University of Santa Clara - Redwood Yearbook (Santa Clara, CA)

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THE REDWOOD 13 mind a ladder was let down. Well, I always would try anything once, so up I climbed. The sight that greeted me ! Ranged round the walls were bottles containing the choicest assortment of liquid joy it had ever been my lot to gasp before. Cognac, chartreuse, beer, wine, whiskey — lord ! The stranger smiled. Then reaching under the bed he drew forth a jug of good old moun- tain dew. ' Tis the last in the land, sir, he said. ' ' Drink and warm thyself. ' ' I obeyed. Never for a moment would I have dreamed of doing otherwise. As I quaffed the fluid mine host watched, at first benevolently, then, as I showed no signs of desisting, apprehensively. Finally, a look of Olympian indignation leaped into his eyes and he tried to pry loose my hands from the death-hold they had acquired on the jug. That look, strangely enough, reminded me of someone — someone prominent in the land of liberty. Who could it be? Ah yes ! Certainly. But no ! How could it — foolish — but — I awoke on the edge of the clearing. How I ever got there and when, I could not tell. All I know is that I must have slept for a considerable period, for I noticed that the grass in the clearing had grown ■ much higher. Painfully, carefully, I arose. Jee-rusalem ! I was stiff. With many a groan I began my slow and agonizing homeward journey. On reaching civilization I was amazed to learn that I had been absent for an entire month. Down the streets of the old town I moved, in much the same way, I fancy, as did old Rip in years agone. That gentleman though, having slept much longer than I had, was greeted by many more changes than I could expect. But wait ! There were the advertisements. Could it be possi- ble, I ruminated, that the quality of the tobacco used in Camel cigarettes was still such as to forbid the distribution of coupons? Did Omar and aroma still blend? Was Dad still the only one on earth who knew why any one should want to smoke Sweet Caps? The sign boards would tell me. I looked. I rubbed my eyes. What face was that, contemplating so serenely the passing multitude ? I drew closer to make more sure. Was it possible ! There in front of me was a lurid representation of my friend of the old house and underneath the picture Avas inscribed the legend ; — Lost, Strayed, but, we are convinced, not Stolen — One William Jennings Bry- an. Finders keepers !

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12 THE REDWOOD skull and murmur the immortal lines — Alas! poor Yorick! Or perchance that highly ornamental part of my be- ing would aid the meditations of some lonely anchoret when he should think of death. But hold ! I was from fighting stock ! I w:ould not yield to the grim conqueror without a struggle ! Onward I plunged — pardon me, I should have said on- ward I intended to plunge. What real- ly happened was, that I plunged down- ward — straight downward and splash ! into a pool of water. I didn ' t Avait to recover from my surprise before re- gaining my feet. A perfect sub-con- scious reaction brought me into that po- sition in something less than a tenth of a second. How often I had heard that water was wet without adverting to the fact ! And how clearly and how vivid- ly I realized that fact now ! That par- ticular pool of water, anyhow, was very, very wet and moreover, very, very cold. I began feeling about for some egress and my hands came into contact with what seemed to be a door. I pushed, and entered upon darkness — darkness deep and dire, darkness some- what akin to that which Moses caused to descend upon the banks of the Nile. There followed much groping about and considerable shin-bruising, to be rewarded finally by stumbling — I speak literally — by stumbling upon a pair of stairs. Cautiously I ascended. Cautiously I pushed open another door and found myself on the first floor of the old building. Now for a stove! From room to room I went in search, but the only thing I found was disap- pointment. Save for an objectionable odor, frequent cobwebs and multitud- inous spiders those rooms contained nothing. Up I went to the second story. Alas ! Not to mention Alack ! It was the first story all over again only much worse. I began to tremble from more than the cold. Ye gods! Was there no way of driving the chill from my system? Once again those visions of a lonely grave, or bleaching bones — my bones — arose to torture me. I went to a win- dow and gazed out. The wind was howling about the house like a lost soul and the branches of the trees danced sadly in accompaniment to that melan- choly dirge. Should I again brave the elements and die nobly, battling to the last? Or should I stay where I was and await the — Ha! I jumped two feet. Ha! Ha! I jumped three. What cheer? I glanced up quickly. Framed in a small square aperture in the ceiling di- rectly above me, was a head. A very hairy head, the locks like those of some great hero. From the head two eyes gazed at me with a questioning expres- sion. Then the lid of one eye solemnly descended and a hand appeared beck- oning me to come up. Come up ! Did he think I was going to fly up? Even as the question formed itself in my

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One Summer Day ME summer day, wKen tKe birds were still And radiant sKone tKe sun, I travelled a road WitK a Keavy load, Even as you have done. I climbed a Kill, wKere anotKer Kill Rolled not very far away, But tKe tKousand cares, TKat tKe wKole world bears. Worried my Keart tKat day. TKen a breeze sprang up, and it played about ; TKe robins began anew ; And my Keart was ligKt, As tKe day was brigKt, Bearing a song from you. And now I sing as I stride along TKe way down tKe meadowed slope, TKougK tKe world makes strife. We Kave not lost life ; Living, we ' ll not lose Kope. A. J.STEISS. JR. 14