Central High School - Mirror Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

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UN MAUVAIS QUART D’HEURE It was my Saturday afternoon to shoot trouble. This means taking care of all cases of electrical mishaps in the city, be it the simple matter of replacing a blown fuse in a residence and explaining to the usually flustered lady of the house that her light bill will therefore be two bits' more for each new fuse, or be it the delightful pleasure of hiking poles, repulling service wires, or the like. The long hours had dragged slowly by without a single call, and I had been giving the clock frequent inspections and letting my thoughts wander a few more hours in the future. A very special engagement was mine that night. A certain girl acting on my rather urgent plea had broken a date in order to give it to me—for which she seemed to think I should be eternally thankful. My dreams were interrupted by the jangle of the telephone, and answering it. 1 received directions to go to a section of the city inhabitd by members of th darker race, to see why in thunder a member of that racial fraternity was raising such a howl. In forty-five minutes my working day would have been over. 1 said a few things and ran for the door. Outside, this form of exercise was continued until Nineteenth Street came in sight, whereupon the desired street car was perceivd hoving out of sight. The twenty minutes wait for the next one would have been fatal, so I gave chase. At the end of the second block 1 staggered on board and leaned weakly against the door. Four blocks down the street, the car made an unfamiliar turn, which caused me to question the conductor. Pratt City car? He grinned. No. headed for the barn. Twenty minutes later 1 boarded a Pratt City car and sat down. 1 had read the name before getting on. The city fathers, in laying out the streets of this city, undoubtedly were endeavoring to construct a Chinese puzzle, the solving of same being left to the future generations. Upon alighting from the car I proceeded immediately to the given address, knocked and inquired politelv the nature of the trouble. 1 was given a cold stare and informed that there had been no trouble lately, family or otherwise. Explanations over, there followed a hectic half-hour tracing vague directions unsuccessfully, until disgusted. I sad down on a seat by the trolley line determined to return to the city. Momentarily my eye wandered to the high hung outside a store and thereon I discovered the name of the person for whom I sought. The trouble was simple, new fuses being the only things required, but when informed of the extra charge to be assessed, the negro objected on the grounds that reconnection of lights was free. On inquiry it developed that the service had been discontinued about a month before because of an unpaid light bill. Our sometime patron then claimed that he had paid the bill a few days before: but he could produce no receipt. I called main office, gave them the facts, and asked for instructions, and was told to call again in five minutes when they had looked up the records. Five times 1 called and five times was instructed to call again later. At last, when 1 was feeble-voiced Page Twenty

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THE AESTREA LITERARY SOCIETY

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and hope was low. came the order to leave the store without lights, since no record was found showing the bill to have been paid. At this juncture 1 heard the screech of an approaching car. and hurriedly removing the fuses started for the car line. Half way there my pliers were missed. The delay caused by returning for them made me miss the trolley. The boss grinned when I entered the office some time later, the grin broadened to a laugh at my attempted explanations over the phone to the girl. “Working? That’s what they all say! —click! JACK NELMS. 23. THE LITTLE BLUE SHIP OF TRUTH I he little blue ship of truth set sail On the billows of foam-crusted blue. Without a thought of a coming gale. So filled with joy. and courage, too. Sail. little ship, with calm, sure trust. With joy and courage sail; On. straight on. to your haven bright With clear and snow-white sails. Safely the haven you shall reach In spite of storm and gale. Oh. little ship, of truth so blue. Sail! Sail! Sail! JENNIE WOOD. '22. Page Twcnty-onf