Ashtabula High School - Dart Yearbook (Ashtabula, OH)

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THE DART he looked as one would expect the king of England to lcok after he had been attacked by suffragettes,—more or less disabled but still like a great and widely known man. Brimming over with satisfaction, he did not wait to be asked about the game, but began voluntarily. Mrs. Vale cast an appre- hensive glance at her best mahogany chair, as Ernest having en- sconced himself in a large leather affair, preparatory to spending the evening in comfort, put his feet upon it. Why must a man in order to be thoroly comfortable, have his feet upon some choice article of furniture? This was his refrain: “Say! talk about all the fight-for-your-life scraps that I was ever in! Why any ordinary game of football would have about as much life in it as a Sunday School class singing a Christmas song, compared with that game this afternoon. Say, Hap, you know Big Bill Steen? Well, I played against him. Talk about your Gibraltars! Why, he was a perfect mountain to move. He didn’t stop me, tho’ you bet! I’m not so slow myself when I get started. I had the ball and was speeding for a touch-down when that Stonewall Jackson stepped in front of me. I thought here’s where I get no cheers from the grandstand, more likely a nurse from the hospital, but bucked up, for I thot I might as well get a few digs in on the other fellow while he was killing me. Well, I went thru him so fast that he dosen’t know yet what hit him. Won the game on it. The crowd went mad. Oh, I should worry about Big Bill or anyone else when I’m in form.” So he raved, telling of others’ playing but always as compar- ed with his. After awhile Mrs. Vale directed his thoughts into another channel by asking: “Have you and Dolly made up your little spat yet?” “You bet: that was over long ago. When she heard about my being on the team and doing such good work, she came a- round all right. Knew she would, so I just let her take her time to it. Catch a girl throwing me over for that simpleton with the eyeglasses, who has a name that sounds like a new kind of choco- lates.” A son of Adam to be sure, blaming it on Eve. Later in the evening when Mr. Vale obtained the floor, the talk turned to that all absorbing topic, “Business.” “Oh yes,” he said, “Knew I would get in ahead of Hapwel in 9

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 SPEAKING OF PEACOCKS MARJORIE MITCHELL ’15 TELL you every woman is as vain as a peacock,” an- nounced Mr. Vale as he held his coffee cup in mid-air. Whenever one of them gets a new dress or a hat or even shoes, she thinks of nothing for a week but how well she looks. Watch a woman in a new suit. Every time she goes by a store window, she looks at her re- flection and mentally, if not actually, gives herself an approving pat.” And are men never vain?” questioned bis wife. Did you ever see me strutting up and down in a new suit?” he exclaimed indignantly, 1 should hope not! I have something else to think about besides the!most idiotic angle for my hat, the craziest style imaginable in clothes, and whether my hair, brushed such and such a way, would make me look more distinguished than the way I now choose to wear it, or if my neckties should be a hundredth of a shade different from what they are in order to look well with my eyes.” No,” said Mrs. Vale, but I suppose you know the old saying about peacocks, that when they see their feet, they drop their tails and stop strutting. Now I think it quite possible to account for man’s lack of vanity by the size of his feet. Being so much larger than woman’s and so much more in evidence that —.” “There you go,” interrupted her husband. “Just like a woman, arguing against herself every time.” But why?” Because indirectly you are trying to brag about your little feet,” finished her husband. Soon afterwards, when they had completed their dinner in si- lence and had adjourned to the living room, Mr. Vale to peruke his evening paper and smoke, and Mrs. Vale to work on a bit of sewing which most housekeepers usually have at hand, the door- bell gave a loud ring and Mrs. Vale’s brother Ernest, a football star from a near-by University, entered. His face was somewhat cut and bruised, and he also limped a little, these afflictions being the results of the afternoon’s game. When he entered the room, 8

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£ THE DART that deal. He hasn’t enough spunk to beat me. I can bellow as loud as he can. Strange as it may seem he doesn’t like to swallow his own dust, for a change. Says he’s always been considered first and no upstart of a boy is going to get ahead of him. I guess I don’t look as old as I am, perhaps. Anyway, I am old enough to fight, and if he’s going to drive me out, he’ll have his hands full right away. Old Tom said when he left there, “Keep up as you’ve begun, boy, and you’ll make your mark all right. Your stacking up against a big job, but you are man enough to fill it. I tell you he doesn’t say that to everybody.” When Ernest left, it was after eleven o’clock. Mr. Vale open- ed the door for him, and returning found his wife sitting on the floor in front of the bookcases with the dictionary open in her lap. She was hastily scanning the page and did not look up as he en- tered. “What on earth are you doing with that at this time of night?” he yawned. “Looking up peacocks,” briefly. “Peacock?” “Yes, to see if there isn’t a kind that is proud of its strut and not its feathers. Oh, I take it back about your big feet. They must be altogether invisible. The slightly amused, tho somewhat bored expression disap- peared from Mr. Vale’s face, leaving it perfectly blank. Slowly his mouth dropped open, and he stared at his wife dumbly. Fi- nally he recovered himself and walked to the window. “It is snowing,” he declared shortly. “Oh! is it? cried Mrs. Vale, jumping up and coming to his side to stare at a few small flakes of snow which were falling softly thru the darkness, I’m so glad for I can wear my new furs to church to-morrow.” c j “Why did you break your engagement with Miss R., the school mistress?” “Couldn’t stand it any longer old man. The other evening, when I arrived fifteen .minutes late, she told me I must bring an excuse in writing, signed by my mother.” c i “My mission,” said the kind parson to the vivacious girl, “ is to save young men.” “Good,” she answered, “ save one for me.” 10