Woonsocket High School - Quiver Yearbook (Woonsocket, RI)

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THE QUIVER 11 quote Will’s story: “Not that I am afraid of canines, but the very light material of which my travelling suit was made would not allow me to think of entering into a tug-a-war contest with a dog, especially if the dog and I were facing in the same direction, the former in the rear, and the connecting point at close range.” He found one such house and cut a load of wood for two eggs, buttered bread, coffee, and fifty cents. That night he took his precious fifty cents and went to a lodging house. He was given room there. The next morning, being somewhat lired, he was about to take a second nap, when he heard, “Clear out, loom three.” He immediately went down stairs, paid for the room, and went out with ten cents in his pocket. He called at the office of a doctor whom he knew. The door was opened by the physician’s assistant, who was also an acquaintance of Will’s. He closed one eye, pretended he was dumb, and held out the pencils. The nurse looked sad, but that was all. He tramped to Bridgeport ana arrived tnere at 2 in the afternoon. There were two houses there that he visited. At one, he was told to earn his dinner; at the other, he received a good meal and half a dollar. With this last money he procured a room at the V. M. C. A. Half the hotel proprietors could learn from the methods adopted by that institution in its homelikeness, in its conveniences, and in its giving a chance to young men. The next morning, which was Wednesday, he went to a photographer and asked him if he would take his picture and send the proofs and bill to W. A. Glecson in Torrington. Will must have fallen into his natural pose, for the photographer informed him that he was no tramp. They talked together for some time. After this interview, he felt much better, but not for long, as the next house he visited, he met a “preacher.” The woman said she did not know how a young man could forsake all God’s callings and be out at the mercy of the people. After she had relieved her mind by giving him this lecture, she gave him a substantial lunch. Well was it for him that it was such, for his next hike was nineteen miles to New Haven. Had he been a machinist, he would have earned a good deal by repairing broken down automobiles. On this trip he suffered from many rips and considerable perspiration from dog attacks. He received no lifts, but covered the entire distance on foot. It is twenty-four miles from New Haven to Waterbury. During this short journey, he picked pond lilies and sold them for seventy-five cents. Friday morning at seven o’clock he fairly “landed” in the town

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10 THE QUIVER A UNIQUE EXPERIENCE Have you ever stopped to think who the person may be who comes to your door as a tramp or “hobo”? Seldom do any of us think what there is in the man or who his people may be. A few years ago, the “World” magazine had the following introductory paragraph to one of its articles: “W. A. Gleeson, young business man of Torrington, Conn., and County Director of the Connecticut Total Abstinence League, had a week of remarkable experience in playing ‘hobo.’ ” The man referred to is my uncle, an undertaker and town clerk of the town of Torrington. He had always been a dignified fellow. The hardest thing he had ever done in his life was to ;rect a funeral and, like many more, try to please those ever faultfinding few who can’t be pleased. Being tired of the quiet life he was leading and anxious to test his friends, he decided to tramp from New York home, after attending an Undertakers’ Convention in Wilkesbarre. At the Grand Union Hotel, one Monday morning at eleven o’clock, he bought twelve pencils and six pairs of shoe laces and sent home his clothes and every cent of his money. He took the elevated to the Bronx after selling a pencil in order to pay his fare. After disposing of a pair of shoe laces and obtaining ten cents for them, he boarded a car going toward South Norwalk. He told the conductor he was anxious to reach that place, as a man had 1 een arrested for a crime of which he was guilty. He stepped on his own shoe laces in order to untie them, and when it was time to pay another fare, he was busy lacing his shoes. At the end of the ride, he walked five miles. Up to this time he had not had anything to eat. He continued to walk, looking for a house which had for its mistress a woman who had a pleasant dis-f 'sition and could master her house without the aid of a dog. To

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12 THE QUIVER of Waterville. He was greatly fatigued, but hearing the mosquitoes singing, “Darling, I’m Waiting for Thee,” he decided not to stop and answered their song with “Fare Thee Well, for I Must Leave Thee.” At eight o’clock that night, he was at the door of his own house, with long beard, dirty, torn clothes, and just two cents in his pockets. While he had been gone, he had sent a card to his mother every day. but he had not told her the way he looked. When she and his two sisters opened the door, they were heart-broken at his appearance. During the five days he was out, one kind word was spoken to him, but he had received innumerable insults. He came to the conclusion that in order to get charity from those who are preachers of it, one must wear a high hat instead of a “hobo” rig. He met several “hobo” bands, but it was not his intention to join them. One week was sufficient for him, but the experience he gained was worth considerable. He wrote his story for several magazines and newspapers and for some time every tramp who was about to be refused something to eat would say, “Well, I’m doing the same thing ‘Bill’ Gleeson did.” and he would receive a good meal. Every time I see a tramp, I wonder whether or not he is simply tasting the life of some of his less fortunate brothers. EILEEN GLEESON, ’23. MY WISH I want to go out to the woodlands green, Out where the feathery grasses lean: I want to go out to the woodlands green. I I want to go back to a country town; I want to dress in a gingham gown; I want to go back to a country town. I I want to go down to the open sea; There’s longing down in the heart of me ; I wan to go down to the open sea. IDA M. LOVELAND, ’24.