Butler High School - Magnet Yearbook (Butler, PA)

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'I HE MAGNET and didn’t mind standing for a good while and having the salesgirl—“by gosh, she was purty,” he afterwards told his friends—hold the corks to his nose. He walked around and examined a few new things. There were razors, for instance—safety, safety—no way to cut yourself, even if you wanted to. Then there were purty, bright socks for John— if he didn’t like them, Susan could wear them around home with her long skirts, lie looked at his watch—three o’clock and no dinner. lie stepped into a restaurant, had dinner and, heaving a sigh of relief, started homeward. At seven o’clock he was home. Maria was waiting impatiently for him. “Hand me that basket, Obadiah ! Let’s see, what’s all these gold kittles here fer?” “Why, that’s the per—perc—oh, you know!” “My goodness gracious, not my 5y2 yards percale! And the shoes—why, these is big enough fer you! I wanted them fer the preacher’s new baby! And Obadiah Jeremy, purple serge—purple ! My green is a bit bright, and when it is gathered it’ll get darker, but never, never will it get dark enough to be trimmed with purple.” “Obadiah, tomorrow ye’ll hitch up and take every last thing back, and ye’ll jest stand up with yer own lips and ye’ll tell me, ‘Woman is my beat.’ She’d never let anyone talk her into five brass kettles of percale, nor git bright purple to trim green, nor shoes fer a 20-year-old instead of a month old, and, lastly, no water with a fine smell to bring back what nature took. Now, Obadiah, say ‘Woman is my beat’.” And doggedly Obadiah repeated, “Woman is my beat.” CLIP'S INITIATION. (By Ethel Osgood) 'FjL I 1E Mecklenburg University boast-ed one very select fraternity, and when Clip Farrington entered Mecklenburg he was asked to join it. This was an honor that Clip accepted, and, being an athlete, he foresaw the advantage of being a member of the Sim Forst Fraternity. On entering the Sim Forst he discovered it was a secret organization and that each new member was duly initiated. Clip’s stunts had not been any display of strength, but of such a nature as to humble his pride. He had had his hair shaved and wore a beard for a week; he had sold papers while his fellow-classmates had jeered at him; he had painted the word “Ford” all over the president’s new six-cylinder car, under the muzzle of a revolver held by the hand of one of the members of the Sim Forst. All this Clip had done, and yet one more remained for him to do before he could be a full-fledged member of the fraternity—so the letter read which his room-mate had just given him. “Go to the little house at the edge o-r the woods, on the north road. There you will find further directions. You have to ride on the mule which is hitched in front of the Sanitary Drug Store. Store at 7:3o. You are being watched.” This notice was type-written, so it did not enlighten Clip as to the perpetrator. Just the same it did not dampen Clip’s enthusiasm. Promptly at 7130 he ap peared at the Sanitary Drug Store. There stood the inoffensive mule, in all its gorgeous trimmings. Its head was bandaged in alternate red and yellow

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6 THE MAGNET last the townsmen could no longer stand the attack and were forced to surrender. This, indeed was a sad fact; but sadder still were the figures of a woman and a man lying side by side in cold death on the battlefield. As the sun sank that night it was not upon the beautiful city of the morning, but upon a changed town. Women were silently weeping over their dead, some sitting in the streets with their children beside them, while they saw their earthly possessions and their homes going up in smoke. The streets still resounded with musketry and the brawls of the drunken soldiers. Indeed it was quite a different city from that of the morning—then a beautiful city—now a mass of desolation and misery. Common Sense vs. Ignorance. (By Stella Zuckerman.) OBADIAH Jeremy was tired. Yes, dead tired of having Maria, his wife, going to town shopping. First, she would gape around into all the shop windows and spend half a day doing nothing. Then she would have to have an extra meal and perhaps go to the expense of staying over. So he, Mr. Obadiah Jeremy, was going to do the shopping. He got a list from Maria and, to his extreme embarrassment, was forced to sling a large market basket over his arm. It was six o’clock when he started. He would walk to Elbourne, a distance of a few miles, and from thence he would drive to the city. As he walked along he heard subdued giggles on all sides, and “Jeremy, going to buy some table linen?” or “I hope Maria’s hat will fit her finely after ye try it on for her,” and the like greeted him on all sides. When he arrived in the city he looked over his list. First there was “5 2 percale per 10c.” He walked into the department store of Higgins Son and showed the first item on the list to the saleslady. In “per” the “p” was peculiarly similar to a “t.” She studied for awhile, then said: “Oh, certainly 5y2 percolators at 10c apiece. Oh, Mabel, come here; Zeke wants 5F2 percolators. Sell him five and the spout of another. “‘But, Miss,” he expostulated, “I’m sure Marie said that came by the yard.” A bright idea struck the two salesladies. “Ah, she was only kiddin’; she meant yuh can pour out 5l 2 yards of coffee.” “Now, thinkin’ of it, she did say somethin’ about pourin’ out.” Well, thank goodness, the first thing was bought. New, next was written cheap serge. He thought for awhile, for she did say something about that serge. Well, he asked for cheap serge. There was a piece which could not be sold, a gaudy purple. He priced a few pieces. Finding the purple cheapest, he purchased it. Next came the word “shoes.” “Now, leave me think; for whom were these— John, Susan, Maria?” He pondered and pondered and then made up his mind. He’d get size 7; they couldn’t fall off Susan’s or Maria’s feet if he had the buttons re-set a little tighter, and he’d get a good, hard working shoe and it would do for all. One more item. Oh ! What did he see? A tonic for falling hair, guaranteed to produce a good crop of hair. Fie tested a few bottles—he sort of liked the smell1

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8 THE M A ONET stripes, the saddle was draped in green the forelegs were bound in purple, and the hind legs were covered with a bright blue. So this was the beast that was to carry him to the little house at the edge of the woods. Clip mounted the mule and struck it with both his heels. It didn’t start as Clip had expected, but only snorted and remained unmoved. Clip gave it an extra hard dig; still the beast of burden stayed unmoved and immovable. The next thing was to try to lead the gorgeous sight which was attracting much attention and laughter from the crowd assembled. With a tug at the bridle Clip started, but the mule didn’t. “Coax it with some candy.” “Get some feed, boy.” “You better practice driving a mule before you give a public demonstration.” Somebody thrust a sack of rock candy in his hand. Clip pushed it under the mule’s nose and, with a snort, the beast started for it. Clip pulled on the bridle and the mule started, and away the two went for the little house. They reached the edge of the woods in safety. It was inky blackness and an owl hooted from a tree nearby. The much-bedecked mule shied and plunged forward. On and on it sped, with the would-be Sim Forst member clinging to the saddle. Clip saw the light, then he passed an open field, when suddenly the mule balked, turned around with such energy never before displayed by one of its kind, and made a headlong plunge backward toward Mecklenburg. Today Clip is an honorary member on the waiting list of the Sim Forst because he did not comply with the last order of the initiation. CARSON AND I. (By Bryson Ross) a ARSON and I were just alike in manners, height and facial expressions, from youth up; and now, at early manhood, we had reached the adventurous stage. Carson was building a long, cigar-shaped submarine, and had the nerve to call it a “flying projectile,” a “space annihilator” and other names. So One Day (note the emphasis, I mean it) Carson just naturally rushed me into it and yelled “let ’er go, Jim!”— and go she did. I left my thoughts— some of them good and some very nearly everything else—on earth as I went scooping skywards. Then Carson explained, “You see, we are going to the center of the earth !” “When do we change cars?” “O, you—ignorance ! We stay in this ‘space annihilator,’ fitted with light, food, and air, and wait until we get high enough above the earth and—then if we don’t hit a star, we will strike earth,” said Carson. “And mighty hard, too.” “Shut up! As I was saying, “If it doesn’t burst—” “Burst!” I yelled, “Le’ me out!” “Yes,” said Carson, “if it doesn’t burst—” “Oh!” “We shall be borne to the center of the earth.” “()h, all right,” I said, resignedly. About two days after, we started o the down grade, and 1 left some more perfectly good thoughts somewhere— near heaven. Then we struck something hard. I bear marks yet where I bit my tongue.