USA > Indiana > Hancock County > Greenfield > Camaraderie : the annual of the Senior Class of Greenfield High School, 1916 > Part 4
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The bell rang and all the children clambered into their seats. Mary smiled continually at Billy and wholly ignored Bobby. However, nothing of consequence happened during the morn- ing or forepart of the afternoon, except Bobby and Billy ap-
peared to be at daggers' points, and if looks could kill I'm sure Billy would have died immediately.
At last all the lessons for the day were recited except spell- ing, it being the last period of the day. The pupils all looked forward to spelling, as it afforded them much pleasure to out- spell each other. They all stood in a row along the wall and every time one would reach the head of the row he would be rewarded with a silver paper star and the one receiving the most silver stars would be presented with a large golden star at the end of the year.
This day it was Mary Elizabeth's turn to be at the head of the row, with Billy next to her, and then Bobby being next to Billy. Billy looked as if he were in heaven because he was standing by Mary Elizabeth, and now and then he would glance at Bobby with a triumphant smile on his face. After the pu- pils had finally secured their proper places in the row the teacher began to pronounce the spelling lesson.
"Animal, Mary Elizabeth," pronounced the teacher.
"A-n (an)-i- (i) m-a-1 (mal) animal," quickly spelled Mary Elizabeth.
"Hurrah, Billy," pronounced the teacher.
"H-H-He-" stammered Billy.
"No, Billy, try again," said the teacher. "H-a; No," stuttered Billy, scratching his head.
"No, Bobby you may spell it," said the teacher.
"H-u-r-r-a-h (hurrah)," almost shouted Bobby.
"Correct," said the teacher. "Billy, let Bobby pass you."
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Bobby steps proudly past Billy and takes his place beside Mary Elizabeth.
Mary Elizabeth looked very angry, but just before class was over Bobby managed somehow to win back the good graces of Mary Elizabeth.
Just before class was over and Bobby had received a very encouraging smile from Mary Elizabeth he turned to Billy and gave him a very leering and triumphant smile, and poor little Billy jammed his hands down deep into his trouser-pockets and swallowed his chagrin all alone.
April 1, 1916.
H. M. T.
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66 WOMAN IS FICKLE"
This is a story of colors and of a light that failed.
Three pupils of the Greenfield High School were strolling up North State street one evening a few weeks ago-a boy and a girl. Loudly their voices rose at irregular intervals and a listener heard :
"Now, Paul, you see that I can't possibly go on that ride with you now. I have promised Robert, and maybe mother won't let me go at all."
"Huh, you would always rather go with Bob than me," came a voice, supposedly Paul's.
"Well. I suppose she's got a right to, you sore head. Any- body with any sense would," answered the other masculine voice (Robert's).
"O boys, if you get angry I'll never speak to you again," pleaded the girl. "But you're both big cowards, sissies! I want a boy who is romantic, who could protect me." She was evidently afraid that they would stop quarreling.
"Cowards? I'm no coward," said both boys at once.
"Well, if you're not just suppose you do something daring, something heroic. Say, I know what, Paul, you're a Senior ; Robert, you're a Junior, so the first fellow that puts his colors up I go with him on that hay ride."
They were approaching the girl's home, a house surrounded by a fence. The boys were silent for a moment, hanging upon the gate, apparently considering. "Well," said Paul, "I'm game." The other echoed his remark. And the heartless jade coolly bade them be heroes. Sullenly, and with never a word, the boys parted.
That night a figure slipped slowly, silently toward the school- house from the west, for from prehistoric times the school- house has been the place to hoist colors. Another slipped on the slippery sidewalk from the east, and this figure had a short ladder.
Let us follow these mysterious fgures-up the ladder from the east and through a window from the west, neither knowing of the other's presence. Creeping up the main stair went a figure all in black, slipping through the assembly room door, swallowed by the darkness. Then the other figure went up the creaking stair. Hold! They see each other, they, run, they flee down the stair in headlong hase! What is that in front of them? A light, figures moving about on the floor
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below. They are seized! Held !
"Well, you thought you could put one over on Johnny, did you? I was fixed for you this time. You'll get what's coming to you." The light showed the faces of the janitor and sev- eral members of the faculty.
* *
Three nights later two figures were seen standing under the street light a square or so from a certain young lady's home. It was the night of the ride. They heard some one approach- ing. Ah! fickle maiden, she has another victim. A well known voice (Paul's) : "Well, I'll be a goose if she aint got a Freshman !"
The other joined in: "Forever and ever shall I be a hater of women ; but look, listen !"
Then a voice as sweet as strained honey or Barnard's sor- ghum and familiar to their ears is heard :
"Clarence, dear, aren't you afraid you'll be cold ?"
They stopped, evidently to warm under the street light.
Then the light went out.
EPILOGUE. "Woman is fickle, False altogether, Floats like a feather Borne on the breeze."
Dale Spencer, '16.
66 HENPECKED9
"I'll never sign that deed till you listen to me !"
Elvira, the wife of Ezra Perkins, pushed aside the pen of- fered her, and in a weak, timid voice said firmly : "I got some- thing to say afore I sign that deed. I've been married to ye fifty-two years in January, ain't I?"
"What's that got to do with this deed?"
"Simply this. I've kept account of all the cash you've given me in that fifty-two years an' it amounts to just eleven dollars and forty-eight cents."
"Well, you've had your board an' bed and a good home all that time, ain't yu?"
"Well, it's been nearly two years since I've had a cent in cash to spend an' I don't sign no deed for that land you're selling till I have some assurance that I'll get something out uv it."
Ezra turned pale and his voice trembled as he said: "Gone an' lost your head, ain't you, Elvira?"
"No, I ain't. I'm just gettin' it. You're going to get twenty- four thousand dollars for that gr --- "
"I got to pay off a mortgage of two thousand on it."
"That leaves you twenty-two thousand."
"Now, see here, Elvira, you ain't goin' to make me --- "
"I'm agoin' to make you give me some of that cash. Yes, sir! I'll never sign that till I get some right here in my hand. I know that besides what you will get for your property you've got seven hundred in your pocket from them cattle, an' ye got nigh onto eleven thousand in the bank. That would make
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about thirty thousand. When I sign this deed I got to have a certain share of that, Ezra Perkins."
"How much do you want?"
"Well, Ezra, I want to get me a new gingham dress for that shirt social, an' it takes six yards at six cents a yard, so it would cost thirty-six cents, an' with thread and trimmin's it would make nearly fifty cents."
"Fifty cents! Can't you make it forty-five?"
"No, sir. It has to be fifty."
"I ain't got but forty-eight cents in change. Won't that do?" "No, I say. Give me a bill and I can get it changed."
Ezra paid it all right and restored his wallet to its accus- tomed place with a trembling hand, sighed deeply and wiped a tear from his eye.
John Oxer, '16.
-O-
66 SENTIMENTS OF A STUDENT"
I don't see why she makes Us write these poems and the lot, For don't she know it really takes More brains than we have got.
She thinks I am a star, By the way I recite ; But her thoughts I'll have to mar, For I'm in an awful plight.
For I'm asked to write a poem, And I really hate to do it,
For anything that I should write She'll be sure to misconstrue it.
But at last I've changed my mind, And I'm sure that I'll succeed, For I'll write a poem of the kind That she'll be sure to read.
And when she reads this poem Her mind she'll concentrate, To try to understand it, And its words to regulate.
Its nouns and verbs and other words, She'll try to conjugate And tear up all the phrases, Which are so immaculate.
And when she's through, I know she'll say No more poems will bother you, If I have my own way.
-Harry Elliott, '17.
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THE BASKET OF LUNCH"
One fine spring day, as John Milton was fixing the fence next to the road he heard the clump, clump, clump of horses hoofs. On looking up he saw a plump little lady seated in a rickety old buggy and driving a fat, old horse. He presumed she was the widow Perkins, who had lately moved on the old White place.
About 3 o'clock that afternoon the same outfit-lady and all-returned. John concluded she had taken her produce, con- sisting of butter, eggs, chickens, etc., to town, and he won- dered how often this would occur.
You see, John Milton was a bachelor of some renown, being about forty-five, tall, well-built, good-looking and owning a nice little farm. But it was whispered around in the "Shallow Creek" neighborhood that the poor man was actually afraid of the ladies.
For four successive days the unknown Mrs. Perkins passed John twice a day, and on the fifth day something very strange happened. You see, it was like this :
Just as she passed him, a large, brown basket fell out of the buggy. He picked it up, as she drove unconcernedly on. Opening the basket, his poor, hungry bachelor eyes beheld a lunch fit for a king. Fried chicken, hot rolls, preserves, and everything else. He thought of his own cold "bought" dinner, and the temptation was so strong that he yielded.
That afternoon she found him diligently driving a fence- post into the ground.
"Good evening." she said frankly.
"Evening," briefly.
"I lost my basket of lunch along here som'rs," she resumed, "and I just wondered if you found it?"
"No, I never." John lied.
"That's all, then. If you hear tell of anyone findin' it, tell 'em to please return it to me. I am Mrs. Perkins, and I live on the old White place."
"I will," John promised.
"G' evening."
"Evening." John gave the post an extra hard hit.
He thought of her that night as he smoked his pipe, and wondered what she thought of him. The next morning she stopped her horse again.
"Morning," she smiled.
"Morning," he grinned.
"Do you know of any man that could come over to my house and help me move the organ this evening?"
"Well, maybe I could." He said it eagerly, then, not wish- ing to appear too anxious, said doubtfully: "That is, if you could put it off till some other evenin'."
"Nope," she answered. "It has to be done this very eve- ning ; but you don't need to mind. I guess I can get some man at town. I allus done it myself before, but seems like I ain't what I used to be. You see, I wasn't aimin' to pay him any- thing, anyway, just a good hot supper."
Again he thought of his own cold supper, and before she
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could start her horse, said : "I'll come, and gladly. I guess I can arrange my work. About five?"
"Yes. Mornin'."
"Mornin'."
His fence was done before 3 o'clock, so he went into the house to clean up a little. About half-past four he hitched up and started. He had gone about a quarter of a mile when he overtook Amanda Green. She asked him to give her a lift, which he very obligingly did. Amanda had never married, al- though she was about the age of John.
"Remember when we were little, John?"
"Yes," he returned.
"You were always so good and kind to me."
"Wuz I?"
"Oh, yes, John! Don't you remember when I was such a little girl, you would always help me over the mud puddles in the schoolhouse yard?"
"Yes." But John's thoughts were far away.
"And here you are all alone, ain't you, John?"
"Yes," came the same preoccupied answer.
"You need a woman, don't you, John ?" "Yes."
"Some settled woman, too, John. You don't need a girl, young and frisky. You need a woman, don't you, John?" "Yes."
"I am glad you see it. And now, considering that we have always known each other, let me help you find her, won't you, John?“
"Yes."
"Let me see." She seemed to be in deep thought, and she slipped her hand tenderly through his arm. But it was here John came out of his trance, and, realizing the situation, said :
"I've got her already picked out, Mandy."
Mandy smiled. "Oh, you have? How nice, John. But who could it be?" She laid her other hand on his arm.
"Well, it's Mrs. Perkins, and the time's all set, and every- thing's fixed."
"How nice," Manda said, briskly, withdrawing her hands. "Here is all the farther I am going."
After John had let her out, and was driving on, he said to himself, "Good thing I quit dreaming. One more "yes" would have finished me."
He had been at Mrs. Perkins's about an hour. The organ was in place and they were seated at the table. John thought she looked so pretty in the little blue dress. He liked the part where her hair was turning gray.
Suddenly the door opened and Mr. and Mrs. Wiggins burst into the room, a smile on both their jolly faces.
"Congratulations," and they shook hands.
'What for?" asked Mrs. Perkins.
"Now, don't be so surprised. Your secret is out. John told Amanda Green, as he came over here. So you see we know all about it, and we got it straight," said Mrs. Wiggins.
"All about what?" again asked Mrs. Perkins.
"The wedding."
"What wedding ?"
Why, yours and John's, of course. When is it going to be?" Several times John had attempted to speak, but it seemed he
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had lost his power of speech. His mouth was dry, and there was a drumming sound in his ears. But to his' surprise Mrs. Perkins crossed the room to him, and plaching her hand on his arm, said :-
"Next month." Then, smiling up into his face, "You wanted it as soon as possible didn't you, John, dear?"
But John was too bewildered to do other than nod. Still, he was conscious of feeling very happy.
And-who can deny that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach ?
Jessie Brooks, '17.
-O-
A PAGE FROM NANCY LEE'S DIARY'
Monday Morning. Another new week and a clean page. Well, goodness, I do hope something exciting will happen. I've looked over the pages of the last weeks and they run something like this: "Got up, went to bed." "Mother's going away to- morrow." "Grandmother Lee is seriously ill." What a lone- some Thanksgiving day it will be! I've got to keep house. Fried eggs and olives will be the menu, you can bet on that.
Tuesday Evening. I'm beginning to feel the responsibility. Mother left early this morning and took baby Jane with her. Father and Jim came home this noon hungry as bears. I had forgotten all about being housekeeper and came strolling in from school expecting dinner to be ready as usual. Dad got all out of patience and rushed off to the restaurant, leaving
Jim and me to lunch on anything we could find. I. Nance Lee, hereby resolve to reform.
Wednesday Afternoon. Well, dinner is over and I've cut school to clear away the remains. I'm too tired to write more.
Thursday Evening. My! but this has been a happy Thanks- giving day. We were all invited out to Aunt Mary's for din- ner. Had the first square meal since mother went away. I was certainly glad I didn't have to wash those dishes. I pos- itively ache when see a dirty dish. In the afternoon the sun came out and we finished the day by playing tennis. I got beat, but I don't care.
Friday Evening, Io P. M. I'm sitting up in bed writing this with a leaky fountain-pen. I got up real early this morning and was going to have a regular feast for Dad-just to show him I could cook, you know. Every time I got started doing something the doorbell would ring. First the newsboy, then book agents, neighbors, peddlers, and even tramps. About 9 o'clock the bell gave another ring and "sunny-tempered" Nancy ran to answer it. You can imagine how I felt when I saw my visitor. My heart sank, for there stood my father's great-aunt, Hannah. Of all the fault-finding, prim, prissy. . just plain cross old maids, she's the worst. She began at once : "Nancy Lee, what do I smell? "I hope," but by that time I was in the kitchen. Here I found my beautiful pies, the pride of my heart, burned to a crisp. Horrible things kept happening all day, and Aunt Hannah kept up her complaining, but the dinner capped the climax. I spilled the pepper in the soup and it burned all the way down. The meat was nearly raw and the
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salad was tasteless. I thought at least the dessert would be good, but I knew the verdict when I watched the expression on Aunt Hannah's face as she ate. You scatter-brained Nancy ! 1 had put salt instead of sugar on those peaches. Father smoothed things over, but I thought I would die of mortifica- tion. Mother's coming home tomorrow. Welcome to our city. Matilda Hafner, '16.
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60 JOHANNA'S TEST"
Johanna Farwell sat alone in the English room of the Pem- berton High School doing some very hard thinking. Her spirit of class loyalty was at war with sense of justice and honor.
The clash between the Junior and Senior classes had occurred the day before against the express commands of the principal and now those participating faced expulsion unless they would disclose the names of the ringleaders.
"Well," she thought, "I don't see why that hateful faculty can't attend to their own business. How did we know that dove would refuse to move from its roosting on the rafter? But, of course, as in everything. I was one of those that got caught, and now if 1 don't tell on the others it will mean that 1 won't be able to graduate. Of course there were others that were caught ; but shoot ! what's the use of goin' on this way? Shall I tell, or shan't I? Someone told on me and why shouldn't
I tell on the others? Then we would all be in the same boat. That surely was not a dove of peace !"
For more than an hour she plied herself with these ques- tions, and the battle raged fiercely until when the shadows be- gan to lengthen she arose, put on her hat, and quietly left the room, her lips set firmly, her decision made.
With her resolve still firm she went to the home of the prin- cipal, rather dreading to announce her decision in spite of her- self. The principal himself opened the door and Johanna hes- itated before she spoke. Should she break her resolution now ? Either way it would probably mean expulsion, for either the dleed or not telling the names. She mastered the temptation, then calmly said: "I am sorry, Mr. Moore, but I think it best to remain silent concerning the persons who took part in the class scrap yesterday. You already know where the dove was bought and have found several of those who took part in the scrap. With that, I think, you should be satisfied."
"Oh, you do! And so you have decided not to tell? Well, do you-a-hm, do you think this quite honorable?"
"Yes, sir. Be first loyal to your country, then to your school.'
"Don't you think the faculty a part of the school?"
"Yes, certainly, but not the main part, and under most con- . ditions I agree they should be considered first, but in this, since there was no harm done, I think it is class first, then the faculty."
"But you are aware of the fact, I think, Miss Farwell. that this will mean expulsion for the rest of the year, which in
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your case means sacrifice of graduation."
"Yes, sir, I considered that when I made my decision." "And yet you think this right and honorable?"
"I don't know about the honorable part. It probably isn't according to the accepted rule for honor. No one is perfect and this is one of my imperfections."
"Then, Miss Farwell, I am afraid you must suffer the con- sequences. Do you wish a statement of your credits ?"
"If you please, sir."
He disappeared into the house and soon returned with a small piece of white paper. Johanna calmly folded it and placed it in her glove, and then a strange thing happened. The principal held out his hand and said: "Shake hands, Miss Farwell, you are the only one of the crowd who had grit enough to stand firm in the face of consequences. I must congratulate you on your grit."
Johanna shook his hand and went down the steps with a heavy heart. It seemed as if that wisp of paper weighted her glove. As she neared the corner light she removed it from her glove, and unthoughtedly she opened it. She almost screamed with astonishment as she read :
"This is to certify that Miss Johanna Farwell has passed satisfactorily in the test prescribed by the School Board. "BENJAMIN MOORE, Principal."
"This surely must be a mistake," she thought, as she went back to the home of the principal.
"Are you sure you gave me the right paper, Mr. Moore?" she asked, when he responded to her ring.
"Absolutely sure, Miss Farwell. You see it was this way. The Board held a meeting last night. when it was decided to ask each one of the guilty parties the same question and give them the same test. You are the only one who came in person, all the others called me over the phone or wrote notes, and you are the only one who passed. The whole thing was a farce."
Alma Fort, '19.
66 LOST"
She had been affected by the peculiar malady every night, with the exception of three, for seven weeks. Then there were two weeks that we did not see her.
Although she was always very slender she was even more so when we saw her again. Always quiet, she now seldom spoke and sat gazing pensively into the distance.
One day while passing into the hall she was seen to stagger and to grasp the railing for support. They helped her into an adjoining room and sent for a doctor.
As he entered the room she lay perfectly motionless. After a hasty observation he examined her heart and cast a doubtful look at her companions. He then drew a pound of chocolate caramels from his pocket with instructions-to be taken as fast as they can be chewed.
Picking up his hat and grip, he walked to the door, where he turned, and, biting off a chew of Granger Twist, said sadly: "Harneyitis !"
Helen Morgan, '16.
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66 X+Y=XY"
Willie was just a little brown eyed, fair faced Freshman. He wore a dark blue suit with knee trousers and the very shiniest patent leather shoes to be found in the store. His col- lars and shirts, as well as his hands and face, were always im- maculate. Because of his previous good record he was given a back seat in the big Greenfield High School assembly room.
This description of Willie was given by someone to some- one else. Immediately someone's eyes were turned towards the back seat. Brown eyes met gray eyes for just a second, then the gray ones fell, and a dainty little nose went up in the air with a sniff. "He is no better looking than anyone else," was the brief comment.
For many days Willie's study periods were seriously dis- turbed. Just four seats in front of him, one row to the left sat a dainty little girl who was always studiously working algebra ; but no matter how hard he worked on algebra he knew only ore equation-gray eyes + light hair = happiness.
On the 13th of November Willie was almost desperate. As he marched to algebra class his heart was very heavy, because he did have his algebra but he did not have something else which he wanted very much.
"Willian, you may explain the thirteenth problem," came the stern voice of Mr. Todd.
"I don't believe I can," absently replied Willie.
"What?" came the sharp retort, and the end of the pointer was whisked within two inches of a pair of sad brown eyes,
which were gazing at a head bending over the arm of Bob Mullin's chair. Willie jumped, then blushed like a girl.
"Thought I'd hit ye, didn't ye? Well, ye better wake up. I said explain the thirteenth problem." And Mr. Todd thrust the pointer into Willie's hand, then marched to the back of the room laughing and making faces at the rest of the class. Poor Willie walked to the board, looked at the long equation, and sighed. Just then he caught a glimpse of a pair of laughing gray eyes and his face became very white. She was laughing at him. In an instant the pointer was placed on the board and that thirteenth problem was explained without an error. As he walked to his seat Willie held his head very high and never once looked at a pair of gray eyes, which were mutely asking for pardon.
"Pretty good, William, better stay awake after this," was Mr. Todd's wise advice.
For three long forty-minute study periods this advice was conscientiously followed. Then came the downfall of the hero. It was the last period of the day and Mr. Todd had charge of the assembly. Willie was reading a library book and all thoughts of gray eyes had long ago left his mind. Suddenly there came a hiss and a small piece of white paper fell beside his desk. He looked up and encountered the eyes of Mr. Todd. What was he to do? Had he seen? These were the thoughts that flashed through his mind. All at once he realized that Mr. Todd was coming towards him and there was a look on his face which boded no good for that little piece of paper. In an instant Willie tore a piece of notepaper in two and dropped
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it on the floor ; a shiny black shoe went down on the note and it was slid under the desk out of sight. In another instant Mr. Todd stood beside the desk and was looking at a suspicious piece of white paper.
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