Hudson High School - True Blue Yearbook (Hudson, WI)

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 5rue Blue here it led northward until one day in May he landed in Atlantic City. He was standing one day, meditatively wondering if it had been worth while, wondering if he hadl paid too dearly for his experience and precious memories. His face had a foreign appearance and the heavy tan betrayed hard labor under a scorching sun. The lower part of his left ear was gone. He had left it in a gambling house in Beunos Aires when he took the part of a young man who was being cheated by a ring of crooks. He looked1 at his hands. The right had a long red scar ac- quired while working on a railroad in Guatemala when he prevented a falling timber from crushing a negro worker. A ragged bullet scar showed in the palm as the result of an argument with a Spaniard on a transport vessel He did not look for more signs of a wayward life as he knew they would be too evident. His eyes ifted so that he could focus the confusion and bustel of the street. A large limousine rolled by. In it was a burly fat man chewing ferociously on a short cigar and talking to the chaffeur. He had an an- xious bored appearance as one who had acquired success and money with- out having learned the art of making himself happy. He thought of Lewis. Perhaps he too was now enmeshed in the depths of business. Then his eye caught sight of a woman, embarrassed with numerous pack- ages. She was trying to cross the street but the bundles rendered her attempt difficult. Jack stepped forward andcheerfully volunteered his services. He found the bundles to be of more bulk than weight, and on the opposite side of the street he (Deposited them in a large touring car. As he turned to leave the woman called to him, “Wait a minute sir. Will you not give me your name? You see I thought it queer of a per- sen of your appearance to be so considerate and you look as if I could be of some help to you.” The woman who had said this was rather old and re- minded him of his mother. “No, I guess not,” he answered. “I always get along. I’m excep- tionally lucky; in fact they used to call me ‘Jack, the Lucky’ back in Springfield, Massachusetts. I’ve an aunt here in Atlantic City if I need help, but I-----.” “Are you John Richards, son of William Richards of Springfield?” in- terrupted; the woman. “Why yes. It seems uncanny that anyone in Atlantic City should know my name.” “Jack, I’m your Aunt Sue and you’re coming home with me right now and be my guest for a while,” she informed him with a smile. His stay with his aunt was all that even a lucky fellow like Jac1: could hope for. He arrived home on a bright beautiful Sabbath morning in early spring. As he walked down the street he saw many strange faces and those that he knew looked older and more sober than when he had last seen them. No one recognized him. H saw several new buildings. One was a large department store. On the awning was printed in large bold letters, ’’Murphy Bowdlen.” “That’s Lewis Bowden,” reflected Jack. “I must see him.” He did not need to go far for that dignified personage was coming down the street. His whole appearance had an air of business, from his well pol- ished shoes to his soft gray hat, but as he drew nearer one could see

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rue Blue cultivated. It is done with a “long handled hoe.” During the last of September the cotton picking begins. Last spring someone gave me some cotton seeds. I planted them about May 1, in a flower pot in the house. When the plant was large enough I put it outside. I watered it every other night after the sun was down. About the first part of July it began to bloom. The flowers are white when they first open, but towards evening they turn pink. The buds open mostly in the morning. In September the first pod opened. When the flowers dry up they leave a little green ball. This ball begins to get larger and larger until it is big and round. It diries up and then when the ball is nearly all brown it opens. My cotton plant had thirty balls on it. When the first frost came it opened them much more quick- ly. I had two cotton plants but the one was planted too late, so it did not amount to anything. The larger plant was three feet four inches in height. It was somewhat less than a pound in weight. —ELDA YOUNKE JACK THE LUCKY John and Lewis were the greatest of pals. They perhaps liked each other because the traits which each found in the other were peculiar to himself. When they were small John and Lewis used to play marbles and John usually won. He enjoyed the game but no pleasure from his gains, often giving the marbles he won to some less fortunate player. It was while a very small boy that John acquired! the envious title of “Jack the Lucky.” Lewis was thrifty and dreamed of the riches he would make later in life, while Jack was lazy, the most careless, carefree fellow in the world. Jack knew every hobo and bum that came into town. He listened eagerly to the wierd tales of adventure, the colorful descriptions of places and scenes, the easy carefree life of a hobo as described by members of that profession. One day in their nineteenth year Jack and Lewis sauntered slowly down the well-cindered track to the depot. Picking the sunny side of an old box car Jack laid himself down and engaged in what Lewis deemed an unprofitable occupation, namely, that of kicking cinders and watching them roll down the side of the hill. “Lewis,” said Jack, “I am going to travel. I couldn’t think of get- ting money from home because I couldn’t make myself dependent on any- one. I’ll take what I have and leave. Better come along.” “Well now. mebbee,” replied Lewis in a tone which was meant to appear agreeable, yet clearly indicated that he had no intention of taking such a disastrous step. “When you going?” “This afternoon on the next train west. So long!” “Good Bye, old man, but gosh, you make up your mind sudden.” Jack had no idea how long it would be before he again entered the vil- lage of Springfield. He went to Montana where he acquired a certain amount of skill as a cowpuncher. His restless disposition soon produced a dislike of this occupation, so he went to Colorado. The beautiful scen- ery of the rushing Colorado grew old also and he crossed the old Santa Fe trail into old Mexico. His trail led southward for some time and then made an impulsive turn toward the north and the Gulf of Mexico. From

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 £ rue 'Blue heavy wrinkles formed across his brow. Jack could not help thinking of the man in Atlantic City as he said “Hello, Mr. Bowden, How’s business?” “Business is,” he broke off abruptly, extending his hand! and said: “Jack, old boy, hardly knew you. You sure must have been around and I surely do envy you your luck. I’ve always based my future on the theory that if Lewis doesn’t look out for Lewis, no one else will, but I see now that I’ve carried it too far. He who loses himself in the interest of others and the world always seems to be miraculously provided for — then with a smile,, “I suppose that you won’t look for us fellows now that you are heir to a million.” Never before had Jack heard such an oration from Lewis and he hard- ly knew how to take it. “See here, Lewis,” he said, “Please dbn’t ridicule my failure. It’s been hard enough without that.” “Didn’t you know that you are the sole heir to your Aunt Sue’s mon- ey? For years she didn’t know what to do with it, but now it’s all set- tled. A telegram came in this morning.” —EARL DAVIES ’25. “BESSIE SAVES THE DAY.” “Yes Sir,” continued Uncle Ebenezer Hitchens, “I won the pennant for Young’s College one year; done it all myself too; I did.” “Did yu now, Eb?” inquired Jeff Snothers looking up from his whit- tling. “Did you now? I never knew as you went to school.” At this point Aunt Tibby Myers entered the village store and post- office and Uncle Eb was forced to leave his comfortable chair near the stove to attend to his duties as store keeper. “Morning, Tibathia,” greeted Uncle Eb. “How is Ed’s rheumatiz to-day ?” “Oh, I left him splitting wood. His rheumatiz is like a lot of other fancied diseases; it’s a lot worser on days when there’s work to be did. He’d like me to think it’s achin’ him agin so’s he could get over here with them other loafers.” indicating Jeff Snothers and Joe Hopkins with a broad sweep of her thumb. “If it weren’t for me we’d ’a been on the street long ago.” Jeff bent lower over his whittling and didn’t bother to notice the thrust sent his way. Joe Snothers shifted) his chair around a little more and continued his humming, accompanied by a tattoo and the cracker barrel. “Yes, Yes, Tibby,’ ’soothed Uncle EB. “I’m glad Eb’s feeling bet- ter.” “Oh, he aint a feeling no better if you should ask him. That man can------” “Did you say two pounds of raisins or three?” interrupted Uncle Eb. The loyal old soul couldn’t bear to have his friend get this merited tirade directed against him, even by his wife, who had no sympathy with Edrs easy-going disposition. Aunt Tibby gathered her bundles about her and stowed them away in her ample market basket. She was the soul of neatness and order, and system prevailed in all her work. She had one of the kindest hearts