Harvey shuddered, but said nothing. Last Sunday his parents again threatened to sacrifice his pet.
Early Monday morning, when Harvey’s father entered the boy’s room, he found his son gone. In the mud beneath the bedroom window he saw footprints. He made a search about the house.
Then he noticed that Sarah Jane also was gone, likewise a coop that Harvey had made from an old fruit crate. The boy’s nightcap, presented to him by his grandmother, also was missing. Harvey has not been heard from since.
“I believe the boy actually thought I was going to kill his beloved pet,” said his broken-hearted father, James New, yesterday. “He probably will try to make his way to the home of his grandparents in Michigan. He loved his grandmother more than anybody else in the world, with the possible exception of Sarah Jane.”
When Harvey left he wore a gray suit, a brown overcoat and a blue cap. He stammers slightly when excited.
Harvey’s father has promised that Sarah Jane never will be made into stew.
Frank H. Thompson of 981 West Fifty-second Street, who runs an elevator on ordinary days, took a day off yesterday and celebrated so heartily that, when he tried to buy a ticket to the Crescent Theatre, a moving picture and vaudeville house at 1,175 Boston Road, the Bronx, at 6:30 o’clock last evening, they refused to admit him. Thompson then strolled down an alley leading to the stage entrance, and finding no one at the door, stepped inside, leaned heavily against the wall, and went to sleep.
Inside the theatre, where 600 persons were gathered to watch the election returns, which were flashed on the screen between acts, there was great excitement, for all the lights went out, even those of the electric sign outside the place. Thompson had leaned against the master switch.
They found him there, turned the lights up again and turned him over to Policeman Fitzgerald, who locked him up in the Morrisania Station.
Business has been bad with Isaac Einstein, who keeps a “gents’” clothing and furnishing emporium, No. 918 Paris avenue, the Bronx.
To encourage trade he marked down his goods until it was a shame to take them at the prices he asked. The gilded youth of the Bronx could buy of Einstein a suit of evening clothes “like King Edward wears, $2.98: reduced from $29.80.” Still, nobody would buy the suit.