Butler High School - Magnet Yearbook (Butler, PA)

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THE SENIOR tMAGNET help Norman in the matter. One night when Norman and Barbara had been to a movie together, they came home and sat in the glimmering moonlight, conversing in whispers, Finally, Norman mustered up enough courage to take Barbara's hand, and old Peter watching his chance, popped out just then. He looked from one to the other, “Well, well, lie exclaimed, “1 suspected it. Easy come, easy go. Well, Norman, if anyone must have my little girl, I’m glad it’s you. And Norman did the rest. The night before the wedding, Babs handed Peter a pair of very shabby, worn out little slippers. “Please throw’ these out, daddy. They can never be used again.” But Romance laughed until she cried, when old Peter took those slippers and locked them up in his cupboard. •B.H.S.- A TRUE STORY Abram Barron Not many years ago I was born in Bvliastok, Russian Poland; the town was inhabited by many Jews, who lived in constant fear of pogroms. These pogroms were as common in those days as they are in these. In 1906 my father decided to leave for America. This announcement was brought about after many days of deliberation, and as we had relatives in America that were not poor, they were willing to help my father get started on the road to prosperity. My father decided to leave on a certain Monday. The rest of us were to follow as soon as father had made enough money to bring us over. On Thursday of the same week a pogram broke out. That event has left an impression upon my mind that shall never be effaced, for the horrors of this pogrom are still fresh in my mind. On Thursday evening all was quiet, and then the news, came out. The Jewish soldiers had been arrested. Why? was the question raised. There had been no outbreak. Then the truth came out. Two regiments of royal Russian soldiers had come for a visit to our town. They were drunk. The Jewish soldiers had been placed in prison to be out of the way of the Russian soldiers; and then we knew our fate. The first shot came at ten o’clock; a storekeeper had been killed. Then amidst great confusion the Jews took to their houses, and at our house we hid under the bed. As 1 lay near my mother, I could hear her beg God that we should be spared. The pogrom lasted two days; a person lived a life time. Fathers were killed, mothers insulted, and babies dissected. It was horrible for one knew not w’hen his turn should come to be killed. Then at last deputies from St. Petersburg came and they caused the soldiers to stop their murdering and plundering. Some months later, money came from America to us. Our happiness can never be expressed to America; the land of the free where the streets were paved with gold. But best of all, where one could live without fear and dread. And when we left, I heard my mother say, “ Thanks unto thee, Lord, for Thy goodness and mercy.”

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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

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16 THE SENIOR IMAGNET JACK PUTS ONE OVER Vincent McKee And furthermore, Jack, this is the last fine I'll pay on account of your disregard for speed laws.” “But dad, I was only testing the motor I have been designing.” “Nonsense! A nineteen year old boy like you couldn’t design a babv carriage let alone a motor for a racing machine. You would do better if you spent that time on your studies. “Dad, I’ll bet you a thousand dollars that within six months I will have a motor of my own design that will outstrip anything ever produced in the Randal factory. You may take the money from my allowance if I lose.” “All right! I’ll put up five thousand dollars against your one thousand to show you that I’m still game.” When Jack had left the room, Mr. Randal leaned back in his chair and chuckled. “It will go hard with the bov to lose a thousand dollars, but it will teach him a lesson.” Jack Randal was the son of A. C. Randal, a wealthy manufacturer of automobiles built for speed. Jack was “a chip off the old block,” as the saying goes, and inherited the enthusiasm and determination of his father. As the weeks passed, little was said about the bet, excepting an occasional friendly gibe or joking remark by Mr. Randal. Nearly five months had passed when Jack finally announced the completion of his car. “So it is really completed,” said his father. “Well, well, and when do you want to race me?” “Any time suits me,” replied Jack. “Well, then let us set the contest for Saturday of next week. I’ll demonstrate to you then how quickly a fellow' like you can lose a thousand dollars. “Why, dad, my car is a wonder. It is by far the speediest thing that was ever built in the Randal factory.” “We’ll see! w'e’ll see!” replied Mr. Randal with a twinkle in his eyes. The day for the race arrived and both cars were taken to the speedway, the father and sot giving their machines a final inspection with as much fondness as though the mechanism were human. Finally both announced their readiness and the cars were placed side by side with steadily purring motors. At the signal both w'ere off with the swiftness of eagles. As they sped over the smooth surface of the steeply banked track, their motors roared with that steady drone which comes only from the finest motors in the best adjustment. Slowly Jack’s car drew away from his father’s. Each lap put a greater distance between the two cars. At the end of the twentieth mile lap and the end of the race, Jack’s machine crossed the line six laps ahead of the other. Jack alighted from his car, his face wreathed in smiles. But his joy was slight compared to that of Mr. Randal, who rushed forward, exclaiming, “Great, wonderful, marvelous, son; that’s the fastest car in the country. 1 never saw anything like it. Congratulations, Jack.” That evening Jack was given his five thousand dollars. “1 knew it was sure money, said Jack with a grin as he received it. “Here is another little present,” replied Mr. Randal, handing him a paper. “Wh-wh-what!” stammered Jack as he looked at it, “a-h half interest in the Randal Motor Company.” “You deserve it, Jack. That car of yours is away ahead of anything else built.”