Alton High School - Tatler Yearbook (Alton, IL)

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He closed the door behind him, put his-shoes in the corner and walked across the room to turn on the light. All this time he did not know that Mary Evans in this very room was undergoing a great fright, for, while lying awake thinking how coldly she had been treated by 15ob, she had heard the click of the key as it turned in the lock, and the first thought that came into her mind was burglars. She covered her head and with all her senses alert nervously waited while she heard him creep up the stairs, every second adding new fears, and now to think he was about to turn on the light. When he did, she put all her strength into one scream, which brought every member of the household to her room, where poor Hob stood in hopeless terror, for now he saw his mistake. Ashe had no time to flee, he was left to explain the best he could. The only member of the family who had ever met him, was Mary, and she had very good reasons for not recognizing him. In fact, when she first heard him, she had been planning some manner of revenge, and now, when she saw who it was, she debated to herself whether she should recognize and help him out of the trouble or not notice him and let him spend a night in the police station. “Search him, Phil,” said Mr. Evans, pointing at Hob a very large revolver which, from all evidences, had been used in the Civil War. “It’s a mistake! stammered Bob excitedly,” I—I got into the wrong house.” “Ha! ha! ha!” roared old Mr. Evans. “I see it is the wrong house myself, and, when I get through with you, you won’t go into another for some time.” “But, father! protested Mary, coming to Hob’s aid, for she could not stand idly by and see a fellow creature receive unjust injury, “he is Mrs. Hazelton’s brother, who came to visit her last Monday. Papa, please don’t cause him any trouble, for my sake, don't! It was merely a mistake, I assure you.” “Well, the idea of my own daughter encouraging a robber! If he is not a thief, why did he come up stairs in his stocking feet? What is that I see sticking out of his back pocket? Phil, search him! Ha! a revolver, just as I thought, and cartridges and a skeleton key! You can't fool me; come along peaceably now while I telephone for the police!” As soon as they had gone down stairs, Mary hurriedly slipped on her clothes and, going silently out the front door, ran over to 26

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ago. From the letters lie wrote I expected to see an up-to-date man, and to think he is afraid of girls, and Mary especially! Those blue eyes overhung by long eyelashes and that brown and pretty little dimpled face! If they can’t win him, what can? I believe I 11 read his last letter over again. Let me see; it is in the writing desk. Here it is now. Why, the big silly has addressed it 817 E. Ninth Street. Our address is 821; that is Mary’s house, and the houses do look much alike. I don’t see how he happened to do it.” Immediately she read the letter to herself, carefully reflecting over each point. All this time Bob was enjoying himself to the fullest extent, for, although he hated girls, he liked a good time. Mr. Hazelton had the revolver repaired and also bought a box of cartridges. “Bob,” iie said, “put these in your pocket, for I have to get some things for my wife, and my pocket space is limited.” Bob obeyed, and the two went on their ways. About 9:45 p. m. Mr. Hazelton said: “Almost all of our stores are crowded, but you ought to see our five and ten cent store! It’s one of Everybody's one hundred and twelve stores. We’ll take a stroll over to sec it before it closes.” L’pon arriving they were packed and jammed in with the rest and soon became separated. After searching for Mr. Hazelton for some time, Bob decided to go home. “By Jove!” he exclaimed to himself, “I have it. I’ll take this skeleton key, open the door, and go up to my room and the folks won’t know where I am until morning. This old key used to open almost any door in college, and many is the time that it has helped the Sophs get the Presides.” On the way home he wondered if the revolver loaded easily, so hi took it out, slipped six shells into it and carelessly put it back into his pocket loaded. At length, having reached Ninth Street, he walked up until he came to the eight hundred block. “Let me see,” he reflected, “Sis's number is 817.” He struck a match. “This is 817. Why, I thought it was the next house. Well, here it goes. I won’t wake Sis up: I guess she is tired. ‘So far, so good,’ ” he quoted as he turned the key and opened the door, “I'll take off my shoes so as not to awaken her.” Silently he climbed the stairs and entered the front room. “Gee, I am glad she gave me this room!” he murmured. “By leaving the curtain up I have the sun for my alarm clock.”

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 Hazelton’s to inform them of what had happened. They had been waiting for Bob some time, because Mr. Hazelton thought his nephew could find his own way home. Mrs. Hazelton got the letter, “Look, he went to the same address to which he sends his letters. It surely is a good joke on Bob.” “But you must hurry, the police will be there in a short time,” interposed Mary. They went over to Evans’, and very soon matters were explained. It was a much disappointed set of officers that called at the Evans home that night, for they did not take a prisoner back with them. The next morning Bob paid a visit to his neighbors, and in due time saw Mary. He made many apologies, thanked her sincerely, and ended his remarks with, “By the way, may I call this evening?” Joe McMullen, ’ll. My Sonnet I take my pen in hand to write a verse, And yet I really know not what to write. Oh, let me think, and all the forms rehearse— The ode, the epic, lyrics sweet and trite. The graceful sonnet ; ah, why won’t that do? A sonnet must, I’ve read, have fourteen lines. And this is now the seventh; I'm half through, And have not yet begun. These small confines I fear will soon precipitate my muse. Now let me count: There's one, two, three, four, five. Six, seven, eight, nine, ten, ’leven; must I close Within three lines? This sonnet cannot live. The thirteenth line now occupies my time, And here’s the end. Hurrah ! I’ve done my rhyme !