Leominster High School - Magnet Yearbook (Leominster, MA)

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THE MAGNET II The Beginning and the End ERT picked up his cards and glanced feverishly at them. “By George,” he murmured under his breath. Then he sank back dazed, while his drawn, white face grew still whiter. His companion looked at him quizzically, then threw back his head and laughed. “A bit nervous, eh? Well, well, brace up, old man,” he said, as he picked up his cards with a cool, steady hand. And as Bert looked into the the black, glittering eyes before him, and the slightly curled lip, a deep, quick flush passed over his face and he pulled himself together. “On, on, on,” the little clock on the shelf ticked its song out noisily, seeming to be glad to hear its own voice for once; and the candle burning in the corner, sent out a dismal, flickering light over the college banners. At last Bert rose. “I guess that will be all tonight, Bill,” he said, huskily, “]-] have a headache,” he ended, rather lamely. But his companion coolly began stacking the cards again. “Guess this is your first time at it, isn’t it?” Bert nodded. “Oh, well then, you mustn’t be discouraged so soon. Just stick to it and luck will come your way. Now look here, sonny, you owe me ten dollars, don’t you?” Again Bert nodded. Well, as long as it’s you, I’ll double it and make the next bid twenty dollars. Now you sit down and have another game. For an instant Bert stood motionless. He had a vague feeling that sometime he would awake and find it alladream. He hated this fellow be- fore him, who had led him on, at first unsuspectingly, and as the truth flashed before him, by tantalizing reproaches and bribes. But now he had a chance to square himself with his opponent. And so he sank back into his chair again. The game was on, and it seemed as if Bert’s heart stopped beating as he picked up his cards. Then the ghost of a smile flickered about his strained white lips. Five minutes,—and it was over. Bert’s cold, numbed fingers closed over the bill and he was half-way out the door when Bill called, “Hey, old man, aren’t you going to play again?” “Never,” Bert called back as he ran down thestairs, three at a time, and at last out on the moon-lit campus. All was quiet here, save for the desolate moan of the night wind as it swept through the bare branches of the trees. And the moon, rising higher and higher in its starry realm, cast its mellow light upon their swaying tops. Bert shuddered as he walked briskly to his own dormitory, and he was glad to find himself at last alone and in his own room. How many hours he sat smoothing the creases out of that bill he neve r knew. But before he

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10 THE MAGNET car to be pulled up. They rise out of sight, and now the.rising mud covers the self-sacrificing victim! Up above, as soon as the noise of the falling mud was heard, men rushed to the shaft head, and immediately the elevator was put in operation. Crowds of women and children stood along the huge engines and pumps, wailing for their loved ones suffocating far below. As load after load of natives were hoisted, many of the people regained their self-control, and some even went away rejoicing, with a brother or husband safely brought to the surface. However, upon calling the roll, it was found that about forty had suffocated below in the thick mud. Murilla’s friends told the sad story of his self-sacrifice, and every one was so touched by the tale that a collection was taken for the benefit of his wife and children. Even the hardened old engineer “chipped in”. Silently, sadly, and slowly sank the huge red sun and the crowd dispersed to their lodgings. Three days passed. One morning a native with a bruised, scratched face entered the pound or inclosure where natives were searched for hidden diamonds, before leaving the mines, and asked for sick-leave. | “Name, please?’’ asked the guard, in the gutteral native tongue. ‘Murilla.” “ Murilla!” was the astonished reply. Natives crowded around. The news soon spread over the whole district. Murilla was safe! Then came the story of Murilla’s escape from his terrible prison. He had retreated into the stope before the final rise of the mud, and had, in a wild frenzy, struck the wall of the tunnel a huge blow with his fist. Mirabile visu! his hand went right through the clay! Hastily he broke a hole large enough for his body to pass through, and found himself ina long tunnel. Inky darkness was all around. MHurriedly he turned to go upward, but soon a great fallen rock checked his progress. Evidently the tunnel had never been discovered since the opening of the mine. Turning, Mu- rilla hastened down the tunnel again, and discovered, to his dismay, that the mud had oozed through the hole so inuch that he could hardly pass. In climbing by, he fell and severely bruised his face. However, he did not dare to stop, but hastened on and soon saw ahead a dim light. At last he reached an open space where the tunnel ended. Far above was an opening where the blue sky could be seen. How was hetoclimbup? Here, onthe side, were rude notches or steps on which he was able to slowly climb up. Night came, but still he worked on. At daybreak he was very weak, and hardly able to keep from falling. But to fall meant certain death, and . he would not give up now. So climb, climb, step after step, up he slowly went, until at last, almost dead with hunger and fatigue, he emerged from ‘his prison. He was scratched in a large clump of bushes behind the great sorting house. To this day no one knows what the unknown tunnel was used for;—was it, perhaps, a secret passage of a king ruling in long-past ages, or a mine of some thrifty people, in the rich diamond-bearing clay? Whatever it had been, at last it had served its purpose,—the saving of a human life. ARTHUR B. Hussey, ’10.

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12 | THE MAGNET went to bed that night he made a resolution to give Bill’s money back the very first thing in the morning. But the next day he could not find Bill. And soon a rumor spread over the college, which later became a pronounced fact, that Bill Laton had been expelled. What was the cause? Only a few of the fellows knew. And so the days dragged by until the very sight of a bill made Bert shiver. Sometimes he wandered around the campus, searching for some- thing he could neither name nor find. ‘At other times he sat staring gloom- ily out of the window. He could neither study nor enjoy himself, but that detestable bill came before his eyes. If he hid it in his room, he was always sure some one was peeping througn the key-hole. If he carried it in his pocket, he had horrible visions of fingers pointing at him, and it seemed as if his companions looked at him queerly and talked about him the minute his back was turned. Oh, the horror of those dreadful nights, when hand-cuffs, cold, dismal cells, and long newspaper items made his dreams hideous! And so two weeks passed. Spring lay glistening, quivering, trembling on every leaf and twig. The tall, gaunt branches of the trees were beginning to thrust tiny shoots of green and the dewy fragrance of freshly mowed lawns was wafted in the April breeze. Never was there such a blue, blue sky nor such a dazzling radiance of sunshine. Robins chirped, school-boys whistled merrily; every one seemed to have caught the spirit of spring but Bert Redding. All things are dark to sorrow; and the light and loveliness and fragrant air had no effect on Bert. Sometimes, as he walked slowly down the shady street, he fingered ner- vously a ten dollar bill; at ot her times, he seemed plunged in deep thought. Turning into the feverish hum of the city, he was attracted by a little girl wearing a big Salvation Army bonnet. In one hand was acard reading, “Please Help The Poor;” in the other was a tiny box. For an instant Bert’s face brightened. He hesitated, then, turning, he slipped the hated ten-dol- lar bill into the box before the astonished little girl could gasp out her thanks. “Flow beautiful the world is, after all,” thought Bert as he walked briskly back to his room. It seemed as if he had just emerged from a thick, black cloud. He dared now to look people in the face. He drew long, deep breaths of the fragrant air and once caught himself whistling. When he reached his room he sat down and wrote a long letter to his father, the last of which was: “ Now, dad, I’ve told you everything, from beginning to end. I know I don’t deserve to have an honest business man for a father, nor to be the eldest brother to four other lads. And I am willing to bear any punishment you think best. But there’s one thing I beg of you: Please don’t tell mother. “ Your loving son, “ RERTio HELEN WOODBURY, ’II. ’