Joplin High School - Joplimo Yearbook (Joplin, MO)

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He tossed a nickel on the counter. His Voice seemed to him weak and far away. Did the man at the counter notice anything? No, he seemed to be concerned only in getting the nickel into the cash register. Shepro shut the door of the telephone booth tight. There he relaxed fully five minutes before he finally picked up the receiver. Act natural, he kept saying to himself. Finally he dropped the slug and dialed. A moment of ringing and the receiver was lifted at the other end. 'AHello, a softly modulated voice which he recognized answered. Lo, Dolly. Pat-Pat speaking, dear- You're late. boy. Where are you? ai Sorry I couldn't call sooner, but I couldn't make it. I had to go way out on the west side this afternoon. See? in If you keep saying 'see' like that, Pat. a smile in the voice, i'I'll know you are lying. Where are you now? i'Rosemont. In the drugstore. On the way home? Yes: be there in half an hour. Less, if I can make it. All right, boy. Don't be any longer than you have to. I won't. Good bye, dear. Good old Dolly. He wiped sweat from his forehead. He felt relieved. Outside of the drug store panic came back with a rush. A policeman was standing in front of the roadster, looking at it. Cold fear in his heart, he withdrew around the corner. Minutes passed. He must go home. He could hardly make his feet walk under the po1iceman's eyes. Like a thief he crossed the street, then recrossed, coming unseen from behind. Steadily he opened the door, slipped into the driver's seat, and put the key into the lock. With his eyes on the policeman, he put his foot on the starter, pressed it. And then the policeman moved, and clasping his hands behind his back, turned and sauntered off. Shepro could have shouted. Everything was all right after all. He shifted gears and glided silently away. At home he drove straight into the garage, which stood at the back of the lot. Closing the doors from the inside, he did a gruesome thing. He found an old rag and wiped the bumpers, fenders, and front wheels. Nothing there. When he finished he tossed the rag into the little coal stove and watched it burn. He locked the garage doors and started for the house. This would be the test, he knew. He let himself into the house without ringing. Nobody downstairs. Odd. Where were Dorothy and Jimmy? A murmur of voices upstairs. They must not have heard him drive in. I'1l surprise them, he thought, and tip-toed up the stairs. Nineteen

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HIT AND RUN Green Wood Lane, a short, winding street upon which three houses stood behind high hedges, is infrequently used by either cars or pedestrians, and its intersection with Walnut Avenue is poorly lighted. Since darkness had already fallen, Pat Shepro had no way of knowing that a small boy was racing along tho lane as he approached the avenue, until with a dart the lad skipped off the sidewalk directly into the path of the speeding roadster. No one could have prevented what followed. In about as long a time as it takes a lightning flash to fade, the whole incident was over and photographed on Shepro's mind. Unforgettably, he saw a small hand thrown protectively up. He heard a bump and felt it, a very little one. There wasn't any cry. He saw a limp figure thrown to the side of the road. It was panic that then gripped Shepro and caused him to look into the rear vision mirror. He saw that there were no cars behind. No one was ahead: no one was coming. It was still panic, not Shepro's conscientious thinking, that set foot on the gas and sent the roadster racing ahead. In a moment he saw a light ahead. Panic at the wheel whispered that the roadster must not be seen at that spot. From street to street, left to right, in and out like a fox he drove. He reached the boulevard. Then he lost part of his terror because he thought he could lose himself for good. He made a wide left turn in the desperation of flight. His foot pressed hard on the gas, harder than before. Many cars were on the boulevard, but none of them passed him or even seemed to keep up. How come the cops didn't get me? he asked himself through chattering teeth. They're thick on the boulevard. The roadster slowed down to sanity, and Shepro began to think. I couldn't have helped hitting him, he told himself, a dry sob catching in his throat. I couldn't help it. It wasn't my fault at all. He ran right into my path. But panic still at his elbow helped him to reconcile things. Only one thing to do. It was his fault. But they might have held me. He glanced about to see where he Was. Rosemont. He recognized the suburb. He must have come fast. Rosemont was seven miles from where he had been. He told himself he must make some kind of plan, do something. decide. Dorothy and Jimmy, his lips tightened, must never know. No, but they would wonder about him if he were late. His habits were very regular. He was already late. Two hours, from five to seven o'clock. He began to plan coldly-as coldly as possible. Of course he had hit someone, but it wasn't his fault. But it was done now. What next? Dorothy was so keen to see through things. But she must never suspect. He drew into a parking space in front of a drug store. With fists actually clenched, he got out and walked into the store. Slug, please. liiyhlccn

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Lights in all the rooms. The voices were in Jimmy's room. The room seemed full of people. Dorothy was near the door. She turned and saw him. With a strangled cry, she stumbled toward him. ' 'Pat-Pat I' ' He caught her in his arms. Why, Dolly dear, what's the matter? She was weeping wildly. What is it? Even before she answered, the terrible knowledge began to creep into his brain. He stared over her shoulder at the faces of the strangers.. He stared past them to the little, white, cold face on the pillow. T Our Jimmy, she sobbed brokenly. Some cowardly driver hit him and ran away. -Jimmy Knight, '3 6. First place in short story contest. I LIGHTS I watch them, Those flickering lights Of the distant town-hazy Thru the smothering fog. I press my face Against the car window Reluctant to pass them on, For they seem to try so hard, Those feeble lights, To send a cheering gleam Abroad-out thru the darkness Of the night-but thick mists Fall and envelope them- And as we move on They only waver, Flicker for a moment, Then are gone. -Genevieve Duran, '3 4. First place in poetry contest. Twenty