Westmont Hilltop Senior High School - Phoenician Yearbook (Johnstown, PA)

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A DOUBLE DECISION T was a cold night in January. During the day a heavy snow had fallen and the city pavements had not all been shoveled clean. But as young Dr. Webster came down the steps of 118 Commonwealth avenue, he was not aware of this. He was thinking deeply of a remark made by old Dr. Hamilton, which faintly suggested an offer that many a young doctor just out of college like Dr. Webster would have been glad to have received. Dr. Hamilton was a man of great re- noun. He was considered Boston’s best physician, and could not be excelled for skill and experience in the lines of surgery. Now he was getting up in years and since he had no sons or heirs to whom he could impart his invaluable knowledge, he decided to find a young doctor who was clean, trustworthy and ambitious, and one whom he could trust, and think of, as a son. Dr. Webster was now the third assistant he had; the other two having, as people thought, resigned because of the old doctor’s exaspirating methods. But they did not know the real cause, for Dr. Hamilton never told any one of his in- nermost intentions. That day the older doctor had told young Webster that he was going to appoint him as his private as- sistant, a thing that he had never before done for any young man. He then gave him a valuable formula for a cure of paralysis which he had worked out and proved himself, and which many surgeons would have been glad to have in their possession. Webster was told to part with it under no cir- cumstances. This was not the only thing that the young doctor was worrying about as he shuffled through the snow; for he had another big problem on his mind. There were yet seven thou- sand dollars to be paid for his college course, and in addition to that were the twenty thousand that friends had lent his father in stacks and which by the cruel trickery of another party his father had lost. It was now up to Dr. Webster to pay the debts. Young Webster strode along through the sifting snow, pondering over his worries. Suddenly a hand smote him and he fell backward, two hands grabbed his wrists, something slipped over his eyes, so that he could not see, and he was bodily picked up and jolted down an alley into a dimly-lighted room . The first thing that entered his mind was the two-inch square piece of paper, held inside his glove, containing the formula. The doctor’s last words, “Under no circumstances part with it.” kept ringing in his ears. That’s what the ruffians were after! What should he do with it,—what could he do with it? His necktie—his hat band—his secret pocket? No,

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 + Autographs

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they would search every stitch of him. Like a Hash, a thought burst upon him; he jerked loose his hand, tore off the glove and stuffed something into his mouth. “Hold there!” cried someone. One swallow, two swallows;—oh, if he only had some water to wash it down! Get it—he’s swallowing it,” yelled another voice. A cough, one big gulp and down it slowly but surely went. Then when Webster fully realized what was happening, he began to struggle violently; but the iron hold that grasped him immediately checked his floundering . “Young man, quit this and give us that formula,” de- manded one unknown voice. “I can’t,” replied Webster. “Here, we know you’ve swallowed it, but we also know you have it in your head, now don’t you?” “Yes.” “Well, just tell it to us and you’ll be free as soon as we’ve tried it out.” With this last statement he did not dare to give the wrong formula. “Are you going to tell us?” These thousand dollars are yours if you do. Webster shook his head. “Not enough, eh?” quivered one of the unknown. “Ten thousand then.” Still no answer. “Make it twenty, Bill, it’s worth it,” said the other in an undertone. “We’ll make it twenty,” repeated the other. Again the young doctor said nothing. “Listen young man, I offer you thirty thousand dollars cash; if you know what’s good for you, you’ll tell us and take the money. We can hold you here; no one would ever know the difference. We can fix up a nice story and skip, at which trade we are no means experts. Do you take it?” Before Webster’s mind floated the vision of thirty thou- sand dollars. It would pay off all his debts with an ample amount remaining. All the work and worry of the thing would be over. It was hard telling whether he would ever become any more than a private assistant to Dr. Hamilton anyway. Thirty thousand dollars—thirty thousand dollars, and all his own! Back and forth hia thoughts raced; what couldn’t he do with all that money? “You’ve had five minutes now. Have you decided?’’ “Yes.” “Do you take the offer?” “No.” The blindfold slipped off and a friendly hand was ex- tended toward him. “Shake hands, my boy, you’ve proved your lead. I’m satisfied,” said the voice of old Dr. Hamilton. FLORENCE STUTZMAN, ’25. MORE “MUCH ADO Miss Abigal Ashburton put down her crocheting. It was the laziest day;—even the bees that buzzed in Miss Abigal’s hollyhocks seemed lazy today. And the butterflies rested longer than usual on the giant larkspur bushes which screened the little porch. M iss Abigal could hear Amanda’s snore coming from be- tween the stiffly parted curtains at one edge of the porch. She was glad Amanda was asleep; she had looked forward to the afternoon when she could be alone. For Miss Abigal had something on her mind. ♦•••••♦» Miss Amanda Ashburton sweated and tossed and mussed the very tidy little bed on which she lay; but for once she did not care. Miss Amanda had a problem to solve. For ages, it seemed to her, she lay and listened to the even creak of the porch rocker where Abigal sat sewing, and thought and thought, and then tried not to think. The sisters had a strangely quiet meal that evening, but both were too engrossed in their own thoughts to notice the other. Amanda did not even wonder at her sister’s willingness to wash the dishes alone. Abigal worked slowly, her eyes fixed on the distant blue hills, behind which the evening sun was just setting. She saw not the crooked village street that stretched like an orange ribbon in front of her, smelled not the flowers of her garden and heard not the robin’s evening call. The deep dusk had fallen and one by one the New England stars began to peep. But all the silent beauty of the approaching night was lost to Abigal, for she had stood between the blue-bordered kitchen