Wells High School - Crimson and Gray Yearbook (Southbridge, MA)

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THE CRIMSON AND GRAY IS son, you must have had an unpleasant night. It wasn ' t very pleasant, I admit, David answered, but it was worth it. Even though luck had seemed to be going the other way, it has now paid me back fully, for it was just luck that I reached here in the nick of time. Phyllis Craig, ' 30 WHEN THE RADIO SPOKE Early in April a stranger walked into Mac ' s store to inquire about a haunted house. It was just like that. Tom Jordan happened to be there at the time, along with the others around Mac ' s store. Tom looked up at this questioner. The man was not much to look at; under- sized, spindly legs, pink eyes, and city airs. He was a collector of antiques — so he said. Sometimes a haunted house off in the woods turns out a regular gold mine, the stranger explained. Folks won ' t go near it. Old stuff in it — not touched for years. We got a haunted house rather an is- land, the proprietor cut in. How is that? asked the stranger. Well, mister, there used to be a man here by the name of Jack Sharpe. This was way back, fifty years ago. Old Jack ran some sort of business out there nights, liquor smuggling, I guess. He got very very rich, built houses and everything. Well, the gov- ' ment must ' ve heard of it. So one day a revenue cutter comes along looking for Sharpe. Jack then was just ashore and sus- pected trouble. He knew they ' d run him down so he just jumps into the water and never comes up again. Tis a fact. A few more questions asked and answered and the stranger moved on. Tom followed him out, remembering his errand. Tom Jordan, with his shock of reddish . hair, was strong- well-covered, lean hipped, big shouldered; and his father, a deputy sheriff. His favorite hobbies were swim- ming and radio, the latter, he studied in- tensely and now could send message through it. Jordan was graduating from school in June. June came, school closed, and Tom with his brother Ned was preparing to spend his vacation in their shack built on the haunted island, mentioned by Mac. One evening as the two brothers were dis- cussing their plans and packing up, a third voice broke in, that of the radio. The sta- tion announcer was reading news items. Clean break of the time lock — obviously the robbery has been carefully planned. Four- teen thousand dollars in bills missing. This desperate character is now at large, armed with the watchman ' s pistol ; and the bank has offered a reward of five-hundred dollars for his apprehension. Described by the watch- man as follows: short, sandy hair, eyes pale and red rimmed. Now where, said Tom softly, have I heard that before? His brother yawned, I ' m going to bed. Half an hour later, Tom turned in bed to whisper to his brother, Ned, if we had five hundred dollars, we could buy the islands. Then nobody — Awright, came a sleepy mumble. They got an early start the next morning. On their way, the brothers were discussing the situation of the island. In the last rays of the sun-light they per- ceived the shack. It looked like a block house on sticks ; and there were two windows, one above the other, indicating two floors. When do we eat? interrupted Ned. Right away. We ' ll unpack and have sup- per. Tom climbed up to the second story win- dow, a smile crossing his lips but the smile faded for somebody had found his shack. The blankets on the bed were tumbled, some- thing was bubbling on the stove, and the door was half open. There was some sort of dirty business. He must warn his father. Tom got down and joined his brother in some business, just in time, for footsteps of the intruder were heard. Tom had a faint recollection of the stranger. It was the man with the pink eyes. The stranger climbed in the shack and did not return, he must have gone to bed. During the night the two brothers climbed in. Yes, there he was, sleeping. It did not take them long to tie him. Tom went down to the first room where his radio was. He sent the following mes- sage, to his father. Caught the thief. Tom Jordan speaking. Wanda Kwarciak, 1931 . .

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14 THE CRIMSON AND GRAY son by his uncle, Nathan Robinson. When the will had been made out, David had been missing for over a year, so according to the will — If David had not returned within five years and had not stayed on this property over night, it and the house were to be sold and the money given to various charities. The next night being the last night on which David could claim his property, and as he had not been seen or heard of as yet, Mr. Hall thought that there would be no chance of his showing up. Wishing to buy the house for a friend, Mr. Brooks, who had helped him out at a critical time and who wanted to go into scientific farming but had not had enough money to start, Mr. Hall decided to look it over with Mr. Brooks the next day. At five o ' clock the next day, however, it happened that David Robinson, who had been exploring in the jungles of Africa, en- tered the lawyers ' office, and they, thinking him to be Mr. Brooks, handed him the letter. What is that for? asked David. This was left here for you. I think you will find all directions there and it is neces- sary that you follow them out as soon as possible. Good afternoon. Wondering who could have left him a let- ter and what it contained, he stepped out- side the door and opened it. Reading it through, it suddenly struck him that these directions were strangely familiar. Why, they were directions to his uncle ' s farm! There ' s something up, he said to him- self. I ' ll have to investigate. So following directions he soon reached his uncle ' s farm but found it to be closed. Standing there on the old vine covered porch just as the sun was setting, the house being on a hill, he could look down at the broad green fields stretching out beneath him, the lazy little brook which formed a pathway through them, and the wooded hills in the distance. Everywhere the birds were sing- ing and the crickets chirping while above, the sky was a rosy roof for this peaceful picture. This would never do ! The letter had said that the writer (signed Frank Hall) would meet him here as soon as possible. Well, he didn ' t know what time that would be so why not go inside and build a fire in the fire- place which he remembered was there? As he had obtained the key at the office of the lawyers he was soon inside the house he had visited so many times in his childhood. He wandered through the old building, memo- ries driving all other thoughts from his mind. Then he built a fire with some wood which he found back of the house and sat down to wait. He waited — and waited — and waited! No one appeared! Then he realized that there was no way to return to the city; the trolley was a mile away and the last car had gone. He would have to stay there all night. What would he do? It was starting to rain. The house grew dark so he found an old oil lamp and lighted it. What weird shadows danced on the wall ! And there seemed to be a million creaks in every board! He could hear the rain beat- ing against the window panes and down the chimney. How musty and damp everything smelled ! Just a few hours ago everything had seemed so different. Finally, however, he fell asleep. He awoke the next day cramped and hun- gry. Suddenly someone drove up to the house and he ran out to see who it was. The man in the car was Mr. Hall. He stared at David; what could this man be doing here! Just then another car drove up; it was Brooks. The two men jumped out, ex- changed greetings, and walked toward David. Good Morning! And may I ask what business brought you here so early in the morning, my friend? I am the nephew of the man who owns this farm. Could you tell me where I could find him? The neph — ! Of the man who owns this — ! Brooks we ' re out of luck! And last night was the last chance he had to claim his property! Your uncle died five years ago. Died five years ago? Yes. I ' m sorry I couldn ' t get here last night, Mr. Hall, said Brooks, but I reached the office too late and couldn ' t find out about it until I called up this morning. Oh! That is all right! I had a break- down on the way so I couldn ' t reach here either, replied Mr. Hall. But, Mr. Robin-

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16 THE CRIMSON AND GRAY MORE TRUTH THAN POETRY Oh ! what a hunch we have at school, Of fellows that laugh, play and fool, Wise guys that laws do ridicule, Crackwise in the halls and vestibule Just sit idly in class and sleep Receive their warning slips and weep. Excuses they do always find, N ' er admitting weakness of mind, When out into the world they come Their real troubles have just begun, A mistake was made they realize. Oh ! why alas, weren ' t they more wise ? Take advise fellers ; buckle down, No night life and hanging ' round town. Show all the world what you can do; Your diploma belongs to you. Anonymous F orlorn and forsaken, R eady to die, E ven the proudest S ubmits to a sigh. H eaven helps some, M an does the rest, A s for the Freshman, N ine-tenths do their best. Doris A. Claflin, ' 30