which ran a wind- ing street. Further away the motorist could see the farms dotting the country-side, while the hills rose hazily in the distance. Such was the dead silence, that the motorist, in order to break it, inquired, “Is there ever any excite- ment around here? The stationmaster an- swered from under the auto, the nasal twang of his voice cutting sharply through the heavy silence. “I couldn’t say thar was,” he answered. “About the only thing that thar’s happened in the last ten years war a fire in Judge Carle- ton’s house, about five years ago. What gave the excitement was a burglar who war thar the same night. The judge kept a small gar- age which was jined to his house, and he used to throw all the oily rags into his cellar. That were what started the blaze. Anyhow, the judge woke up that night and saw someone walking around in his room. Hashing a light. The judge jumped halfway out of bed and then jumped back again. The burglar jumped around like a flash and rammed a gag in the judge’s throat. He was going to tie him up when suddenly he stopped and snuffed the air. “Have ye got a fire in yer furnace?” he asked the judge. The judge managed to shake his head no. “Wait here then,” com- manded the crook, not stopping to tie him up. for the judge was too skeered to move. The crook sneaked out of the room but was back in a minute. “Yer house is a-blazing,” he said, “I’ll let you go if you don’t say a word about me.” He raised the revolver menacingly. The judge pulled out the gag, promised to be silent and jumped from the window into the garden below, yelling, “Fire! Fire!” In a moment the whole town was out. The fire spread over the house quickly and the judge ran and got his wife out just as that part of the house collapsed. Suddenly the judge gave a yell. “We’ve left the baby behind!” he cried. Someone spoke at his elbow. “Where is the baby?” asked a familiar voice. The judge turned around to see—the crook. “Up there,” he said, pointing towards the room over the garage. Without a word, the crook ran into the house, up the burning stairway, and crawled through the smoke-filled hall into the blazing pedroom. Grabbing up a small rug he wrapped it around the baby and ran back to the hall. The stairway had disappeared. He stumbled back into the bedroom to the window. The garage below was blazing. There was only one thing left to do. The villagers below heard his voice above the roaring of the flames, and caught the baby as it fell. Suddenly, with a blinding flash, a large tank of gasoline exploded, showering burning oil on all sides. The “crook” had no time to jump. The whole side of the house blazed up higher, tottered and then collapsed. The next day the town subscribed a sum of money for a tablet of marble to have en- graved on it the four words, “To a Courageous Crook.”

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SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR 7 come lame. She hardly heard a note which he played, she was so wrapt in joy at having found that which to her had been lost. After the last number she asked to see him privately. Of course her request was granted. Having been introduced she hesitated to broach the subject which was uppermost in her mind, so she began: “Senor, I wish to congratulate you on your success in music.” Angelo acknowledged the remark very gra- ciously and then the Lady thought it best to introduce her subject. “I wonder if you will think me prying and rude if I ask you about your early life?” Her kind eyes seemed even kinder, and her face younger now, as she listened for his an- swer. It came at last, “Why certainly not, my dear madam.” His curiosity was arroused now, for he wondered why this strange, motherly person could possibly want to hear of his commonplace life. “I wish to know if you remember anything of your mother,” she was saying. “I remember only that she was very kind and good. She died when I was but five years old, but father used to speak of her often to me. He said that my features resembled hers, but I hardly think they can because mother was very beautiful.” This modesty on the part of Angelo greatly pleased the Lady, but she went on— “Do you know that twenty years ago my young daughter, Anne, eloped with an Italian musician whom she met at just such a musi- cale as this? They were together almost every day after they met, and when he was suddenly called back to Northern Italy, be urged Anne to go with him. She dutifully asked my consent, but I—(her voice broke) I refused to let her go. I thought it strange that she did not make a scene, but I saw the reason when that night I found she had gone. My heart turned against her then, and I thought I never wanted to hear of her again. I did not hear, until seven years later when word came that she had died, leaving a small son to the care of her husband. Of course I knew the father would do all he could for the boy, but I thought that I could do more for him, so I employed searchers to find him for me. They did not succeed, and for thirteen years my heart has ached for the grandson I could not lavish love and care upon. “Tonight, I had almost forgotten, but when I saw your face it all came back like a flash. My boy, you have the very features of my daughter, could you possibly be my own, own grandson ?” Angelo’s face was a study. He was so taken aback that he could hardly utter a sound. It was now his turn to tell his story, so he began, relating in every detail the story of his life. One thing he omitted, however, how he became lame. Lady Montgomery noticed the omission and hesitatingly asked him, “Would you mind telling me how you became injured?” She immediately hated herself for asking the question when she saw the shadow that crossed his eager countenance. “It was an accident,” he said, “I was four years old when it occurred. My nurse and I were walking on a city street, and iii attempting to cross to the other side, I was knocked down by a pair of runaway horses. The carriage passed over my knees, breaking one leg and so shat- tering the knee of the other that when I re- covered, the shattered limb was much shorter than the other. I think my nurse never for- gave herself for letting me cross the street unaccompanied by her.” As Angelo’s story agreed almost exactly with Lady Montgomery’s, they both were satisfied as to the relation between them. When the fact was announced that the young Angelo Delani was the grandson of Lady Montgomery, his popularity grew more and more. Later, when the grandmother died, she left her entire estate to Angelo. He shared it with the now middle-aged Rosa Maria, who had assisted him in his time of need. We regret very much the delay in the publication of the October issue of the “Radiator.” This delay was due to the printers’ troubles which are so prevalent in the country at the present time and which even the staff cannot overcome. We hope that there will be no delays in the future.

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SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR WHEN THE SEA GAVE BACK ITS CAPTIVE Lois P. Gibson, '22. The wind howled outside and the rain beat furiously against the windows of the village store as Ed Taylor went on with his story. “Yes, mates,” he was saying, “t’was just such a night as this, about five years ago, and the only one saved from the wreck was a little three year old girl. She was taken in by someone in the village, there being no clue to her identity, and later found to be the grand- child of a man who lived in the village there. He was —” But hark! What was that? The men sprang to their feet and listened. Xo, they were not mistaken, a ship was signalling for help! Had Ed turned prophet suddenly? But they spent little time in thought of this kind, for with the cry, “A ship in distress,” they hastily started for the beach where they found the simple-hearted New England fisher folk already collected. “Come, boys, a fire,” shouted Ed, who was always a leader. “May be ’twill warm their hearts a bit at this distance to see a sign of life.” With this they soon had a blazing fire. Meanwhile the poor vessel blown unresisting toward the rocks, still called for help and showed that she could not hold out much longer among the raging elements. “Pretty rough sea for rescue work,” mut- tered Ed under his breath, but not one of them faltered, they quickly manned two boats, vanished into the storm, the women tended the fire and watched them go with a prayer in their anxious hearts. And then came the heart-rending suspense as they strained their eyes through the darkness for a glimpse of their loved ones. In the meantime the men struggled and fought wave and wind inch by inch. Would they be in time, or was all their labor to he for naught? A flash of lightning illumined the sky, for an instant, and the picture was as clear as daylight. But even as they watched, the ship gave a lurch forward, one last ef- fort, and was dashed to pieces on the rocks. Then the picture was gone and all was black once more. “No one can live in this sea,” shouted one of the men. But they went on to be sure. The women, also, had caught a glimpse of the picture before it faded, and they, too, wondered if the men had been too late. The time passed in anxious waiting and after what seemed to be hours a shout was heard through the darkness. The boats soon grated on the sand and the men exhausted and wet, were welcomed to the fire. “Was anyone saved?” was their greeting. Wait! What was that bundle which Ed Taylor handled so tenderly? Motherly hands soon undid the many coverings, dis- closing to view the sweet face of a little girl about three years old. She sat up and eagerly scanned the circle of faces above her only to fall back, however, with a plain- tive little cry, “Where’s my mama? I want my mama.” “What’ll we do with her?” was the next question, but Aunt Susan, aunt to the whole village, quickly settled the matter by her answer. “I’ll take her,” she said, and suiting her actions to her words she soon had the little one in her arms and sound asleep. In the following week it was discovered from wreckage which was washed ashore, that the vessel had been the “Albion,” a trader from New York. And the child had, evidently, been the only survivor. Had she any relatives? Might they not, even now, be searching for some word of her? How- ever, as time went on, nothing more was learned and the child remained a mystery. So little Jean McLane, which she informed them was her name, became one of them. Now, in the village, sitting far back from the street stood an imposing, cold-looking house, which seemed out of place among its more homey-looking neighbors. To the village people the occupants of this stately residence were as much out of place as the house itself. An cld man lived here with servants. As Ed Taylor expressed it. old “Stony-Face” was too “stuck-up” to make friends among the honest fishermen and their wives. Indeed even the children were afraid of his cold expression and ran away when they saw him coming, although he seldom went outside his house and grounds. At least this was the case until Jean came into his life and then the miracle was per- formed.