Athens Area High School - Athenian Yearbook (Athens, PA)

Page 27 text:

THE ATHENIAN 25 As they slowly approached the house she read the letter once, twice, three times. She looked up, her eyes shining. “Oh, Daddy, Daddy,” she cried. “You will not have to work so hard any more. Aunt Elizabeth is dead and she has left the entire estate to me.” Suddenly she noticed a sad expression cross her father’s face. He glanced at the house, lawn, and beautiful surroundings and sighed. When he spoke he had perfect control of his voice. “I suppose, dear, that you will want to go back to the city and its society. Perhaps we can buy the old home back again.” Marjory glanced at her father and then her eyes went to the new ring on her third finger. “No, Daddy, I have learned to love this little house and I will stay here with you and— John.” Alice Lindslev ’20, Dorotha Dettra ’20. THE WRONG LETTER Act I. Scene 1. Peabody Home (Thomas Teabody is chasing a dog from the garden. Mrs. I eabody stands in doorway.) Thomas Peabody. Eey! get out of here. Do you want to spoil all them flowers fer my mother ? 'Throws stone at dog.) Git out of here or I’ll hit you with a rock. Mrs. Peabody.—Tommy, do chase that dog out of here before he destroys my flower bed. I didn’t have any flowers last year on account of that dog and it did not do a bit of good to tell Miss Peppar to keep him tied up. Thomas (after chasing dog awayi. Gee, ma, that dog is awful. Te bothers everyone in town I guess. Mrs. Peabody. I know. Tommy, and it is a shame too. You come in and write her a note and tell her that if she don’t keep her dog home we will have the constable shoot him. Of course we wouldn’t, but maybe she’ll try to keep him home then. Thomas. All right, ma, maybe that will make her keep him home. (Coes to room; sits down and looks at photo he picked up.) Thomas (to himself).—rCh, gee! but it’s awful to be in love with a nice young girl and ain’t got nerve enough to pop the question. I almost did this afternoon, but I always get a sort of shaky feeling and back down. (I is face brightens up.) I know what I’ll do. Maybe it won’t work out good but I’ve read of it in books. I'll propose by proxy—naw, that ain’t it, but it is proposin’ by writin’ a letter anyway. I’d better write that note to Mis Peppar too. If her dog don’t keep out of ma’s flower bed. she’ll have her arrested. (Sits down and writes. Mother enters.) Mrs. 1 eabody.—Tommy, are you writing that note to Miss I eppar ? Thomas.—Yes, ma, here it is. (l ands note to mother who starts to read it.) Mrs. Peabody.—Why, Tommy, what is this? (Thomas grabs note from mother’s hand.) Thomas.—That’s the wrong one. I ere is the letter to Miss Peppar if it’s all right. (l ands the letter to his mother.) Mrs. Peabody. Well, it’s short but to the point. (Mrs. Peabody leaves the room.) Thomas.—Well, that’s done, thank goodness. I might as well take them down and mail them. (He leaves the room.) Act 2. SCENE 1. Warren Tome. (Belle Warren sitting on front porch) Belle. T here comes the postman. I bet he’s got some mail for me ’cause he’s coming in here. (Runs down to gate.) Belle (to postman).—Pello. Frank, got any mail for me today ? FYank.—Yep. Got a letter here for you. Look’s like somebody’s handwriting you and me knows. Belle.—Why, Frank Trotter, you shouldn’t be examining my mail. Frank.—No offense, Miss Belle. But you see ’twas mailed here in town so 1 couldn’t help but know who ’twas from. Reminds me of the days before Ed. Summers joined the navy.

Page 26 text:

24 THE ATHENIAN A dcor opened and she started up to see her father enter. She was so absorbed in her own thoughts that she did not notice how pale and worried he looked or what a look of despair was on his face. He came to her side and with a catch in his voice said: “Marjory, you know since my illness last fall I have been unable to do as much work at the office as before. Last week, Mr. Jones was called to New York on important business and he was to have telegraphed me immediately whether he made the sale or not. Nothing has been heard from him and there are bills which came in today that I knew nothing about. In looking over the books, I have found that he has been deliberately tangling things up in order to blindfold me. By selling everything we will be able to pay those bills and look the world in the face again. Marjory looked up as though she had heard all without understanding the whole meaning of her father’s words. “Do—you—mean—ruined ? she gasped, the anger beginning to show on her face. “That worthless Jones did exactly what I always said he would and yet you would have had me marry him so he could have still more power over us. Will you ever act as if I had any brains at all or a right to my own opinion ? You should have known better than to put so much faith in an almost perfect stranger. Mr. Lewis turned and left the room terribly hurt by the words of his daughter. “It is not her fault, he said to himself, I taught her to be selfish. The sale of the house and furniture took place the following week. After the debts were paid there remained scarcely two hundred dollars with which the father and daughter must begin their new life. They rented a little cottage in the suburbs of the city only two doors from Mr. Lewis’s younger brother whose wife had died and whose eighteen year old daughter kept house for him. The little house was soon made into a lovely little home by the help of Ellen, Marjory’s cousin. The house was given a fresh coat of white paint, the vines that had climbed unhindered over the entire house, were trimmed and the tiny garden cleaned up by John Lane, one of the young men of the neighborhood. In the beginning Marjory sulked because they had no cook, but when she woke up to the fact that they could not afford one. she herself tried to cook. Ellen spent part of every morning with her cousin trying to instruct her in the art of cookery. The first meal that Marjory cooked was a decided failure,—burned potatoes, tough steak, bakers’ bread, a doughy thing meant for a cake and a cross, ill-tempered girl. Little by little however the results of Ellen’s work began to show in the meals that Marjory prepared. One day Ellen came into her uncle’s house to find her cousin in tears. Marjory was so discouraged at trying to do the housework. She was tired and homesick for her old home. “Marjory Lewis, straighten yourself up and don’t waste energy in crying yourself sick,’’ •aid Ellen w’ho knew that sympathy would only start more tears. “I should think you would be ashamed of yourself, a girl of twenty-two who makes a baby of herself. She dried her tears and said. “Well, I do get so homesick. The fall and winter passed with nothing more important than the increasing visits of John Lane who had come to like this brave little woman very much. Spring came again and the tired expression was almost gone from Mr. Lewis’s face for he saw that his daughter was really happy again. He was happy in this little home with his new daughter for he had never been as fond of riches as she had been and had borne the strain of society for her sake. Marjory too had an awakening, for she found now what a companion her father could be while before she was always so busy with gowns, teas, and balls that she scarcely thought of her father except as one to write her checks and pay her bills. Now all was changed; she planned for their evenings together, w'alks in the fields, and picnics in the woods and very often young Lane was mentioned in their plans. Every morning she prepared her father’s breakfast, gave him a parting kiss, and always had a dainty dinner ready when he came home tired and weary. One evening late in summer, Marjory sat in the hammock waiting for her father and thinking of John who had just left when she saw her father leave the car. She ran to meet him seeing a look of joy on his face. “Marjory, Mr. Lewis began, “here is a letter for you from the town where your aunt lives. Open it quickly for we have not heard from her in years.

Page 28 text:

26 THE ATHENIAN I e used to write a “billy-deuce” to Miss Peppar every day and everybody expected they’d get married, when he up and went to sea. Belle — Didn’t she ever hear from him ? Frank.—Naw, and I don’t believe he ever intended to come back although he said he would some day. Well, Miss Belle, I must be going on so’s 1 kin git all my mail delivered. Good-bye. Belle.—Good-bye. Frank. (She returns to the porch and reads letter aloud.) Miss Belle: I’m writing for my mother to tell you that if you don’t keep your dog home, she’ll have the constable shoot him. He was here today and almost spoiled our flower garden, so I guess you’d better keep him home. Yours truly, Thomas Peabody. Belle.—Why—why that insignificent little—(stops and begins to cry. W hy, my Jackie never got in his mother’s old flower bed. The idea of writing “Miss Belle” to me when I’ve always known him. I’ll never speak to him again and I—liked him—too. (She goes into the house crying.) Scene 2. (Peppar Home. Miss Peppar is in kitchen when some one calls.) Miss Peppar (going to the door).—Hello, Frank. Frank.—Hello, Miss Peppar. Here’s a letter for you. Gentleman’s handwritin’ too Looks kinda suspicious. Miss Peppar.—Now, Frank Trotter, don’t get funny. You know no man has interested me since Ed. went to sea. Give me my mail and go along with your funny talk. Frank.—I always thought I was popular with all the ladies in town, but I guess my popularity is decreasin’. First Belle Warren makes me move on when she got her letter from a genl-tleman and now it’s you. There’s nothin' left for me but suicide, I guess. Miss Peppar.—Yes, you poor man. If you are never going to get over talking this nonsence you might as well commit suicide. Who was Belle’s letter from? Frank.—From Thomas Peabody. Miss Peppar.—I notice that Tommy has been watching her pretty close lately. Well Frank, maybe we will all be invited to a wedding soon. You never can tell. Frank (joking).—Miss Peppar, you don’t mean Ed’s coming home, do you? Miss Peppar.—Who said anything about Ed? Go peddle your mail and leave me alone. (She enters house and reads her letter.) Dearest Belle: This will be sort of sudden I suppose, but I can’t keep it back any longer. You know I’ve loved you since the first time I saw' you. I haven’t got nerve enough to ask you to marry me when I see you but I guess a letter will do. Yours truly, Thomas Peabody. P' S. Answer Soon. Miss Peppar.—Well of all things, what will be happening next? The idea of that young rascal proposing to me. Why, when I was engaged to Ed., Thomas was a little boy, (Her mind goes back and she talks.) Ed. and I would have been married now if he hadn’t got that notion of bein’ a sailor’ He’s been gone thirteen years now and I’ve never heard of him. He said he’d come back some day but I guess he’s forgotten it. I guess the best thing to do with this letter is to keep quiet and treat Tommy the same as I always did and I think everything will come out all right. Act II. Scene 1. Peppar Home. (Miss Peppar and Belle are talking.) Belle—Have you seen Tcmmy lately, Miss Peppar? Miss Peppar (thinking Belle knew of her letter).—No, but I expect him to drop in some time today. Belle.—Oh, well, I must be going then. I don’t want to see him. Miss Peppar.—Why not ? Belle.—Because he wrote me a note the other day and told me to keep my dog out of hit mother’s