Butler High School - Magnet Yearbook (Butler, PA)

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8 TII E SENIOR EM A G N E T She looked thoughtful for a moment, then added— “Why not use the understudy?” Understudy! I forgot about her,” said Richley. “But does she know the part ?” “Yes,” said Mary, “And as you said she will have to appear only in the last act.” “But she’s new and if the play is not a success, 1 shall he badly disappointed after all my trouble and worry.” “Even if she is new, she has talent and has practiced the part under the direction of my mistress. Besides,” Mary added slyly, “She’s a mighty good-looker.” “Very well, Mary, have her get ready at once and I must hurry as it is now past time for beginning.” The audience fussed, twisted about, shuffled its feet: why didn’t that curtain rise? Richley added a few last touches of make-up and rushed out upon the stage. The curtain rose, the audience subsided, and all was still. The first three acts passed without mishap. The play was a success, so far, yet Richley was worried for fear that the new leading woman might spoil it. He had never seen her and was troubled. Nevertheless, the curtain rose for the' last and most important scene. The leading lady was standing in the center of the stage. She gave her lines, then bowed her head. Richley entered and advancing toward her said: “Margaret, mv dearest. I knew that you would return to me some day. You know 1 love you: surely you will not refuse me now. Marry me and make me happy. I le folded her in his arms. She raised her head to reply and he looked down at her. “My God!—Beth”—he quickly checked the words that would have come. “David, she gasped—then stopped and went on with her part. “I’ll marry you now, my dearest friend.” He kissed her and the curtain was lowered. The audience thundered its applause and after many encores the curtain remained down and the people filed out of the theater and were whirled away in their taxies, talking of nothing but the wonderful play. Behind the curtain stood David gazing at Beth as though he could scarcely believe his own eyes. “How did you ever get here?” he asked at length. Then she told him of her life with Willis; how he had squandered her money; gone out with other women, and made life so wretched for her that she was forced to leave. She received word later of his death. He had quarrel with a friend of his and had been killed. After that she had gone on the stage and wandered from place to place, growing more disheartened all the time. Then she had come to London where she had become acquainted with Rosalie Abbott, the leading woman of this company. Miss Abbott seeing that Beth was talented, had taken her as her understudy. David put his arms in the same position in which they had been at the end of the fourth act, and raising her face to his, he softly said: “Dear little girl, you will make a fine actress, and if it is agreeable to you, I would like to sign you up as my leading lady for life.” She smiled and gave him the same answer as she had in the closing scene of the play. £ £

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r II •: S E N10 R cM A G N E T 7 Just as Beth was finishing her packing, a letter was brought to her by the maid. Seeing that it was from her mother, she hastily opened it and read— My darling daughter— I suppose bv the time this letter reaches you, you will have your wedding all planned. But, my dear, I wish you would grant the wish of your dead father and marry David. David loves you, Beth, and would make you a much better husband than Willis. I beg you to consider this as I fear you are making a mistake by marrying Willis, and if so, it is one that you will greatly regret. Write and tell me that you’ll marry David and I shall be much happier. With love, Mother. For a moment Beth wavered, but her mind was made up. Marry David? Not she. I le never went to parties and she could never be happy with a man who didn’t travel with her set. She wrote and told her mother that everything was settled, and she was going to marry Willis. This done, she continued with her work until interrupted by David, who had entered unnoticed and stood watching her. “Well! where are you going?” she said as she saw he had his wraps on and a suitcase in each hand. “1 don’t know yet, Beth. I’m just going that’s all. I came in to say goodbye and wish you happiness in your married life.” “Why, David,” she said in surprise, “Surely you’ll not leave New York? I really—why this—that is I thought—” she stammered, not knowing what she wanted to say. “Yes, I think I’ll leave New York,” he replied, “And as I don’t have much time to get to the train, I must hurry.” She stood silent; he bade her farewell and left. Still she did not speak. When he was gone, she threw herself down in a chair and cried as though her heart would break. Then she dried her eyes and wondered why she felt so lonely without him. In the meanwhile in London, a noted stock company is rehearsing a play which is expected to be the best of the season. All London awaits the release of this drama and it is talked of far and wide. The leading man, William Richley, is a much renowned person in this great city, and it is just recently that he has become famous. He is one of the best actors on the London stage and has a very promising career before him. The part that he has in the play is the best he has ever had, and he is eager to appear in this great role. Many weary nights he spends going over his part and finally is ready to portray the character in the story. At last the eventful night arrives. The theater is crowded and impatiently awaits for the curtain to rise. The orchestra has filed in and has began to play. Behind the scenes a few last touches are added here and there. W’m. Richley is in his dressing room taking a last look at his role. All is ready and the signal for the curtain is about to be given, when the door of Richley’s room is thrown open and Mary, the maid of the leading woman, stands before him. “Well?” he said impatiently. “Oh, sir!” replied Mary, “My mistress is sick and it will be impossible for her to go on the stage tonight.” Richley looked dumbfounded for a minute. The leading woman not able to appear? What was to be done? Finally he said: “She must go on. there is no other way; and besides she will only have to come on in the last act.” Mary shook her head. “No, she is too ill and is getting ready to go home this very minute.”

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T II F.S I: N 1 OR !M A G T 9 “SO MUCH GOOD IN THE WORST OF US” Viola Roenigk There’s so much good in the ivorst of us, And so much bad in the best oj us, It hardly behooves any oj us To talk about the rest of us.” The December wind blew the snowflakes onto the porch of Judge Cameron’s residence where Hilda, who worked for the Judge’s wife, was busy sweeping away the snow and singing, “There’s so much good in the worst of us, and so much had in the best of us,” etc. Just then Judge Cameron stepped out on the porch and, hearing Hilda’s song, said, “Do you believe that there is so much good in the worst of us, Hilda? “I do, sir, for my mother has told me that there’s a little bit of goodness in every one of us which is bound to show some day, no matter how bad we are, and that no one's heart is so hard but that something, some time will soften it.” “1 used to think that, too, Hilda, but lately I’m not so sure,” replied the Judge, slowly moving on but thinking of the song, and thinking still more of the man he had sentenced yesterday while the criminal threatened to take his life when he would get out. Judge Cameron was thinking, too, of his little daughter Betty, who lay very sick at home under the watchful eye of his wife. That evening upon his return home, his wife told him their little daughter was no better and the nurse she had been planning to get had sent word that she could not come. She would be obliged to spend another night at Betty’s bedside although she was hardly able. 1 ler husband offered to care for the child this night, and after making sure that he would give the child her medicine every half hour, according to directions, she went to her room to try to sleep. The Judge gave the medicine the first half hour and then he fell asleep. He was awakened by the bang of a window, and when he looked out, he saw a short figure, that of the man he had sentenced, crossing the fence. He then thought of his little daughter whom he had neglected, for it was now daylight and when he kneeled at her bedside, she was breathing regularly and resting easier than she had for several days. The Judge looked at the medicine and saw it was almost finished and he also saw beside the glass a note. “I came to take a life, but I’ve saved one instead. It’s better to save than to destroy. She’s had every dose to 5:30 this morning, and now she’ll need a father, and don’t be asleep the next time she needs you.”