YUBA COUNTY  Nuggets

Yuba Delta

June, 1914

Peace, peace ! he is not dead, he doth not sleep –

He hath awakened from the dreams of life.

He hath outsoared the shadows of night;

Envy and calumny and hate and pain,

And that unrest which men miscall delight,

Can touch him not and torture not again.

He lives, he wakes – ‘tis Death is dead, not he.

--Shelley.

RESOLUTIONS

            Whereas, It hath pleased Almighty God to remove from our midst a beloved pupil and fellow-student, Floyd Jopson; and,

            Whereas, We the teachers and students of the Marysville High School, feel deeply and deplore greatly the loss we have sustained; and,

            Whereas, We wish to express publicly our appreciation of what his life has meant to our school and to each of us individually; therefore, be it

            Resolved, That with the passing of this beautiful young life we have suffered the loss of one who represented those ideals for which our High School stands: purity in thought, and word, and deed; and ambition to learn that which is useful and good and true in this world; an unselfish devotion to the best interests of the school; faithfulness in performing each day’s duty; a spirit of helpfulness and cheerful cooperation with teacher and fellow-student; that we shall mourn a genial presence, a willing helpmate, a kind and sympathetic friend; that his life among us shall not have been lived in vain, but its memory shall inspire us to better and higher things; and, be it further

            Resolved, That to the family, who have been so suddenly and sorely bereaved, we extend our sincerest sympathy; that we share their sorrow and mingle our tears with theirs; and, be it further

            Resolved, That a copy of these resolutions be sent the family of him we mourn, to the local papers for publication, that they be engrossed in the minutes of the Student Body of the Marysville High School and that they be printed in the 1914 edition of “The Yuba Delta.”

Signed:

Dorothy Schillig

Edna Hewitt

Tom Mulvany

E. G. Nash

Ruby Powell

                                  Committee.

A KIND HEART

            “Oh, Mama,” exclaimed Jeanne Cavenrish as she rushed into her little home, “Rose Cottage,” in the northern part of a small town.  “There is the dearest little blue dress just in at Riley’s.  You know that I look well in blue, and there is the New Year’s party Friday night.  All the girls are going to have new dresses,” she went on breathlessly.

            “How much is the dress, dearie?” quietly asked her mother, as she carefully folded up some ironing she had finished.

            “It is twenty dollars,” said Jeanne, heaving a heavy sigh.  “I wonder if father would let me have it.”

            “Well, honey, I wouldn’t tease father too much for it,” said her mother, sadly.

            Just then Jeanne’s father entered the little rose-covered cottage.  “What is all the excitement about, Jeanne?” asked her father.  “You are so flushed and out of breath.”  Then Jeanne told her father about the blue dress and the party to which she wanted to wear it.

            “Has Jim asked you to go yet?” asked her father, slyly.  Jeanne blushed and said, “I just received a note from him asking me to go.”

            “Well, then, no wonder you want a new dress,” said her father, gaily.  “I will see about it, Pet,” he exclaimed.  “I think I can spare the money, as Gardner just paid me for those oats this evening.”  He produced his wallet and began to count his money.  He decided he had plenty to spare, and gave her his extra twenty.

            “You will be the prettiest girl at the party, and I won’t be the only one that thinks so, either,” said her father, playfully.

            “Oh, Father, you will make me vain if you don’t keep still,” Jeanne said, blushing and bobbing her curly head.

            She went to bed that night with the twenty dollars tightly clasped in her hand.  The next morning she was up bright and early.  She was down at the store just as the proprietor was opening up.

            Standing at the door was a poor little ragged and shivering girl.  Jeanne was so excited that she didn’t notice her and barely missed running into her.

            She asked the clerk to see the blue dress that was in the window.  Jeanne gave a gasp of delight as she fingered its shimmering folds.  “How much is it?” asked Jeanne, timidly.

            “Twenty dollars, Miss, and a bargain at that,” said the clerk.

            Just then a small, weak voice piped up, “Please, Mister, will you help me?  My mother is sick, and they are going to put her out because the rent is due.”

            “Here, Miles, put this beggar out,” said the clerk to the floor-walker.  So the little girl was dragged out, crying as if her heart would break.

            Jeanne looked inquiringly at the clerk.  “What have to do it, Miss; there are sometimes five or six here daily,” said the clerk, as if in answer to her look.  Jeanne tried to become interested in the dress, but could not.  She could not forget the look of agony in the child’s face.

            “Did you say you wanted the dress?” asked the clerk, politely.  Jeanne’s kind heart got the better of her.  “I don’t believe I care for anything today,” she said, and nearly ran from the store.

            She saw the small, childish figure down the street.  She ran down to the little girl and gave her the whole twenty dollars.  Then Jeanne went home with the little girl to her poor lodgings and made the mother and child comfortable and happy for her benevolence.

            Jeanne went home with a light heart, although she couldn’t go to the party.  She told her parents what she had done.  They approved of it, although it hurt them to have her stay home from the party.  However, they couldn’t afford another twenty dollars.

            The next evening was the night of the party.  Jeanne’s old dress was an impossibility, so she sat at the window watching the merry-makers driving by.

            Was that someone stopping at the gate?  Yes, it was Jim Barton.  He bounded up the steps as Jeanne came out of the door.  “What, not ready yet, Jeanne, and it’s nearly time?” he exclaimed.

            “Didn’t you get my note telling you I was not going?” said Jeanne quietly.

            “Oh, don’t fool, Jeanne; hurry up and get dressed,” said Jim impatiently.

            “I tell you I am not going,” said Jeanne, stamping her foot.

            “O, well, I know someone who will,” said Jim, angrily, and he hurried off to the party.

            Poor Jeanne didn’t want to tell Jim why she had to stay home, hence the misunderstanding.

            Jeanne very wretchedly curled up in the big arm chair in the kitchen to watch the old year old and the new one in.  Her father and mother were both busy in the next room.  Jeanne thought of the party and of the girl Jim must have taken.  She just knew it was Sadie Gilpatrick.  Finally she went to sleep.

            She did not know how long she had been asleep when she was awakened by someone pulling her out of the depths of the big chair.  It was Jim Barton.

            “It was no use your trying to keep me from knowing why you wouldn’t go to the party with me, Jeanne,” he said.  “I heard it at the party and came right back.”

            “Where is that other girl?” asked Jeanne, sharply.  “That other girl is right here in this little old kitchen,” he exclaimed softly.

            The next morning Jeanne received a package containing a blue gown.  The donor of the gift was unknown, but we can guess who it was.  It was not long after that that Jeanne wore the blue gown to her wedding.                                                    G. C., ’15.

EVERETT TRUE SURVIVES A BARGAIN SALE

            My old friend Everett True, although a good judge of human nature and wise in many things, is not much of a shopper.  So when I received a letter from him one evening stating that he would be in town the following day to do a little shopping, I knew that I was destined to play guardian angel.

            Everett arrived, and when I went downstairs to greet him I found him conversing secretly with three men who looked very mysterious.  They wore heavy black mustaches, had overhanging eyebrows, their hats were pulled well over their eyes, and they stood slightly stooped and bent forward with their hands clasped behind their backs, each with one foot pushed slightly forward.

            Upon my inquiring of Everett who his friends were, he looked carefully all around and whispered in my ear, “Sh-h-h!  Not so loud! They are Burns detectives and are to act as my bodyguard.  I’m taking no chances; I expect to bring home a dozen eggs.”

            Since Everett has no faith in street cares or any other forms of modern transportation, we proceeded to the department store I had recommended in his old coach hauled by older horses which were driven by an older driver.

            After we had walked up six flights of stairs (Everett had no faith in elevators) to the third story, closely followed by Everett’s bodyguards so that my Old Friend could get a pair of suspenders of the design he craved, we descended to the second floor.

            While we were quietly walking around looking for some article Everett wished to purchase, we heard a loud noise closely resembling a revival meeting or a battle.  Everett, who possesses a sense of curiosity, started to investigate, and I followed, and was followed by the valiant bodyguard.

            Presently we saw a mass of wriggling, wiggling, pushing, scratching, clawing, yelling feminine humanity.  Everett being of the peaceful nature, somewhat like Mr. Carnegie or our garrulous Secretary of State, and thinking this a free for all fight (it was only a bargain in cheesecloth), started forward to try to pacify the howling multitude.

            Having had experience, I stood well back behind a counter stacked high with goods and watched, for the noise was so great Everett could not have heard me if I had cried out.  Evidently our courageous bloodhounds of the law, the coming Sherlock Holmeses, had also had experience, for on my looking back I could see them retreating as fast as their dignity would allow them.

            Everett had not proceeded very far with the olive branch, when he was lifted bodily and shot right into the midst of the fighting mass by a company of reinforcements who had arrived on the battlefield late.

            From my position I could see my Old Friend here, there, everywhere, not by his own volition but by force of might and weight.  He would bob up into sight, then as quickly vanish beneath a wave of infuriated feminine mono-maniacs like a small boat upon a not too peaceful sea.

            Up he would come minus his collar; next minus part of his coat; next plus a decidedly feminine hat, and so forth until his battle ended.  This was when the last bolt of fire-spoiled cheesecloth was fought for by half a dozen women, and carried off victoriously by a burly dark-complexioned lady whose ancestors two or three generations past had come from Africa.

            As soon as I could dig through the seething mass of disappointed females to Everett’s side, I did so, and dragging him behind and fighting ahead I led him to a place which would come nearer to Mr. Secretary of State’s approval. Then I noted Everett’s appearance.

            He was minus his coat except the collar and breast pocket; his shirt was without the left sleeve; his trousers legs were torn from the knees down, resembling those of some “weary knight of the road.”

            His kindly face was decorated with two swollen black and blue spots where formerly his eyes shone, scratches and bruises innumerable, and ear which resembled what prize fighters call a “cauliflower ear.”  His other ear, miracle of a miraculous age, was unscratched.

            He showed signs of desiring to speak, and when I bent down closer, I caught the words that many a small child, “even as you and I,” has said, “I want to go home.”

HOW COLLEGE WAS ABANDONED

            “But mother, you know I don’t want to go to college, I hate it all – dress parades, powder puffs, that is all the girls think of.  Studies are secondary attempts for popularity.”

            “Well, dear, there is Jeanne Saunders” – argued Mrs. Loring.

            “Jeanne Saunders, fiddlesticks,” interrupted Gwen.  “What did she go to college for?  Just to have something to back her suffrage movements.  Not a girl in our set goes to college for the sole purpose of a college education.  She goes so as to have the headline on the papers read,

‘Beautiful College Girl Weds,’

or something of the sort.  I won’t go.  Oh, mother, if you only knew how I detest it all. I hate books.  Why did I flunk Junior year in high?  Because I was frivolous or because I couldn’t learn?”

            Well, dear, you know I have had it planned since you were a baby to have you go through college.  It would be different if it were a strange college, but it was within those very walls that I spent many happy days.  My!  but I will never forget when we were Freshmen.  The pranks the Sophs played on us – one especially – I remember it well.  It was a lovely June day, just the kind when books are discarded and rowing takes their place.  Rose Winston, on this particular day, knocked on my door and asked if I – Why – what is the matter?”

            The matter was easily explained.  Gwen had stamped out of the room, slamming the door behind her and had run to the old oak tree – a tree that had served for years as Gwen’s sympathizer in all her troubles and joys.  Troubles were few, for Gwen being the only child of a wealthy and indulgent father and a young, adoring mother, had seen very little of the troubles of other girls of her age.  The only trouble that Gwen had to contend with was her mother’s plan of sending her to college.  Books were the only things that had made her shudder.  She was by no means a brilliant student.  In recitations her thoughts flew to the woods, rendering her entirely unconscious of her surroundings.  Often she was awakened from these day dreams by the voice of a fellow student or a sharp, “Miss Loring.”

            Now, on reaching the old tree, she threw herself on the mossy turf beneath its spreading branches and sobbed out, “I don’t want to go.  I don’t.  Why do they make me go?  Poor mother.   She can’t see that I would never graduate – dunce that I am.  I hate dry old books.  Green fields and birds are my choice.  Mother can’t understand, but she must; she surely will.  I won’t go to college.  I can’t go.”

            The old tree nodded its head in a sympathizing manner.  Had it not done so for all the nineteen years of Gwen’s life?  Why neglect to now?  Gwen looked up at it and whispered, “Dear old tree, you understand.”  So saying she jumped up and, wiping her eyes, walked swiftly to the house.

            As she entered the library her mother looked up at her and said, “There is a letter for you on the table.”

            Gwen picked up the letter and opening it in no great hurry uttered an exclamation of surprise at its contents.  “Oh, mother, look, an invitation from Aunt Helen.  Oh, the dear!  She wants me to spend the summer with her.  She has planned a yachting party.  How delightful!  She intends having six couples and we are to be gone two months.  How lovely of her to invite me.  And then to be at Glencoe for such a length of time.  It is lots prettier than the lake, mother; don’t you envy me?  But still I wish you were coming.”

            “Never mind me, dear, I intend to be at the lake only long enough to engage a summer apartment.  Then I intend going to Bellegrade and wait there for your father.  I guess I can manage without you, but I am sure the younger set will miss you.  Now go and dress for dinner.  Mr. and Mrs. Roberts and Ted are dining with us, so look your best.”

            “Yes, mother dear, I will look my best,” adding in an undertone, “but not for Ted Roberts.”

            The following days were spent in eagerness both on the part of Gwen and her mother; Gwen for her proposed visit, and her mother, for her daughter’s safe departure.

            Saturday found Gwen in her Pullman speeding toward Glencoe.  The scenery was not interesting nor inviting, and as Gwen was a constant traveler it did not hold her attention, so she amused herself by watching the departure of old passengers and the arrival of new.

            She arrived at Pineville, a station in Virginia, near the coast, after a journey of about a day.  Gwen was met at the station by her aunt and they at once motored to Glencoe.  Gwen scarcely had time to become acquainted as she wished to before leaving for the proposed yachting trip, for arriving early Sunday she rested, and Monday found everyone busy preparing for the trip.

            Tuesday found the party aboard the yacht, setting sail for their trip down the coast.  The first day was spent by Gwen in writing letters to her mother and friends in New York, and redecorating her stateroom to suit her individual taste.

            After a daintily served dinner the party withdrew to the salon, where they were entertained with a baritone solo by Mr. Jack Creston, accompanied by Gwen.  Jack was very much delighted by Gwen’s charming personality and Gwen in turn by his.  The days that ensued were spent a great deal in each other’s company and the friendship ripened into something deeper.  The weeks shortened into days and the evening before landing found Gwen and Jack seated on the deck discussing her future.

            “Mother’s one desire is that I attend college; I have fought against it, but mother will not listen.  She doesn’t know how I hate books.  But I guess I must comply with her wishes,” explained Gwen.

            “My father was the same,” replied Jack in a serious tone.  “He would not heed my request to enter his office; I must attend college.  I went, but to no advantage.  College pranks and studies would not mix.  One or the other must be abandoned.  I found that studies were the easier to let go.  My loyalty to my father forbade me to shirk.  My college mates, fellows that lived on pranks, sneered at my resolution.  I was humiliated beyond endurance, snubbed at every turn.”

            “But why?” interrupted Gwen.

            “Because I was a quitter,” replied Jack.  “Yes, a quitter from those pranks that cost Dad a nice little sum.  Well, I left college, without the knowledge of my father, and entered a banking concern.  After making good I went to my father and explained matters to him.  He heeded me and I am now his successor in his business.”

            “Gwen, dear, why follow such a career?  Your mother wishes it only for your popularity.  I can offer you all the advantages of a social life,” and adding, in a softer tone, “true love besides. Will you, Gwen?”

            Gwen merely bent her head, but after a while she gave her low, “I will.”

            “Then let us return together.  I will plead for you.  I am sure your mother will sanction our union.  You need not doubt my sincerity,” said Jack.  The hour was late and after a lingering “good-night” they retired to their staterooms:  he to rest peacefully in his new found happiness; she, to lie tossing in fear of her parents’ objections.  She knew that college would be the one objection.

            Together they journeyed to New York, he as her guest.  That evening a large party was given in honor of her homecoming.  During the gaiety of the evening Jack found the opportunity to steal away into Mr. Loring’s study.

            “Mr. Loring,” began Jack, “I have a matter about which I wish to consult with you.”

            “Yes! yes! my boy, be seated.  I am at your service.”  Mr. Loring had taken a great liking to the young man, and now thinking that the “matter” was on a strictly business basis, was ready to comply with his wishes.  Jack, however, excused himself as he said,” The matter also concerns Gwen.”  Jack returned with Gwen, who as all a-tremble.  Taking her hand, Jack said to Mr. Loring, “Gwen and I wish your consent.”

            “Just a moment,” replied Mr. Loring.  He left them and hastening to the reception room sought his wife and brought her before them.  Jack repeated his request and simultaneously he was answered, “No!  Gwen must go to college.”

            Jack left that night, and Gwen went to college.

            “Oh girls! oh girls! we have the greatest Freshie down here.  Always moping.  There she is down by the lake now.  Let’s push her in. Fine sport.  She hasn’t been initiated yet.”

            Indeed there sat Gwen under a tree pondering over her books.  A few minutes later found her in the lake. Gwen was completely taken by surprise, and not being an expert swimmer, her struggles were in vain.  The girls thinking little of their prank and its result had fled.

            Around the bend in the lake was a skiff tossing up and down in a most gentle manner.  A young man deep in thought was its only occupant.  Hearing cries for help he raised his head and rowed swiftly in the direction from which they came.  As he rounded the bend, a few yards ahead of him he saw a young lady struggling in the water. Being an expert swimmer he leaped out of his boat and swam to her.  Lifting her in his arms he swam to the boat and laid her gently down.  As he did so he saw her face for the first time.  He uttered an exclamation of surprise – “Gwen,” he cried.  At the sound of her name and a familiar voice she opened her eyes and joyfully cried, “Jack.”

            Again they journeyed to New York.  Unexpectedly they arrived at Gwen’s home.  They were greeted with wonder and surprise by her parents.  Gwen, in too weak a state to explain, went to her room.  Jack was left to tell the story.  He did so as briefly as possible, repeating his former request.  This time it was not in vain.

            After luncheon Jack repeated the interview to Gwen.  Happiness and joy lit their faces.  “Oh Jack! isn’t it too dear; your being there to rescue me.  But, dear, you haven’t explained how you happened to be there.”

            “Well, dear, when I left you that night, I guess we will always remember it, I went to the club.  There was a letter for me from an old chum, who was attending college.  He wished me to visit him there.  I knew that it was the same college that you would attend, so I accepted it.  The day I first saw you was the day after my arrival.  I was trying to see you, but on asking for you I was informed by a Freshman that you were in a class.  I strolled around the campus and finally went out on the lake and -.  Well, I call it all lucky.”

            Presently Gwen stole away from Jack and ran to the old oak tree.  She confided her happiness to it.  “Oh, I am too happy for words,” she exclaimed.  “You understand, old tree, don’t you?”  Again the old tree nodded its head in a sympathizing manner. There, when the sun was setting, and the evening shadows darkening, Jack found her, crying softly over her new found happiness.  Taking her in his arms he bent his head and softly whispered, “College is abandoned.”                                                                                                                                                                                - - A. B. P., ’17.

EVIDENCE CIRCUMSTANTIAL

            It was one of those cold, stormy evening in December, such as are common in the northern part of California in the Sierras.  The rain was pouring down in torrents when Fred Burton, a forest ranger, led on only by instinct, stumbled into his cabin more dead than alive.  As he weakly closed the door behind him and threw a few dry oak chunks into the almost extinguished fire, he grimly muttered through set teeth, “I will get him yet,” then sank to the floor beside the fire, exhausted.

            When he awoke his clothes were nearly dry and, feeling somewhat refreshed, he prepared a light supper and retired.

            His experience that day had been an unpleasant one.  Starting out early in the morning he espied a poacher and trailed him seven hours, but finally lost the trail and was forced to return home in the late afternoon in a terrible rainstorm which had commenced at noon.  He was ten miles from home when it started.  The effects of the long, cold journey in the rain plainly showed itself, for the next morning he found himself a very sick man.

            In the course of three days under proper care Burton was again able to assume his duties.  His first trip into the higher altitudes again led near the top of a comparatively high peak.  From here he had an unobstructed view of the surrounding country for five miles in three directions.  With his powerful binoculars he could search out every deer for several miles in the three directions and incidentally see anyone who should perchance happen within this radius.

            Burton had seen Glen Finley from that position numerous times and the last time caught him in the act of killing a doe.  He was handicapped, however, because he could not close in upon him without being seen and consequently Finley escaped.

            Fred Burton resumed his position at the same point for the next four days, being sure that Finley would return again, as he had outdistanced the forest ranger.  His patience was rewarded on the morning of the fourth day, when he beheld, through his binoculars, the same man who had escaped from him a week before.  This time Finley was in an easily accessible position, and one from which he could not  observe the approach of Burton.

            Burton keenly watched the movements of Finley through his powerful glasses, every movement being plainly visible, even though he was twenty-five hundred yards away.  He watched him flush a buck and instantly saw the buck drop, hearing the report six seconds afterwards.

            “Now is my chance, if ever,” he said and started down the opposite side of the hill to again reappear on the crest near which the poacher was dressing the animal.  To accomplish this he was obliged to travel three miles in a semi-circle, but as it was down hill work it was only a matter of half an hour’s fast walking, about the time it would take Finley to get started back with his game.

            When Burton reached the top of the ridge desired, he breathlessly but cautiously peered over – there, not one hundred and fifty yards away coming directly toward him was Finley, carrying the deer strapped to his back.

            It was only a matter of a few minutes before they would meet face to face at several feet distance.  Nervously Burton fingered the trigger of his heavy Colt army revolver and awaited developments.

            He had not long to wait, for in what seemed only a few seconds, Finley walked directly towards the rock behind which Burton was crouching.

            “Drop that gun!” was Burton’s stern command.  Instantly Finley’s gun was up, but it was too late.  Burton had the drop on him, and he well knew the deadly effects of one shot from Burton’s gun.  Finley’s rifle dropped to the ground.

            “Now, hold up your hands!” again commanded Burton, coldly, with a sarcastic smile on his lips, “You would try it again, wouldn’t you?”  Saying this he extracted another Colt’s similar to his own from Finley’s pocket; then proceeded to bind him securely.

            “You can keep the evidence right where it is, and carry it to town with you,” suggested Burton, sarcastically, and forced his silent, gloomy prisoner, who had not uttered a single word throughout the whole procedure, to take the lead.

-         - J. M., ’14.

KNIGHTS OF THE ROAD

            “Hey, there, ho!  any room for a pal?”

            Without turning his head the tramp for whom this was meant and whose name was Bill, said, “Sure, come on.”

            As the newcomer came near the fire which had been built, Bill noticed the stranger wore an old straw hat which was brimless, a shirt which looked as though it had been rather hastily tailored from a red tablecloth, and pants which were almost pantless.  His shoes were nearly soleless, and one large toe kept a constant lookout ahead.

            Bill was lying peacefully on some stolen straw, waiting for the water in a tomato can to boil for coffee, which with a can of beans and a loaf of bread stolen from a grocery wagon, he expected to have for “some feed.”  Now, of course, he would have to share with the newcomer, but these “knights of the road” are always willing to share with their pals.  While waiting for water to boil they talked of different things, but both of them kept an eye on the water and beans, as they were hungry.  After they had finished their meal, they both stretched themselves out comfortably on the ground.

            “Just came through a town down the road a ways,” said Bill’s companion.  “I heard a lot of hollering, and thought I would see what was doing.  I followed the noise, and soon come to the ball park.  Looking through the knothole I saw on the score board: ‘Home team 0, Visitors 1, ninth inning;’ and from some kids who didn’t have the price of admission and who were not wise enough to get by the wise old gatekeeper, I learned there were two down and two on bases.  Holy bald-headed turkey eggs! how those fans and fanettes were yelling.  They danced up and down, pounded on tin pans or anything they could get hold of.

            “When the next man came up everyone kept still, and I thought to myself, ‘I would rather be myself than that guy if he don’t hit that ball.’

            “After stalling around, the pitcher threw a few, but they were fouls.  Then he threw a swift one, but the batter hit it square on the nose and over the right-field fence it went for a home run.

            “Did those people holler?  Well, I should say yes.  They acted like a bunch of maniacs, and I thought to myself, ‘Huh, I wouldn’t mind being that fellow after all.’  But such is the way of the baseball world.  If you hit at a critical time you’re a hero, and if you don’t – well, you are a poor boob and a few other things.”

            When he had finished telling his story Bill was rolling around on the ground laughing.

            “Well, s’matter with you, don’t you believe that?”

            Bill stopped laughing a minute and said, “Sure, I believe you all right, but that reminds me of the time when I was playing ball.

            “When I was in school the boys thought I was ‘there’ when it came to baseball.  I threatened to quit school to play, but I went two years to high school, and then I quit, as the call of the diamond was pretty strong.  I played with several different teams, and after a year or so the manager of a team in a small league picked me up.  I wasn’t a world beater, but he needed a man for shortstop, so he put me in.  I played through the season with them, and was boosted by the newspapers and others as a ‘comer.’

            “We played good ball, and soon two of the towns, ours and another, were way ahead of the rest of the teams, and as we were tied at the end of the year, we had to play for the championship.  The way people did pile into that town wasn’t slow, and from the talk one would think it was going to be a world’s championship game.  The grandstand was packed to overflowing, people were standing along the lines, and men and boys were upon telegraph poles, and housetops.

            “At last the game started.  Everyone was excited, and they had reason to be, for it was certainly ‘some game.’  No one scores until the eighth, and then one of the other teams slammed the ball over the fence for a home run with no one on bases.

            “Now was the time for us to work.

            “In the last of the ninth our leading hitter was fanned.  The next man got to second, the next one fanned, and then I came up.  I slammed a hot one to short, the ball was fumbled, and I got to first, the other man advancing to third.  Talk about people going wild! those people acted like they were crazy.

            “It was up to the next man to win or lose the game, and he went to bat with an ‘I should worry’ expression on his face.

            “The pitcher tried to get us off the bases, but he couldn’t do it, so he started to pitch and say! talk about speed – that fellow exceeded the limit.  The batter couldn’t see them, and guess what happened – he fanned.  Well, those people just about went crazy, and the way they panned that fellow was awful.

            “He stayed in the town for a week, but it got so bad he left, and he hasn’t played since.  As you can see, I quit too.  Too much work for me.  There is lots of money in it, but this is the life.

            “Well, I think we have talked enough; let’s go to sleep, what d’ye say?”

            The next morning when the sun rose he saw two tramps sleeping peacefully on some straw.  One, who was lying on his stomach, wore a faded blue shirt, and overalls which had seen their best day.  The other, who was lying on his back, wore a shirt which looked as though it had been rather hastily tailored from a red tablecloth, and pants which were almost pantless.  His shoes were nearly soleless, and one large toe kept a constant lookout upward.               - - J. LANEY, ’15.

UNQUESTIONED INNOCENCE

            “Whoopee!  Here she comes!  Look at her strut tho!” cried young Jimmy Lee Dawnley.

            “Oooh!  Do you think she’ll see us?” gurgled his lovely companion, Letty Larsen.  “I’d just love to holler, ‘Hello Aunty!’  Wouldn’t she be scorching mad?”

            Letty had left the house about ten minutes before on hearing a low, familiar whistle and had soon joined the originator of that whistle.  Her Aunt Harriet had forbidden her to have anything to do with “no ‘count young Dawnley,” whom she had never seen, for he was the son of an arch enemy.  But what can a poor ‘lone Aunt do in a case like that?

            The above remarks were called forth when a prim but determined looking lady was seen coming down the lane going in the direction of Mrs. Grenfal’s, her best friend.  This prim looking little lady, of course, was “Aunt Harriet,” and she had told Letty to “mind the house for a spell,” because she would be gone only about fifteen minutes.

            As soon as Aunt Harriet disappeared around the corner, Jimmy and Letty arose from their hiding place behind the hedge that skirted the house and each gave vent to a hearty laugh, hers low and gurgling, his loud and boyish.

            When the pent up mirth was out of their systems Jimmy broke out with, “Letty, I start today for New York on business and won’t be back for a week, so I came to bid you good bye, and as ‘Aunty’ will soon be coming back I must hurry, so good bye, dearie,” and he was off before Letty could question him.  This was very strange, but did not dampen her spirits; quite the contrary, for she knew “her Jimmy.”  He would be twice as good as before when he came back if that were possible, so she picked up her skirts and ran into the house, where her aunt found her about ten minutes later busily “minding it” just as innocently as you please.

            “Has that young scamp been here since I have been gone?”  Letty’s very air of innocence had called forth this question.

            “No, Aunty dear, Mr. Dawnley hasn’t.”  This was a slight emphasis on the Mr. Dawnley.  It was true, of course, he had not been there since Aunt Harriet had been gone, now, had he?  Then without thinking she continued, “Aunty dear, you will have some rest now; he’s going away and won’t be back for a whole week.”

            “Humph!  Did you learn that while I was gone?”  Luckily for Letty, Aunt Harriet did not wait for a reply; she had something so important to tell that she rushed on.  “Mr. Lee, a relative of General Lee, will be here tomorrow afternoon at five.  He is going to stay here one week.  I do not know him, but Mrs. Grenfal says he is very nice and handsome and gentlemanly.  He is a friend of hers and wrote to her a week ago that he would like to visit this town, but as she didn’t have an extra room she asked me to take him in.  I didn’t tell you before because I wanted to surprise you.  Now, I want you to be very agreeable to him.  Mrs. Grenfal says he is very rich.”  With this Aunt Harriet left for the kitchen preparatory to getting dinner.

            Left alone Letty smiled a little knowing smile, for she thought, “Jimmy, dear, you are safe.  Dear prejudiced little matchmaker,” and went to join her Aunt.

            The next day Letty went riding during the afternoon, and when she returned Aunt Harriet met her at the door and informed her that Mr. Lee had arrived.  Aunt Harriet was very enthusiastic in her description of him, and when she had finished summed him up as just the husband for Letty.

            Letty, girl like, was all impatience to see Mr. Lee, and in an incredibly short time for the transformation she had effected, entered the drawing room.  As she glanced at Mr. Lee, she gave a little gasp of surprise, but quickly recovered herself and graciously bade him welcome.  Mr. Lee had been deep in conversation with Aunt Harriet, but now he turned to Letty, and when they began to talk about the inevitable weather, Aunt Harriet left them.

            As soon as the door closed upon Aunt Harriet’s back, Mr. Lee and Letty were suffused with laughter.  Letty recovered herself first.

            “Oh, Jim, you are naughty, naughty!” she cried.  “For this Aunty will be still more averse to our marrying.”

            “Do you really mean it?” retorted Mr. Jimmy Lee Dawnley.

            “Now, you just explain youself, ‘Mr. Lee!’  Aunty has fallen in love with you already.  What made you do it?”

            “Oh, I wanted to know why ‘Aunt’ was prejudiced against me, having never seen me, and I just had to make her consent to our marriage.  Don’t you think she will do it now?”  Jim replied and added, “Anyway, Lee is my name.”       

            “Don’t tell her yet that you are Jimmy Dawnley!” cried Letty, her eyes aglow.  Then she added, “She is the dearest, bestest Aunty an orphan ever had.”

            Mr. Lee stayed at Aunt Harriet’s one whole week without detection, as Letty and he thought.  On the last evening of that week Letty went to her aunt and said:

            “Aunty, Mr. Lee has asked me to marry him; shall I?”

            “Why, Letty dear, how about Mr. Dawnley?” she queried, but her eyes twinkled.

            “Oh!  I had almost forgotten about Jim Dawnley.  I was only thinking about Jim Lee.  Have you any objection to our marrying, Aunty dear?”

            “Letty, dear, he is the best husband any girl could find!  I give you both my blessings!”

            Letty jumped up and hugged her prim little Aunt just as hard as she could, then softly whispered in her ear, “Aunty dear, do you know what you have just done?  You have said that you didn’t care if I married Jimmy Dawnley!  Mr. Lee is Mr. Jimmy Lee Dawnley!”

            Oh!  how Aunt Harriet’s eyes did flash.  She got up and haughtily left the room, but with this parting shot, “I knew it all the time!  Mrs. Grenfal is too good a friend of mine, even if she did do that for Jimmy, to keep that to herself too long!”

            A month later Aunt Harriet was waiting for her two dear children to return from their honeymoon with extreme, yes, very extreme impatience. 

- - M. N., ’15.

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