Urbana High School - Tower Yearbook (Urbana, IL)

.1. THE ROSEMARY T. B. PENETRATES TI-IE LINE E was in for it now, he reflected as he wormed his way along the plowed up filth in the black. He guessed the fellows back in old U. H. S. had been about right when they had called him, Thomas Benjamin Smith, that loathsome sobriquet, Too Bad Smith. He put out his hand nervously and "T'U7'-- 'W' squashed into something-he hated to think what. A most unholy stench arose and he longed passionately for his gas mask. Reaching temporary shelter in a shell hole that opened up under him, he began to think confussedly what had brought him out on this hair-brained escapade. It must have been something very near bravery and yet, he knew he was not brove. Even in high school he had always had to exert himself to make himself noticed. It was the same here. The indifference of his bunkies had begun to gall his sensitive soul. He simply had to do something to assert himself. The impulse of the moment had done its work. It was all very simple, and now here he was in this hell of a mess. At last his soul cleared. He was in for it and he wouldn't go back until he had done somebody in, or had been done in himself. This decided, he took a fresh grip on himself and crawled on toward the enemy trenches between the intervals of the star shells. Suddenly he fell over a prostrate body, which the next star shell revealed to be that of a German private. This latter had a most diabolical grin on his face but he was quite dead, poor devil! T. B. was glad of that. Moreover, he must have been rather lately deceased, for he was still in excellent condition. T. B. now had his one brilliant idea of the night. He hastily disrobed the non-resisting Hun, pulled his de- spised uniform over his own mud stained khaki and left him, still smiling that ghastly grin, beside his equally dead comrades. It was still quite black when T. B. began to move quickly toward the enemy trenches, carefully skirting gaping shell holes and the other unpleasant fortuities of No Man's Land-more appropriately Dead Man's Land. As luck would have it, he fell into the straggling end of a tired, cursing, working party just returning to their trenches. He felt his way with the rest and presently found himself behind the trenches in the enemy's land. T. B. took a speedy and surreptious farewell of the working party and, alone once more, stroked the eyebrow he was nourishing on his upper lip-but which had spread lately all over his face-with a congratulatory finger. Yes, but what should he do now, he was here? Nothing to do but keep moving. He spied a light in a cottage window a long way off and made slowly toward it. He suddenly realized that he was desperately hungry. How could one be brave on an empty stomach? He felt for his canteen. Gone! He must get food. He crawled up to the window and peeped in. The clock on the stone mantel over the hearth registered one fifteen. Time was flying and he must get back before light. Strange to relate a girl was stirring something in a kettle over the fire-something that steamed up in the most appetizing manner. He flattened his nose against the pane to see better and in- advertently kicked over a tin dish, set out for the cat. At the clatter, the girl turned a startled glance toward the windowg then she ran over to it and, pressing her face against the glass, peered intently out, straight into the desperate eyes of poor T. B. Caught! He would have to bluff this thing out now. He knocked on the door and opening the latch, stuck his head in. The pretty little Fraulein shrieked and threw herself against the door, catching his head neatly in the crack, and causing his features to register surprised pain and indignation. Some few I Eighty-seven 1