Johnstown High School - Spectator Yearbook (Johnstown, PA)

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JO THE SPECTATOR were painted a dull gray and the ceiling was painted white. Nevertheless it was well lighted, having two large windows looking out into railroad yards, shops, and all that belong to a large mill. As these young men sat down to eat before time, a for- eigner stepped up to the window at which employes were either hired or discharged. He was short and heavy-set. With a bullet-head set squarely on a pair of broad should- ers, he resembled in form those who followed Atilla centu- ries ago. His eyes were steel blue, peering out from under shaggy eyebrows. His hair and long-pointed mustache were brown; his chin was firm. From his dress and ap- pearance one might suppose that he had been in this coun- try a number of years. Nobody paid any attention to him, but all continued to eat their lunches. At last the foreigner exclaimed: “ Here, mister, I am in much of a hurry; 1 come ketch time.” Then Wilson, a tall, heavily-built fellow, replied: “Well, we aren’t working just now. You come round maybe one o’clock, then fix 'em.” “But, mister, it is not yet by the time for to quit work I—” “Shut up, you Ginney,” interrupted Wilson. “You get buttin’ in around here, you no get time at all.” “Yes, that’s what 1 say,” said another; “you’ll have to wait until we’re ready to attend to you.” The poor foreigner looked exceedingly troubled, when suddenly a young fellow over by the window rose and said: “Now, look here fellows; you know this isn’t right. We shouldn’t stop till twelve o’clock; I’m going to fix that Ginney up.” Immediately he went to the window and said: “What’s the matter, John?” Then the foreigner began to pour all his troubles into the young fellow’s ears. “Herr Mister,” he said, “in ol’country I haf a wife and two little girl. Yesterday I got letter. Wife say little girl seek—mebbe die. No have got money. Neighbor him say, “You got man in America; we no help you.” I here have money; they there starve. Then I said I will go to my wife and little girl—I will feex neighbor. Today I go

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THE SPECTATOR 9 The Hill. - 'HE HILLS in glorious majesty, w Raise up their tree-grown slopes, so fair; And ev’ry season merrily Robes them anew in garments rare. With richest gold and crimson tints, They glow thru the hazy, vigorous Fall, And we see the branches sway and wince, Bent by the chilling Autumn squall. In winter they stand out dark and bare, Mingling in hue with the leaden clouds; Or cover’d with snow they seem to wear In funereal silence, dead-white shrouds. When Spring, with soft and gentle rain, Wakens the sleeping slopes to life, And calls the flowers that long have lain Asleep, they rise in confusion rife. In Summer warm, a robe of green They don; their crested summits seem To touch the blue; of such a scene Ne’er did a rapturous artist dream. Thus ev’ry season brings a change To these all-glorious hills; the sod Now brown, now white, now green; for strange And wondrous are the works of God. FRANK M. BRENISER ’09. Michael John Popovich ”HE hands of the time office clock slowly swung to ten minutes of twelve. Deliberately the chief timekeeper closed and locked his desk, and taking his coat under his arm, went home to dinner. As he closed the door the assis- tant chief timekeeper closed his desk, yawned, took his coat under his arm, got his bicycle from the hall, and was soon speeding home. Then the five assistants grinned, (ten minutes before closing time,) put their papers away, got out their lunches and sat down to eat. The office was not a cheerful place. The brick walls

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THE SPECTATOR it New York; tomorrow ketch boat. I must hurry, mebbe little girl die, then-” By this time the young man had filled out all the nec- essary papers, and giving them to the foreigner he bade him goodbye. The foreigner replied: “Goodbye, Herr Mister, you very kind; some day 1 pay you back. Good- bye. Michael John Popovich forgets no friend.” With that he was gone, and the young man resumed his lunch. He was a tall, slight fellow, with dark brown hair and eyes, a refined face and a pleasing manner. He was working here during the summer. His uncle, one of the superintendents, had obtained the position for him, but he was a Junior at the local High School. Then one of the timekeepers sneeringly remarked: “Is that the kind of fellows they turn out of High School—soft- ies, that any Ginney can work? It must be a peach of a place.” The others assented eagerly, but Ralph replied: “Well, maybe I am soft, but I think during working hours we ought to attend to our work, and not keep anybody waiting because we’re too lazy to attend to them.” Just as he spoke the whistle blew twelve, and that was the last time Ralph Sumner ate his luncheon at the time office. The next summer Ralph was graduated magna cum laude, and his uncle proposed an automobile tour thru Eu- rope. Accordingly, Mr. and Mrs. Sumner, Ralph’s uncle and aunt, and their daughter and Ralph started from Naples for Vienna. They had a delightful journey as far as the Austrian frontier, but here they noticed the people looked at them sullenly. For several days they journeyed on, until finally they discovered that a child had been run over and killed by some reckless tourists. This accounted for the strange behavior of the villagers. One day about noon the car stopped for water at a small village, and a crowd as usual surrounded the car. This time their looks were not of wonder, but of anger. Just as they were ready to start a mob came running down the road brandishing clubs and pitchforks and howling at the top of their voices. They surrounded the car, and the occupants at first did not realize what was the matter. But when a stone gashed Mr. Sumner’s head, and a pitchfork