Butler High School - Magnet Yearbook (Butler, PA)

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THE MAGNET 5 the rest of us. We all became quiet and listened in amazement to the sweet strains of music in the distance. It rose and fell in soft tones, and then glided off into minor strains, which soared and swelled far above the door of the player’s tiny hut, into the evening air, expressing the passionate workings of the manly heart. A slight obligato strain was heard and then the music stopped. Silence reigned. I tried to think where I had heard that same piece before, when one of the company inquired of the hotel keeper who it might be who played such beautiful music. In reply, the rough old mountaineer said, “Oh, that’s old Abe playin’ his evenin’ prayer.” But how can an old man out here play anything as beautiful as that?” I was forced to ask. “Well, now, if you want ter know, I’ll tell you. As near as I kin recollect, it was in the fall of ’97 when Abe was courtin’ a gal from Clarion. They was drivin’ along the Horn, out here about ten miles, when his hoss scared at a rollin’ stone, and run down over the mountain. That, of course, throwed him and the gal out. When he come to hisself, it was almost dark, an’ as he looked around, he saw her—dead. Well, to make a long story short. Abe went to the city a good while ago to get a job. He was mighty good lookin’, bright as a whip, and is as handy with the fiddle as anyone you ever seen. He thought he would forget the girl, but mind you, one night when he was goin’ down the street in the city, as he quietly told me one day, he seen where some fellow with a high-soundin’ name was to play the violin at one of them there theatres, and he was so lonesome for music that he went in. You know he was alius savin’ of his money, and more so since that gal died, and then he was so quiet, and it made him mad for folks to ask him why he didn’t talk more. But, as I was sayin’, he went to hear this fellow play, an’ I guess it was too much for him, for he come out home here after that evenin’, and every night he plays that there piece. “Somebody asked him one day why he alius played the same piece, and he said that the fellow in the city had played that, and it seemed as though he could jist hear the snortin’ of the hoss as they drove on and then went tearin’ down the mountain, he and his gal. An’ then the rest reminded him of a funeral hymn. He said everything was made to seem so real. An’ then he said he was goin’ to play that piece every evening till he died, and he hoped he’d die playin’ it. “He’s purty old now, and don’t look nothin’ like he used to, so maybe he’ll get his wish. I guess that’s about all, and I’ll have to go in now and go to bed, for I have a hard day’s work for tomorrow. So, good night to ye.” All was quiet for awhile. The story put me to thinking. I could not but express my thoughts in words, and so I said: “I know that’s the man I saw some time ago, who attracted my attention both on the street and in the theatre, for I watched him so closely and heard him say that he would play the piece until he died. And I am glad to learn he is able to fulfill his wish, and finally see his loved one, after playing those ‘few bars in the key of G.’ ”

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4 THE MAGNET A Few Bars In the Key G. HRONGS of people crowded the streets of a small Western city, seemingly taking no notice of each other, except, in their haste, to push and jostle one another along. There were just three of us in the company, and as we were going along one of the less frequented side streets, we could not help but remark about a tall, distinguished looking Man, making his way among the crowd, almost beside us, sometimes ahead or perhaps behind us, depending upon the moving crowd. The long, narrow face, with the sunken cheeks, are relieved a little by the dark, almost black eyes, which seem to give expression to the whole countenance. We notice the eyes brighten and grow larger as some pleasing sight comes within their range, while again a slight narrowing and steel-like glint expresses their owner’s displeasure.. But we are impressed by the dark, sorrowful expression over the whole countenance, which cannot be relieved, no matter how brightly the eyes may smile and sparkle. The Man goes on down the street and mingles with the crowd, but we catch sight of him pausing in front of the Edrich theatre. The pause lengthens, for his attention is attracted by the program billed for the afternoon; he slowly pulls his hand from his pocket and looks at the bill tightly clutched there; a deeper look comes into his eyes as they glance toward the ticket window, which changes to determination, as the man moves forward and falls into line. As the Fates decided, we were going to attend the same show. We purchase tickets which place us in seats near his, where we can occasionally glance at our interesting friend. Soon the curtain rises. We see our friend eagerly watching a man with a violin, who slowly moves across the stage, where his presence is acknowledged by thundering applause from the audience. He raises his violin and draws his bow gently across the strings. Then follows a sweet, gentle, sympathetic strain of music. The Man in the audience sits with bowed head; the music rises, then falls, like the swaying of leafy tree branches, but suddenly glides off into minor strains which soar and swell far above the thoughts of the audience, with the exception of the Man, who sits up, throws back his head and grips the seat, as if listening for a voice from above. The music rises higher and higher, expressing the passionate workings of the manly heart, whose whole being is bent towards making the violin speak his longings. A slight obligato strain is heard now, as if a little bird had suddenly found its voice after the storm. The Man’s eyes become filled with tears as he listens a minute longer to the strangely beautiful bird-like strains of the violin, then takes his hat in a death-like grasp and mutters to himself, “I’ll play it myself until I meet her.” A noisy crowd of us young folks from the city were sitting on the porch of a mountain hotel in the West, where we had come to spend a short vacation. Our chaperone was a woman of about fifty. The owner of the hotel, a sturdy old mountaineer of eighty years, walked out on the porch one evening at dusk and, seeing the beautiful sky over the high, snow-capped mountains, that reflected the last rays of the setting sun, he called us all out to notice it. His weather prophecy was interrupted by an exclamation of wonder from

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6 THE MAGNET The Diplomacy of Love. HEN J ohn Russel Beach graduated from Boston Tech with his degree of A. M. in Design, he decided to spend a few weeks at the home of a chum from his home-town, now located in Washington, and learn to fly, which was a hobby of his chum. He was very much in love with Ruth Decker, the daughter of an attache of the British legation in Washington, and also a chum of his sister Helen. Ruth and Helen were co-eds in Boston Tech, in their Junior year, and room-mates. During his last year at school Russel had been much in the company of the two girls, if he could not persuade his sister to remain behind and give him Ruth to himself, which was very infrequent, to his way of thinking. While she evidently liked him, neither she nor her father would allow it to become more than a platonic friendship, notwithstanding the expostulations and entreaties of Russel. The Decker home was situated eighteen miles from Washington, on a tract of about eighty acres, ‘mostly wooded, and was a large, old-fashioned house of twelve rooms, two stories high, with the roof almost flat, and a balustrade around the edge. Here the family, which was composed only of Ruth, her father and the house-keeper, as her mother had died when she was very young, spent the summer, Mr. Decker moving into Washington in the winter when Ruth was in school. He had been attached to the legation for five years, and this was hi; last one, as he intended to return to his home in England and devote his time to his affairs in that country. However, it became known to a few interested parties that he had in his possession and was working on some papers and plans, which would be very useful to one of the minor nations of Europe. On two occasions attempts to secure them had been made by guests at dinners given at the house, but so far no one was successful, and they were kept safely concealed. The summer following the graduation of Russel, Ruth had invited Helen to stay a couple of weeks with her at her home, an invitation which was gladly accepted by Helen, as it would give her an opportunity to meet a great many friends and former classmates, and she would also have a splendid time before returning to her small home town for the summer. It was also noticed that Russel spent a good portion of the same time in and about Washington. He was there for the ostensible purpose of visiting his friend the aviator, who was now in the government service in the state department, but, as it may be supposed, the friend did not see a great deal of Russel. Nevertheless he knew him well enough not to be offended at anything he might do, for when he once got his mind settled on a thing, he was very liable to do it, and he seemed to have his mind set cn being with or near Ruth until she either accepted him or threw him flat. She finally agreed to marry him if he could get her father’s consent, but he soon discovered that this was not so easy as it might seem. He succeeded in getting his sister to see his side of the question, and she agreed to do her part in a plan which he decided to undertake. He had discovered, through a few words which had been dropped by one of the agents, who were after the papers and plans, that an attempt was to be made to secure them on a certain evening on which several foreign diplomats