Buffalo Seminary - Seminaria Yearbook (Buffalo, NY)

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20 SEMINARIA 1943 Of course, Bill had said. We can easily afford it. So the next day jean had started to redecorate the house. She discarded the mahogany and the walnut for birdseye maple, and the heavy draperies and portieres gave way to Brussels Lace. A beautiful gas log with an odorless flame was a happy substitute in the place where a wood fire used to crackle, and a look of triumph stole over Mrs. Lorey's face when she stood in the front door of her fashionable home and watched two burly moving men carry out Aunt Eliza and Uncle Egbert from their accustomed places over the mantel. As the front door closed upon them she watched with no regret Aunt Eliza's sniff for the last time and Uncle Egbert's last disapproving glance from the corner of his eye. She had sold them for very little money, but what could one expect from two pictures like that, and besides it had been almost enough money to pay for the etching of Paris in the Spring which now occupied the coveted place over the gas log. Now that her house was redecorated Mrs. Lorey would go on through life contented. There was nothing that she wanted. The years flew by, and now Bonnie was attending a fashionable boarding school, and Bill was getting good grades in an eastern college. But something was weighing heavily on the mind of jean, something that needed to be straight- ened out. One morning during vacation when Mrs. Lorey and her two children were eating breakfast later than usual, she carefully and tactfully led the conf versation to a subject that had been troubling her. Other families have guests, why not ours? Other children bring their friends home and share the companion' ship with their parents. Your father and I would like closer contact with your friends. Is there any reason why you do not make it possible? Bill ate furiously, his face very red. Bonnie, seeing that there was no hope of help from her brother, took the conversation as gently as she could into her own hands. Blue eyes met blue eyes earnestly and truthfully. Look, mom, it isn't your fault. You and dad are swell. It's this house. It isn't comfortable or homey. It looks like it grew up when someone had an hour with nothing to do. Nothing looks old, or used, or loved, or lived with. You'd never know we had grandparents! If Mrs. Lorey felt a sting at her daughter's words, her voice, in spite of it, was cool as she answered, I never saw it just that way, children. I'll see what can be done about it by your next vacation. Now that the children had gone back to college Mrs. Lorey was free to ponder the matter over in her mind. She decided to secure the services of the best interior decorator in Chicago, and see what he could do about making their house a home. The interior decorator was really making an improvement. He had brought divans, soft colored carpets, and comfortable chairs, and now the house really looked lived in. He had told her he would be through by the end of the week, and he was faithfully keeping his promise. On Friday afternoon Mrs. Lorey was sitting in the parlor enjoying the new coziness when the decorator strode breathlessly into the room. I've got it, I've got it!, he gasped, I've got just the thing to com' plete this room. What is it? , replied Mrs. Lorey in a tone that sounded as if it just came out of the ice box.

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SEMINARIA 1943 19 A Bnnus fur Banners LOWERfCLASS STORY Mrs. Lorey picked u The Chicago Evening News, read the article once more, and then looked out ofJ the window with eyes slightly squinted, as if she saw something that was invisible to others. She was an elderly woman with an inf tellectual air, and her plump figure was swathed in a dull blue silk dress that matched the blue of her eyes to perfection. The fingers that held the paper were long and graceful, but her nails were trimmed short, and there was something about the severity of the ashfcolored hair brushed back from her face which made her seem very businessflike. She tore herself from her reverie and again looked down at the Ladies' Page of the paper. In the left hand corner in stern black print was written A Bonus for 'Boners', and underneath was an explanation of the offer. This American paper offered a prize, a reward, a bonus, for people who were sporting enough and im- personal enough to offer up their mistakes on the altar of humor. The only stipula- tion was that the letters be written by their subscribers and mailed before mid' night that Saturday. It wasn't that Mrs. Lorey needed the money, or even wanted it for that matter, but the idea intrigued her. A Bonus for 'Boners' -Mrs. Lorey knew her subject. She took a wellfsharpened yellow pencil in her hand, looked down at the pale blue paper, let the pencil fall again, leaned back in her chair, and let her thoughts wander. Although it was many years ago, it seemed like yesterday, when Bill had kissed her at the Landons' party, and told her he wanted her to belong to him forever. She had been only twenty, and Bill hadn't had much money, so when they were married they had gone to live with Bill's mother and father in the large house on High Street. Mrs. Lorey hated the old house with the heavy old- fashioned fumiture, and all of the Lorey ancestors glaring down from their frames at her. She especially despised Aunt Eliza and Uncle Egbert Lorey who seemed to dominate the whole house from above the living room mantel. Uncle Egbert was a very meekflooking soul, and Mrs. Lorey fancied she heard Aunt Eliza sniff every time she entered the room. As years went on, Bill and jean were left sole pos' sessors of the home, but still Aunt Eliza and Uncle Egbert glared! Bill was now doing very well at the Chicago Bank and he had risen from a teller to vicefpresident in twelve years. jean had had two adorable children, Bonnie, a blonde child with her mother's eyes, and Bill, jr., who was the image of his father. Both youn sters were in school. jean and Bill had saved up enough money to send them to coiege, and now came the time for which jean had been waiting. One night when Bill was reading in the parlor, and she and Aunt Eliza had been exchanging unpleasantries for a half hour, she decided to bring up the question.

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SEMINARIA 1943 21 Something to give this room warmth and color. A room, like people, must have roots and background, answered the interior decorator. Of course, Mrs. Lorey, he said a little apologetically, This touch may be a little expensive, but leave it to me. You'll find it well worth the money. Mrs. Lorey acquiesced, and the decorator left in triumph! The next day Mrs. Lorey went shopping with Mrs. Connor, and there was surf rise and pleasure in her voice when Mrs. Connor said that she heard the Loreys had redecorated their house and she would love to see it. Mrs. Lorey had a feeling of pride as they went up the brick walk, but when she opened the front door she heard a sniff and felt a cold stare. Yes, there in their accustomed places were Aunt Eliza and Uncle Egbert. Mrs. Lorey rapped her pencil against the paper, brought her thoughts to the present, and raised her eyes to Aunt Eliza over the mantel. In spite of the sniff it was a kindly face, and she thought very differently of the prim black dress and the cameo than she had thirty years ago. Why now she even liked the Way Uncle E bert stared! She carefully copied the address that the Ladies' Page7' had given Wien she thought she heard again a sniff. In a relationship that, she found, goes deeper than words, Mrs. Lorey understood that Aunt Eliza would not approve of selling family stories for money. Aunt Eliza would not think it 6ttin'. All right, Auntie, said Mrs. Lorey as she tore the envelope into tiny pieces. You and I both know that in years of comfort, companionship, and tranquillity I've had my bonus for my 'boner'. FRANCES SAPERSTON, '45 0 PHILOSOPHY There is a quiet beauty in a sigh. There is a diamond brilliance in a tear. And there is beauty in the passing of a life, As beauty in the dying of the year. I see a depth of passion in my faith, To melt the cold and cruel ice of care- A crown of rubies, hot and red as blood, Set with the costly jewels of despair. BARBARA Goom-run, '43