Butler High School - Magnet Yearbook (Butler, PA)

Page 15 text:

T II E S H N1 O K m A C, N E T 13 ROMANCE AND BARBARA’S SLIPPERS Leona Cohn In an obscure corner of one of our large cities is an even more obscure little shoe repairing shop. It might be identified by an unpretentious little sign, much the worse for wear, which reads, “Peter Rogers, Expert Shoe Repairing” and hangs out on the sidewalk about the level of one’s eyes. Down a flight of squeaking stairs, and we have reached our destination. It is a dark gloomy little place, but somehow, we cannot but notice something cheerful in the atmosphere. Perhaps it is caused by the jolly smile on Peter's old shriveled face, as his eves wander from his work long enough to bid us a cheery good-morning; perhaps by the presence of one little caged bird, who sings merrily despite his lack of freedom. Be that as it may, it is certain that no superfluous amount of cheer could be taken from the gleam of light which penetrates through the one tiny window. Romance is a creature blessed with much wanderlust. She may even be found in a concealed corner like Peter Rodgers’ shop. For old Peter dreamed dreams, and his very best dream centered around a pair of slippers—which isn’t so incongruous, considering that those were the means of his livelihood. You see, it was this way. The window in the shop was very small, indeed—so small that when Peter sat at his task, all he could see when he looked out, was the feet of the people who hurried across the pavement above, and of all those scurrying shoes, one pair alone attracted Peter’s attention. They were very tiny and wellshaped, these slippers, but otherwise quite unusual; so it may have been the jaunty step with which they rose and fell, or it may have been Romance herself who compelled Peter to notice them at first, and then watch for them. Every morning at eight, and every evening at five, day in and day out, those slippers passed Peter’s window, and in the long hours that intervened, the grey haired old shoemaker created visions concerning them. When the slippers were new and shiny and sparkling, Peter’s vision topped them with ravishing silks and satins, but as time drew on, and they aged more and more, he fancied their owner as one of his own kind—one of the thousands of sweet, patient, hard-working little girls, who plug and plug, and still smile. There was another dreamer. He lived in the same building as Peter, but many stories up and miles removed from the old cobbler. Norman Randolph was his name—with an M. D., if you please, and he was just starting hopefully, joyously, on the journey whereon Peter had traveled so far. It is sad, but true, that as yet, patients were not besieging Norman’s door, so he, too, had many minutes in which to build air castles and fill them with pretty pictures. Strangely enough, his dreams centered about the very maiden of Peter’s slippers—still not so strangely, since wily Romance had her hand at the wheel. Norman, however, saw no slippers—all he saw was the crown of a dainty red hat, as he looked down from his window, and when the weather was warm enough, an occasional glimpse of a shock of chestnut hair, and the firm young curve of a pink cheek. Life is somewhat like geometry, with its circles and triangles, and here Romance had one of the latter just ready made. Old Peter was one corner, anti Norman Randolph was the other, while the innocent unsuspecting apex was Barbara Ellesdale. And one part of the triangle was unconscious of both others. But there came a day—as days must—

Page 14 text:

THE SENIOR MAGNET how she had found Jean’s story, and being unable to compose one of her own, had taken Jean’s masterpiece, knowing that it would keep her from playing on the team. Professor Gleeman had tears in his eves when Louise finished. I low he pitied the girl, yet it was his duty to punish her. What should he do? “Go to your room, pack your trunk, go home. We do not keep thieves in this college.” It was a severe sentence, but no more than the girl deserved. Jean did not return to her room after supper, but went directly to the gym with the rest of the girls. She could at least coach the girls if she couldn’t play on the team. It was just twenty minutes until time for the game to begin when a messenger came to the locker room, “Message for Miss Handel.” Jean hastily tore open the envelope. She read it through; then—“Girls, listen to this: “ ‘Your essay has been found. Will explain later. Take your regular place on team tonight. Professor Gleeman.’ ” “Oh, goody! Jean is going to play.” Jean hastily changed into her middy and bloomers and was ready with the rest when the whistle blew. Amid the cheers of the crowded gym, Jean took her accustomed place and played better than ever. It was a fast, close game with a final score of 22-25 in favor of Ober-lin. Jean hurried to her room after the game and was surprised to find Louise packing. “Why, what does this mean, Louise?” Louise quickly explained everything, adding that she was sorry to have taken the story. “Listen, dear,” said Jean as she gently took Louise in her arms; “You aren’t gor ing home. I’ll tell the Professor that you are sorry anti that will make it all right. Besides you and I are going to be real good friends.” Louise sobbed out her gratitude in her roomie’s arms and thus founded a lasting friendship between the two girls. Jean received permission from the Dean for Louise to remain; and having explained everything to the girls, the barrier was broken down between the haughty Louise and the jolly crowd at college. Through the efforts of Jean, Louise was received into the hearts of the college boys and girls and the last few months of her college course were the happiest she had spent in the whole four years. She loved and was loved bv all and finally realized what it meant to meet life squarely and not be jealous of the one who happened to be brighter than she was. This above all else, To thine oven self be true; And it shall follow as the night— the day, Thou cans’t not then lie false to anyone.

Page 16 text:

i I Til!-: SHNJO R fM A G N R T when the sun forgot to shine and a misty uncomfortable drizzle filled the air. Long ere eight, old Peter sat in the dusky little shop, before a seemingly endless pile of shoes, and in his office, Dr. Randolph arranges his store of books, prepares for another day of waiting. At precisely eight o’clock, Peter almost automatically lifted his eyes—and sure enough there came the little slippers— inadequate as they were for such a day. Their step today was halting, faltering, and old Peter’s face clouded as he saw them waver. Suddenly, quicker than a flash, a heap of dainty humanity had fallen directly in front of the window, and a peaked white face was scarcely distinguishable from the clothes about it. Norman, from the window above, saw too. He saw an arm flung upward as if from sudden pain; he saw little Barbara fall. So at almost the same time when Peter hobbled up the squeaky stairs, the sturdy young doctor had dashed to the street, and together they reached the still little form. They carried Barbara’s fainted body into Peter’s shop. Norman gave his orders quietly, so that he might not frighten her. and Peter executed them silently. It seemed centuries before the long eye-lashs flickered, and the pale lips took on some of their natural color. But at last Barbara stirred and flinging her arms out, clasped Peter’s withered old hand convulsively, and cried loudly in her delirium, “Oh, don’t let them have me! Keep me with you.—Rain and thin shoes!—No rent and she sent me away. Oh, keep me—keep me!” Old Peter’s heart was touched and tears gleamed in his wrinkled old eyes. “If it is true that she has no one else, Doctor, my heart and home are more than open.” “There is no way of finding out now,” replied Norman, “and she must be moved immediately, before it is too late. If you wish, I will have an ambulance carry her to your house at once.” Thus it came about that Babsie Files-dale became a member of old Peter’s family, and for the first time in her life, she had a home where only love reigned. She had been very near the door of death, and lack of proper nourishment and clothes had wasted her away until a mere skeleton practically, remained. For many nights and days, old Peter stood constant, tender vigil, and hour upon hour, he sat beside Barbara’s bed, striving by every power to lessen the power of pain. Norman worked patiently, and it was by his care that the darkness was turned to sunshine, and Barbara’s life was saved. Then don’t you think everyone was happy? During Bab’s long convalescence when she could walk about the house, she transformed Peter’s house into a home, and her many little acts of kindness worked their way into Peter’s heart until they found the very core of it. When the roses had returned to Barbara’s cheeks, and the diamonds to her eyes, she came to Daddy Peter one day, and crouching on the floor beside him, she said, Daddy Peter, you’ve been so good to me. I’ll never be able to repay you.” “Tut, tut,” interrupted Peter, “Why, Babsie, just having you with me is reward enough honey-girl.” “I know how you feel, daddy dear, but 1 owe you so much. Now please don’t scold when 1 tell you what I’m going to do. Dr. Randolph needs an assistant. I le says that 1 brought him good luck— he has the nicest practice. Please daddy! I can reciprocate a little for Dr. Randolph, too, that way.” “Well, honey, if you want to work, it’s not I that will stand in your way. All 1 ask is to see you happy.” Barbara certainly was happy with Norman. She didn’t even admit it to herself, but Peter recognized the symptoms. Norman’s denseness aggravated the old man, so he decided that he would