Johnstown High School - Spectator Yearbook (Johnstown, PA)

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SPECTATOR 11 The more he considered this plan, the more it appealed to him, and so, rising from the bench, he set out over the city, trying to conceive some Way in which he might git pinched. He had not far to go. The second building he passed was brilliantly lighted, and after a glance at the electric sign, Thornton's Restaurant, Shorty disappeared behind its mas- sive doors. Picking up a menu, he ordered the most expens- ive dishes and wines upon it, and ate a dinner the like of which he had not enjoyed for many a day. Eight dollars and sixty-five cents, sir, said the waiter an hour later, presenting the bill. 0ver eight bucks for that feed? Well, it sure was worth it. But mebbe it would int'rest you to know that I hain't got eight cents-let alone the coin for my bill. See? Well, why don't you call a cop ? Why the waiter didn't call a cop Shorty never heard him just exactly explain, for when he opened his eyes, he found himself lying on the pavement in front of the restau- rant, and he had a dim recollection of the waiter's having gently escorted him there by the back of the neck. Ah, rats! I thought that stunt would sure work Guess I'll have to try somethin' else. He crossed the street to where a policeman stood in front of a saloon, and seeing some hope of arrest here, en- tered. He tried to get into an argument with several per- sons, which he hoped might develope into a fight, but, much to his disgust, everyone seemed to be very amiable, and ex- actly agreed with his opinions on all subjects, whatever they happened to be. Then he espied hanging on the railing in front of the bar, a man's crook-handled umbrella. Here, at last, was his chance. He walked over, with all the noise and show possible, and took the umbrella from under the owner's very nose, and started out, expecting to be followed. But the man only looked at him and remarked, quite casu- ally, Your umbrella? So you came back for it? Came back for it?,' echoed Shorty in surprise. Why, yes. Aren't you the man who was in here a few

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10 SPECTATOR an indescribable greenish brown color, torn and frayed at the edges. His shoes showed a dull black on the toes and a brownish yellow on the sides and heel. Apparently they had once been russet shoes, and the black toes were only feeble attempts made by the old negro in his desire to gain once more a semblance of respectability. The Reformation of Shorty' jane Conrath '16 Shorty drew his ragged coat more closely about him, crouched lower on the bench on which he sat, and shivered in the cold east wind. It was a chilly evening in the latter part of November, and the wind brought tiny particles of snow with it, which blew into peoples' faces and caused them to walk on more briskly. The benches in the park were almost deserted. and Shorty realized that he could not stand many more of his evenings there in such weather as this. Shorty was a tramp-just a plain, ordinary, every-day tramp. He was willing to beg, steal-do anything whatever, except work, there he drew the line. During the summer he easily managed to provide himself with food by one of the above methods, and as for lodging, all he needed was a sleeping-place, and as long as there was a vacant bench in the park that was easily provided for. But in the winter it was different. One could not spend the cold winter night like the warm summer ones, and Shorty realized this fact only too well. Another fact he realized was that winter was rapidly approaching, as this chilly evening served to remind him. Something must be done. Work was, of course, en- tirely out of the question, and Shorty was greatly puzzled as to how shelter was to be provided him. Only one pos- sible way presented itself. That was to commit some petty crime, for which he might get sent up for thirty or sixty days. There was always plenty to eat in the jail, and it was, all in all, a most satisfactory lodging place to Shorty.

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12 SPECTATOR minutes ago and left that umbrella hanging there? You- still, you hardly look like- But he found he was talking to space, for Shorty had vanished and left the umbrella behind. 'Tain't no use A cop won't even look at me tonight, he muttered, as he once more pursued his way down the bril- liantly lighted street. I'm hoodooed, datis a cinch. He wandered aimlessly along. The streets became less brightly lighted. and he found himself in the residential sec- tion of town. It was not far from mid-night by now, and Shorty decided to make one more attempt to secure his win- ter's lodging-place before retiring for the night. He looked about and found himself standing in front of a large house, in which no lights were visible and which was partially screened from the street by two large trees. 'Shorty walked quietly up the steps, across the veranda, and he espied two large windows, one of which he found to be unlocked, and through which he easily forced an entrance. The interior of the house was quite darkg and Shorty was about to start to explore it, when suddenly he paused. From somewhere 'in- side the house there came to him the voice of a woman sing- ing a melody which was, somehow, strangely familiar. As he stopped to listen more closely he distinguished the words, Be it ever so humble There's no place like home. The song went on, and suddenly there came to him a vision of a mother-his mother-singing her child to sleep with this same song. How many years had passed since then, though now it seemed like but yesterday, and what a change those years had wrought in him Then a sweet, innocent child, listening to his mother's song, now-this. His mother, now in Heaven-how proud she had been of her boy then! What great things she had expected of him! How little she had dreamed of his ever coming to what he really was now! He had been a failure-a hopeless failure, He was absolutely worthless! But still-is it too late? There are still many more years to live. Tears gathered in his