Wethersfield High School - Elm Yearbook (Wethersfield, CT)

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There he contrived to introduce himself to Lucy Fenwick, daughter of a flour king, rated at four million. P. Galahad made sure of that. Lucy was short and fatg but it was the figure in her bank book that won P. Galahad. He worked fast. One word led to another. She invited him to visit her at her parents' apartment on Riverside Drive. Then he returned to town and the store. He was sorry he could not linger, but he explained that Wall Street needed him. Fall came. P. Galahad Hotchkiss in a snappy suit, set forth to conquer. He took Miss Fenwick to the theater. He dropped hints about deals in oil and- sugar, about directors' meetingsg he expressed regret that his town car and roadster were both out of commission. V Toward midnightihe and Miss Fenwick returned to the lofty apart- ment house where dwelt her parents. 'Tm sure we met beforef' she was saying, there,s something so familiar about your facef' Perhaps we met at some party at the Ritz or Sherry's. Or maybe it was at Newport or Monte Carlo. Or perhaps you saw me playing polo. , I wonder where it was, she repeated, puzzled. They had stepped into the private elevator and she pressed the button. Softly the car stole up. It stopped. On the door P. Galahad Hotchkiss saw painted the figure 7 . Swiftly, mechanically, he called out: Seventh floor! Ladies' and misses' cloaks, evening gowns, toilet goods and Corsets. Going up! Step to the rear of the car, please! And then she knew. -Marion Rolcrson, '29. SUNSHINE Brighter days are coming. How sweet it is to know, That o'er the nights dark shadows The moon is sure to glow. How sweet to think that when our day, On earth's turbulent seas has set, Afar upon the distant hills The sun is shining yet. -Harold A. Iope, '27.

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THE IMPERSONATOR P. Galahad Hotchkiss stopped his car. He stopped it expertly with one manicured hand on the brake. He stopped it with an devil-may- care coolness. His features wore an aloof, superior smileg his manner, as he surveyed his car, was slightly bored, and had a touch of haughtiness about itg it was P. Galahad Hotchkiss's imitation of a French duke as played by a motion picture actor. In his mind's eye his car was a costly imported limousine-a roaring, throbbing, beautiful car with racy lines. But really it was an elevator in a big Seventh Avenue department store. Every day now for five years P. Galahad Hotchkiss had piloted the elevator up and down, down and up. He was a youngish, stoutish, blondish man. His hair was sleek. He wore a flower in the stiff lapel of his coat. In the tone of a lord, he addressed the people crisply. Going up! Step to the rear of the car. Don't crowd, madam. There are other cars. Going up! Again he brought his car to a stop. In swift, mechanical accents he announced: Second floor! Men's and boys, clothing, mops, lampshades, toys and bathing suits. Anybody want second? Going up! Up he went. He stood very erect and stern. In his mind's eye he was a colonel in a red and gold uniformg actually, his uniform was grey and bore on its sleeve the monogram B. 86 T. He stopped the car abruptly. Third floor! he chanted. The elevator slid skyward. Mentally P. Galahad Hotchkiss was cruising up Fifth Avenue in his roadster, an heiress by his sideg he was wearing white Spats and smelled of Belgian perfume, this was his con- stant day-dream. The figure 7 painted on the floor brought him out of his day-dream to real life and caused him, by habit to stop his car and automatically call out: Seventh floor! Ladies' and misses' suits and evening gowns, cor- sets and rugs. Going up! Step to the rear of the car, pleasef, P. Galahad Hotchkiss was worldly. He coveted things, limousines, silk pajamas, a duplex apartment on Park Avenue, and no work. It struck him that the easiest way to attain this bliss was to marry an heiress who would support him in the style to which he was unaccus- tomed. He felt sure that he was the mental equal of any heiress. But how could he meet an heiress? That was the problem. No doubt he had carried many-dollar princesses in his carg but an elevator is a poor place in which to start a romance. P. Galahad Hotchkiss went about it scientifically. He saved his money, he purchased a dinner jacket and a pair of white flannels. He invested his savings in a Week-end at a fashionable summer hotel.

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THE GHOST OF THE HAUNTED HOUSE The Shotwell family, consisting of Mr. and Mrs. Shotwellg Philip, fifteen, Carol, twelve, and Polly, ten, had decided to spend their vacation at a small summer resort, called Bayside, on the Maine coast. Of course, Pep, their dog, had to go, too, for the children would not consent to leaving him at home. One morning after the family had been at Bayside a few days, Philip went on an exploring trip. He managed somehow to escape the girls, not because he did not consider them good sports, but because he wished to discover something without their aid. The day before he had noticed a road, partly hidden by the shrubbery, which turned from the main road about half a mile from their cottagef He was curious to know where it led. , ' He followed the road up-hill for a short distance until he came to a bend. There on the left, around the bend stood a large square weather- beaten house. He knew from its unkept appearance that no one lived there. Because of its position on the hill it appeared to have three floors on the front and only two on the rear. He tried all the doors and windows on the first floor, but they were locked. Philip went back to the main road to see if he could find someone to ask about the house. He walked along the road until he came to a house. A Woman was sitting on the verandah. Philip approached her and told her who he was. Then he asked, Wl1o owns the house on the hill? It is owned by Mr. David Gray, who lives in Massachusetts nowf, answered the woman. His great-great-grandfather started it before the Revolutionary War and it has never been finished. It is haunted. I-Iaunted! exclaimed Philip. Please tell me about it. You come sit on the steps and I'll tell you the story, said the woman. As I said, Mr. Gray's great-great-grandfather, Samuel Gray, started to build this house and had almost completed it when the Revolutionary XVar broke out. The British wished the house for their headquarters because of its size and its position near the harbor. Because Samuel Gray was a rebel, the red-coats drove him from the house. Before the British came, however, he hid all the family valuables and then escaped. After the British left the Gray family returned. However, Samuel Gray, who had been seriously wounded, lived but a short time. He was the only person who knew where the valuables were hidden and when his family realized that he could not live they questioned him about the money. He tried to tell them where it was, but all they could make out was: Under stone. What stone he meant no one knows, for there were many stones near the house. Anyway, the treasure has never been found. Q, .