West Fairmont High School - Maple Leaves Yearbook (Fairmont, WV)

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0,1-Hfgkwn N . f gi 1 lf f : 3 I .1 , 3 a 6, I 4 c , r . ' . fON 'Ai , ,I ' 'fi ,WJ !1,i3'i'infgf,if 1fff if 'kzrjzgh ,g,fla9,d 4f . ' ff f 37555 fyfql, heavy veil to fall, disclosing a face which, had he only looked-I But he did not. She spoke to him in musical tones now, but they fell upon deaf ears. Just ahead your reward awaits you, and at the journey's end we part. But remember me when you no longer need me. I am often salled the Blessing of the Ages, but my name is Toil. Toil, he repeated musingly, then scoflingly, Toil, you, the most cruelly delusive of all with whom poor mortals have to deal! See, pointing toward the lowlands, a broad highway paves the way. We might have had an unrestricted road, but you, choosing to hurt me, dragged me over the most excruciatingly difficult paths in existence. A blessing! he continued passion- ately. You have brought me only pain and regret: you are more of a curse than a benefit, and I will finish my journey without you. Up the broad highway, which, though he knew it not, his own weary feet had paved, a carriage was coming toward them. Without one backward glance he ran to meet it, sprang inside, and rode in state to the very crest of the eleva- tion, where he alighted with buoyant step and singing heart. The hands were gone. With a disconsolate cry the Prince flung himself face downward on the unsympathetic gray stones. Who is this bright Being that bends lovingly over his prostrate form? Not Toil, surely, but yes, a glorified Toil who smiles tremendously under his searching gaze, for her face is revealed, her beautiful face with soulful eyes holding out to him on the brink of despair a promise of better things to be. How very beautiful you are! he said softly. I thought you old and ugly. I have lost all that I hold most dear, but if you stay with me, I shall be content. ' Poor blind boy! she replied tenderly, have you not yet learned that it is only through toil that dreams and hopes may be realized? They are not dead, those beautiful fantasies are real and they may yet be yours. Back to his home in the valley she led him. To his home? His kingdom! For on the site of his former humble dwelling arose the Mansion of Fulfilled Hopes and Dreams Realized from which pink fingers beckoned and sweet voices rang out in songs and glad cries of welcome. INA BRYNER, 27 Page IZ6

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Hr-High 0 'rn N i' 3 I i o V 6 ' 1 C tai : . 7' -' N 'f r ' 'T 52 H B W th: 9 'DNf- A if il 1 . W 'il V ' ,z ..:'1.fi13-' ' ,I ,J W His muscles ached with weariness and his soft hands were blistered and caloused from the unaccustomed toil, but all ills were as naught by comparison with the secret happiness he drew from the creative activity. He forgot to mope over his lost estate: forgot the stern task-mistress by his side: forgot his own identity in this new pleasure. At last the boat was finished and the oars lay ready. You made no seat for me, said his companion. What does that signify? I intended leaving you at the earliest opportunity anyway. And he skimmed merrily over the skimmering ocean. For hours he pursued a direct and steady course. Then he encountered a ship which he hailed and boarded. After much controversy he succeeded in convincing the crew of his regal station and the worthiness of his mission. So enchanted were they by his eloquence that, being of rather inconsistent natures, they altered their own course in order to transfer him the more rapidly to his objective. Before long the Prince found to his chagrin that the new craft was one of those affairs that wander aimlessly over the seas, no port in view, no steady hand at the helm. Discipline was unknown to the jovial sailors who lived for the pleasure of the moment. The new arrival had momentarily concen- trated their thoughts upon a novel idea, but their minds, like their ship, hopped erratically about, and one gloomy night the unfortunate vessel was struck by a sudden squall and stranded on a beach that to the Prince seemed strangely familiar. At daybreak he swam ashore, finding himself once more in the sleepy little world he had left. The fingers still flashed pink and white from the mountain-crest, but the voices from the depths were hushed. Crushed by failure and inconsolable grief, the Prince surrendered his days to miserable reflections. His suffering was not alleviated by the ill-concealed scorn of his neighbors, who whispered each to each behind their hands. He thought to lay hold of the South Wind. Perhaps he will be wise now and stay at home as We have done. How superior we are! Only one did not mock and chide,-the dark taciturn figure who had been left deserted on the beach. Patiently she stood by the door of his cheerless room, unseen but making her presence known, and called at last in exasperation. Must I wait forever? Your blunder is not irrevocable. Climb the moun- tains with me and forget the missing voice. He came reluctantly, with moody eyes and dejected features, and she led him by torturous ways through almost impenetrable tangles of bushes and vines that pierced and stung his flesh maddeninglyg up bare faces of adamant rock that bruised his knees and tore pitilessly at his groping hands: by devious paths that crept perilously near the edge of abysses whose depths nauseated him, to emerge upon a broad plateau so near the peaks that his heart nearly burst with its pent-up emotion, for the hands were so near that he could discern the polished lustre of their tips. His comparison for the flrst time during their acquaintance had suffered her Page 125 l

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V 1-Hr6,V coli -ff-L - mlvit seisf . 'V 'w,,,,,..-Af' , ,, r J Ten Stories R. JACKSON B. WILLIAMS, expert accountant, pivoted himself l around on his revolving stool and scratched the lobe of his ear ll Gs X with a hard lead pencil. When it comes to telling stories, he l 1 .af Q5 -3. 9 l said, That's where you're all out of gas. f Supposin' you tell us one, suggested a bald-headed clerk. You can't tell me a thing about 'em, asserted the office boy as he settled himself upon a convenient wastebasket. They're all the same. The hero takes a last swat at the villian, then he marries the girl and they live happily ever after. Bunk-that's all-bunk. Well, said Mr. Williams, I could tell you of a time when it didn't work out, but- If it's time you're a-needin', said Wally, the janitor. We've got better than a half-hour yet. Jack Williams leaned back against his desk and buried his elbows in the cluttered papers assembled there. Well, he surmised, allowing himself a satis- fied smile, his name was John--John Andrews--and he was a salesman. John liked to sell things: it didn't matter what it was, he could sell it. He could sell a plug hat to a boiler mechanic and make him think it would keep his ears warm. One day John decided not to sell things any more, but to hunt himself a more stable and more profitable job. He wanted a job which needed a man with 10076 confidence in himself, 10076 nerve, and grit enough to shove a proposition down the single track to success-all because he had met The girl: and her name was -- Maude, chorused the listeners. Jack smiled, showing his even teeth. Wrong, he said. All wrong. It is Prudence. Well, he gave up the old job and looked for the work he felt capable of doing, but that was a scarce article in those days. Each prospective employer gave him that old one about, Sorry, but we're full up: and he watched his money go and go until he was down to his very last thin dollar. Of course, Prudence knew nothing of the matter, and John did not tell her because he knew she would want to lend him money. Late one evening, John climbed the stairs to his tiny apartment. He had taken Prudence to a movie and after that to dine. All he could remember was Sha? the man in the flat above him held his I. O. U. for the sum of forty-nine o ars. Just where it all went to was what Sherlock Holmes gets paid for. It was gone-every read cent-and his pocketbook was as flat as the spare tire on my brother's Ford. When he opened the door to his rooms, he started thinking. Here he was: Page 127