Monterey High School - El Susurro Yearbook (Monterey, CA)

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E L S U S U R R O Mr. Bowers smiled pleasantly, picked up Cicero, and turned to the lesson. Consternation was depicted upon each face, and Mr. Bowers called upon Mary Sims to read the Latin. For once luck was with her, and she sat down after having made a perfect recitation. Around the room he passed, until it was Mabel's turn to recite the difficult passage which two victims had fallen before. She arose, read it off -without hesitation. The choice of words was perfect, rather unusual in a High School student, refiected Mr. Manchester, as he listened. Queer I never noticed that before, he commented to himself as he remembered the poor quality of Mabel's work not long before. Mr. Bowers nodded as she finished. He looked at her carefully as she sank into her seat. She blushed, for a feeling of guilt came over her. Seeing you understand the passage so well, he went on, will you please give the construction of alii?', Alii, alii-construction. Mabel found the word, translated it rapidly to herself. It seemed to have a dative meaning. Dative singular, she replied. The class gave 'a start, and seven hands were ,raised to correct the mistake. Another word he asked, another failure, until at last, mortiiied and blushing with shame, she sat down, confident that all in the room knew her dishonesty, as she sat with downcast eyes. Mr. Bowers, however, seemed to notice nothing unusual, while the class thought her merely confused. But' Mr. Manchester's eyes saw with a new sight. XVhy hadn't he noticed that sudden brilliancy be- fore ? he .asked himself. I am greatly pleased with the class, said Mr. Bowers a few moments later, as he took his departure. But Mr. Manchester made no reply. He gravely picked up the book the Latin professor had laid upon the desk. He assigned the lesson, then stood before his desk, hands clasped before him, as he looked from face to face. The silence grew oppressive. The clock ticked slowly on. Mary Sims nervously wiggled at her desk, but Mabel looked down at the pencil in her hand. It seemed to her as though the thump, thump of her own heart was the only sound in the room. She felt that Mr. Manchester knew her guilt. And then she heard him talking in a far-away voice. He was speaking of honor and trust, and at last he closed his speech with, I am sorry, but some one in this class is using a 'ponyf It must stop, or I shall publicly denounce her. The blow had fallen. Seven pairs of eyes were fixed upon him, seven pairs of lips parted breathlessly. Seven minds refused to believe that any one would use such a thing. Each one, guiltless though she knew herself to be, wondered r 28

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E L S U S U R R O complimented herself upon being the biggest fool in the United States for not having remembered that review. But there were days to come in which Mabel Eaton passed from only middlin fair in Latin to the best translator in the class. No passage that Mabel couldn't get, it was Mabel who helped the weak by the wayside, and cheered them with the words, Of course, I'd be glad to help you. It was Mabel, too, who got her lessons in live minutes, and no longer bothered to look up many of the words. It was Mabel who sang with a light heart and a hardened conscience these days at the pros- pect of the good mark she'd get in Latin this quarter. A month had passed. A Tuesday morning forever memorable in one life dawned. It was sunny. The air was clean washed, the birds sang, the trees quivered with a message of Spring. Mabel, in all the sweetness of her seventeen years, as fresh as the morning itself, in her starchy, white dress, hurried to school. There she found excited groups, talking, gesticulating. VVhat's it all about? she asked. Why, haven't you heard? responded three voices, all eager to tell the news., The University has sent down some men to examine the standard of the school. And one of them is a Latin man. Oh. goodness! I hope he doesn't come to our class this morning. Ch, Mabel, please help me with this sentence. Please, before the bell rings. I just have the awfulest lesson, but I worked and worked, a11d yet didn't get it, sighed Mary Sims, and if that man does come in, and Manchester calls on me, I'll die: that's all there is to it. Isn't he the solemnest looking thing, though F For a moment Mabel's heart stood still. Supposing he called on her, and she forgot how to translate. She'd say she had a headache and go home. Then she laughed at her fears. Let me see the sentence, May: perhaps I can get it. she volun- teered. Clang, clang, went the bell before May got her book opened, and boys and girls filed upstairs to their class rooms. Ting-a-ling, rang the electric bell, and the classes passed to their respective recitation rooms. And to Latin III, disappointment and sorrow, the University Latin professor was talking to Mr. Man- chester. Every member of the class hurried to be seated and to lose themselves in the printed page before them. I wish to introduce Mr. Bowers, of the Latin department of the State University. He will take my class for the first part of the period in order to ascertain the standard of the class as a whole, said Mr. Manchester. 27

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EL SUSURRO if he could possibly be thinking of her. And each said indignantly to herself, l've never, never, rzvwr clone such a thing, so there! But Mabel sat, heartsick and guilty. Her throat was dry, her body seemed no part of her, while her head swirled as conscience beat within. And then the bell rang. Mechanically she gathered her books and passed out into the hall, where the class burst into indignant protest against the accusation before them. Did you ever hear anything so mean? said Mary Sims, as she affectionately slipped her arm through Mabel's. Why, what's the matter? she added, as Mabel turned to go downstairs instead of into the English room. Oh, I've -a headache, and am going to ask Mr. Thomas to excuse me, she replied, and left Mary looking sadly after her. Again she passed into the sunshine of the perfect Spring morning, but she felt no response to the call of nature. She walked hurriedly from street to street. Oh, how could she ever, ever have all the class know her guilt! She couldn't. She just couldnit. She wouldn't tell him she was using a pony. Yet she knew she would have to. And then P-a great weight was upon her heart, a sore lump rose in her throat, tears of remorse came into her eyes as she saw herself forced to make a confession before that class. Oh! the anguish of it! All joy of existence was blotted out in that torment of soul. Noontime came. It found her blocks from her home, but she turned wearily to go there, for mother would be waiting lunch. Sore, hurt, was the heart within, as she turned in at her own gate. But the house was empty, mother had left some sandwiches and a note that she had gone for the day. The boys, true to their nature, had taken their portion of lunch and gone. Mabel glanced at the remains and went up to her room. She lay down. She buried her burning face in the pillow, but could not rest. The conflict was on. She could not tell Mr. Manchester. She could not. The afternoon passed slowly. Four o'clock came. Mabel rose wearily, stood mechanically before the mirror, and combed back her hair. She left her room, walked slowly up the hall, up the attic stairs, pulled the pony from his shelter and went downstairs. There it was -that wretched, wretched book! How she wished she had never seen it. And then? Could she ever keep up her determination to tell Mr. Manchester and take the consequences? Oh, the disgrace of it! To feel all those eyes upon the dishonest member of the class! She was a criminal. She could never forget. She had learned a lesson. Four-thirty found her entering the school house. Perhaps Mr. Manchester will be gone, she said hopefully to herself, and then 29