Madera Union High School - Blue and White Yearbook (Madera, CA)

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14 THESPURPRE AND WHITE enough to go home,” he says, “I’d give up writing the book. Won’t you come: jin? And I went in and there was nothing to eat there—I could swear to that, but them Greek books was there. And then he told me how he’d worked and worked and couldn’t make no money, and I was so sorry I got my hat and had business to attend to quick. When I got back to Coulterville that night the boys all joshed Me about my friend the Perfesser, as they called him, but I got up and made a speech and I’ve got just enough Irish in me to orate when necessary. “Boys,” says I, “this here feller’s sick. He ain’t gota thing in his cabin to eat and what’s more he won’t have because he ain’t sot no gold in his hand—you all know that. He ain’t fit for this kind of a life and he wants to go home and he’s got a mother and two sisters back in Boston. Now, boys,” I says, “don’t be pikers. The Perfesser has got to make a strike and make it quick. He won’t take no money from, us—that mine of his has got to pro- Grice I threw a bag of dust on the table and about six or eight of ’em followed suit. T guess they all- felt pretty sorry for the Perfesser when they thought about him. We discussed plans and specifications for about half an hour and then me and Charley Doughtery took the dust and hiked up to the Perfesser’s place. There was a light in the cabin—T suppose he was im- provin’ his mind. We went over by the creek and salted the ground all around, putting the dust down deep, so’s he wouldn’t suspect anything, The next morning me and Charley saunt- ered up to the Perfesser’s place as if we done it by chance. We figured to see him down at the sluice, but he wasn’t there and IT got kinder worried for fear he’d died, Charley pushed the door open. The Per- fesser lay in his bunk—had a fever, face all red, and he was too weak to get up— had a book in one hand but was too weak to read. “Morning!”’ I says, ‘How are you?” He says weak, “‘Can’t work my claim this morning—sick a little.”’ “Quinine and calomel will fix VOU eal Says, but I knew a good square meal and less food for thought was what he needed. “Tf you don’t object, me and Charley will be pleased to work your claim this morn- bel” SES Te “Why if you would,” he says. “It’s too bad to le t it rest— J know there’s gold there but I haven’t got at it yet.” “IT think myself there’s gold there,” T says, looking wise at Charley. We went out to the sluice and had a fine pile of our galted gold in the box pretty prento. It showed up fine and we run up to the cabin quick, Charley laughing to himself all the time. “Look a here, Perfesser,”’ says I, “You didn’t get down deep enough. Here you are!” He was so pleased he set up in bed and smiled and looked WE Major, il knew I had a fortune there,” he says. “Now I can go home.” “We’re some speculators,’ says I, “and will be glad to extend an offer of five hun- dred.”’ We'd fixed on that price as the highest that the combined wealth of Coul- terville could give for a worthless claim, and we felt quite proud, but the Perfesser’s face straightened out and he says, “It’s worth two thousand if it’s worth a dollar!’”’ “But, boys,” Says he after a moment, “seeing all that you’ve done for me, I'll knock off a thousand,”’ and he smiled like a real pheelanthropest. Me and Charley was dumfounded but ag I sez before, there ain’t no Trish pikers, and Charley was Irish, too. “We must confer with our associates,” says Charley. “Ts there anything that you would like to have sent Upsto you?’ “Yes,” he smiled. “Now that I’ve struck it, he says, “you can send up stuff for a square meal.’’ “Very well,’ I Says, and we done it. ® R The boys was a little harder to move this time—none of us had much—mining up there wasn’t sure—all pocket mining— but after a while we raised enough an@

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Waele, IPUIRIALIE 3 AND WHITE On such evenings, one might have seen a young man in blue and a girl with auburn hair a little apart from the rest of the crowd. We will not follow them and their con- versation, however. our purpose. It has already served It is enough to know that the voyage came to an end all too soon for them, and that Philip joined the Osborn party when they left Rome the trip through the different countries. for eared Juropean The Professor PHILIP CONLEY. “Mevers,’ said Old Jackson, “‘are mostly all pretty bad. But taking ’em all for all, there’s none of ’em worse than the gold fever. Why a man’s crazy as a bed-bug when he’s got it. Back in ’49 there was a whole lot of folks got this here disease— all kinds of men, perfessers and preechers and street-sweepers and bums. It was a great crowd that shipped from Noo York on the Aerial, the time I came, all kinds of men, but they was all talking gold, gold —nothing else. And of all the men on that boat there was only one that I ever heard of made anything and most helpless locking and ignorantest man on board—not ignorant in books—he knew a whole lot about these here dead Greeks and Byetalians, but he didn’t ing about life out here—was plumb ignor- ant on how to take care cf himself. We had berths together to Panama and I seen him every day. he was the know noth- He never went out much—got sick when the waves rolled a little high— and was all the time reading books with funny names. One day I says to him, “What are you going out here for?’’ And he says, “ I got to make some money, I just got to—I want to write a beok and I haven’t and my family, my mother,’ and then le told me all about how he was hard up since his father had gone bust and died. Always had things easy, studied all the time and didn’t know how to work. And then this gold fever commenced to spread and he got it. Imagined he could pick up lumps of any money it any others, I can place, and so did a whole lot of too. him when Panama, walking up between two rows of little black (they was havin’ one of them alleged wars then). He was kind of tall and thin—not a miner’s build. His eyes was much bad light. He wore a black suit and a stove-pipe hat and was carrying a bag in one hand and a big the other. He read all the way train. When we on the we got separated and I was kind of glad, because he kept the light burning to read at night when I wanted to sleep. The last I seen of him was at Frisco. see now we got off at soldiers weak—too book in the “Sonoma’”’ over on got “Where are you bound for?”’ I says. “Why, I haven't decided,” he, “‘it don’t much difference though does it?—one place’s ’s good as another.” “Well, good-bye,’’ I “and I Vio eke says make says, wish It was about six months afterwards when I seen him again. It was up near Coulter- ville—he came into same clothes, at the same, but they wasn’t so new looking as before. camp on foot in the least I suppose they was He looked weaker than ever. “Hello,’’ I says, ““How are you?” He “Not so much gold here as I thought,’’ he says, ““How are you doing up this way?” He stayed that night and then went up the so and staked out a claim—whv he didn’t know anything about Toinine. ts ja he et all that time. I went up to see him about a week afterwards—lI him now, standing by the sluice box looking for gold smiled weak. creek a mile or wonder to me how can see —with his tall stove-pipe hat on his head and black suit I took him up a piece of bacon—thought he might need it. He smiled he saw me but when I offered the hog meat, he flared and Says, “T don’t want and he wouldn’t take it until as how it was an extry good piece and we wanted to see what he thought of it. “Have you here?” he says. “T don’t seem to be getting at mine right, I know there’s gold here—it’s a good claim, but I ean’t get no gold out. If I could get his on. when up no charity,’ I explained made much

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RTE OILS: AND WHITE 15 Charley and me was appointed the com- mittee to purchase the claim. We found the Perfesser cooking the grub we sent up—he was better already and af- ter a square meal his symptoms mostly dis- appeared. The claim was turned over to us and he left that very day for Snelling, riding on a mule—from the back he looked like Abe Lincoln, Charley says. The boys never said much that night— we was all broke and didn’t have no rosy prospects—but as Charley says, the Per- fesser needed it more than us. Oh, no, the claim wasn’t no good—never figured it would be. Ever hear of the Perfesser again? About a year afterwards, they brought a big bundle up from Stockton and when I opened it I was some surprised to see a big book by the name of ‘‘Foreign Philosophers.” I thought they’d made a mistake until I saw the Perfesser’s name on the cover. It was dedicated to “My Mine on Maxwell’s Creek, which has enabled me to write this book.” The Deserted Village LINTON R. MANTONYA. O Borden, fairest city of the west, Of all the county’s towns you once were best, Before Madera’s prosperous city rose And. brought your business to a speedy close. H’er yet the boundless acres of our west- ern plain Were broken by the plow and sowed with grain, While yet Sierra’s snowy peaks down . On barren desert fields with scarce a town, When yet no pleasant orchards spread their shade. No cooling groves a welcome refuge made For travelers in this new and unknown land, burning sand, looked And breezes swept the burning When firey whirlwinds scourged the dusty plain And all was parched and dry for lack of rain, The pioneers of Borden took their stand To change this desert to a fruitful land; And brought to light by steady patient toil The riches of our greatest mine, Madera’s soil. Soon fields of brown gave place to fields of green little tween And irrigation, watering all the plain, Brought with its welcome floods increasing rain, And thriving farms sprang up and pros- pered till A busy throng did Borden’s markets fill. A blacksmith shop was built, a village store, A fine hotel, a dozen homes or more; The busy streets a fine appearance made And all the countryside went there trade. And thus the village grew and prospered till Madera got her flume and lumber mill. But with the opening of the Sugar Pine Originated Borden’s swift decline, And Borden’s village sank into decay. Madera’s sunrise ended Borden’s day; And all of Borden’s bravest and her best Departed for the new born city in the west. Though many years have passed since Borden’s day, Madera’s boom seems to have come to stay; The products of a thousand farms markets fill And every morning finds her still. And now one’s eyes are greeted by the scene Of pleasant thr iving farms and fields of green, And here and there are shady groves of trees. One’s face is greeted by the cooling breeze That breathes the fragrant breath of new- mown hay; With orchards interspersed be- to her growing