Butler High School - Magnet Yearbook (Butler, PA)

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PART III. Cynthia gazed thoughtfully over the bay and at the little town on its shores. Half way up the hill in back of the town stood an old castle. Cynthia was going there that evening, to attend a reception. She felt not the slightest elation at the thought. For almost a year, she had been traveling through Europe and Eng- land. Hurrying aimlessly from one place to another—trying, rather unsuccessfully, to find something that would hold her interest. She had made up her mind to accept the ardent proposals of a young count who had been showering attentions upon her wherever she went. And why not? Why not marry him, live in a beautiful mansion, traveling and shop- ping most of the time? No—she didn’t love him. but why let that hinder her? She really wasn’t sure that she was cap- able of loving anyone any more. Thinking that perhaps Venice would afford some adventure, the next day Cyn- thia traveled to the city of canals. From her balcony over the Grand Canal she sat, one night, watching the procession of gondolas as they w ere poled silently here and there in the pale moon- light. She did not notice that a gondola had come out of the shadows and was resting just beneath her. Sounds of mu- sic came to her. Someone was playing and singing an old love song. She listen- ed—her heart, for some unaccountable reason, was beating wildly. When the song stopped, she looked down. I le had not been singing to her, but to a woman in the gondola beside him. Cynthia slept little that night and the next day left for New York. PART IV. Two children, a girl and a boy, are bending over a large memory book. Dick—“Mother, she’s gettin’ this page all sticky; make her get out; she’ll spoil it—Mom!” Mother (impatiently)—“Now be nice and look at it together or I’ll take it away.’’ Sister—‘Mom, what’s the little book for?’’ Mother—“It’s a program, dear, a dance program—” Dick—“I don’t see no words in it. Mom—where are the words, Mom?” Sister—“What are you savin’ a dead rose for, Mom?” Mother (gazing into space)—“Because your father gave it to me, dear.” Dick—“Where’d he get it, Mom? Why didn’t he give you a whole bunch. Mom? Oh, Mom—” Cynthia had found her world. 26

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■8? LITERARY FORTUNE’S FICKLE WHEEL Clara Louise Jenkins PART I. “Mother! the dress is here!” cried an excited voice, whose owner danced around a table and then sped up the stairs to find someone who could share her joy. “Cindy, dearest,” this laughingly from Mother, for she knew it was useless, “If you don’t sit down, you will be so tired before it’s all over. Lor tonight was Cynthia’s first real dance, and although, at times, sixteen seems ages older than sixty, there are other times when it is just plain sixteen, caring little if it never grows up. “I won’t be a ‘Cinders’ any more—they can’t call me that now, can they, Mother?” asked Cynthia as she carefully and tenderly lifted the dress from its bed of white tissue paper. The day finally wore away and Cynthia was ready, with twenty minutes to spare, for the party. She gazed ador- ingly at her reflection. The little silver slippers—she couldn’t have lived with- out them! And the dress—so pale and filmy. Who was she? Could anything so fairy-like clothe dull humanity? Hu- manity, yes—but dull? Never! At least, never at sixteen, with one’s world so full of love and happiness. Cynthia's program was full and she danced each dance as though it were the only one. There were Japanese lanterns in the gardens and on the terrace and, too happy to speak, she wandered be- neath their pale light. Come on, Cindy, it’s your turn!”cried someone, as she walked toward a laugh- ing group. Fortunes were being told and Cynthia laughingly surrendered her palm. “Ah, said the gypsy, “You have a strange hand—very strange. Adventure is written upon it—and marriage. You will marry for love, fair lady—true love!” Cynthia slept lightly the few hours that were left of the night. Through her dreams ran the words—“You will marry for love—true love! PART II. Commencement. Cynthia was gradu- ating from college. Four short years of glorious adventure. Almost too short to be true. And yet she was glad, for she wanted to get away. There was so much to do everywhere—so much to conquer. I ler goal was India—as a medical mis- sionary. There had been so many affairs the last year. Cynthia was tired of it all. 1 ler life was going to be so full, she would have no time for people, except disinter- estedly, of course, or her own small likes and dislikes. Tomorrow the family was driving Cynthia home. Two weeks since Cynthia’s last day at school. She lay in a cool, dark room, in a hospital, unable to think clearly. The pale, still faces of Mother and Dad arose before her continually. And Bobbie’s weak, frightened moan sounded in her ears. When she had regained con- sciousness, they told her that Bobby was safe. They had not needed to tell her that Mother and Dad were already in the Great Beyond. 25

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r £Z MY DARWINIAN DEARIE Howard Oesterling I arrived in the town of B......., Mon- tana, shortly after six o’clock. My war- time pal and dearest friend, Jerry Kane, met me at the station and, after exchang- ing the most cordial greetings, drove me to his home. A delicious hot supper, pre- pared by Jerry’s wife—for he was now married, awaited us. The meal was an enjoyable one although we did hurry it a little, for we had much to tell each other. Jerry and I had enlisted in the same regiment back in '17. This was the be- ginning of a true friendship, that is still existing at the present time. We went through the ‘thick and thin” of the war together, being separated only once, and that was only for the few weeks that Jerry was in the hospital with some shrapnel in his arm. Then came the armistice. Never was there greater rejoicing, for that meant no more fighting, and—home! Yes, it meant home for most of us. But, as for me, 1 had no home to go to, and, as luck would have it, I was chosen to remain as one of the Army of Occupation in Ger- many. Jerry and I sorrowfully parted and I promised to come to visit him at his home in Montana as soon after I landed as possible. After the evening meal was over, we seated ourselves before the fireplace to talk of old times. We hadn’t talked very long when Jerry asked me what I was expecting him to ask all the time. 1 le asked me about the sweetheart I had left in Boston, whether 1 was married, and if not, why? “No, Jerry, old man,” I said, “I'm not married and never expect to marry, at least, not Jean.” “Why, what’s the matter? lias she turned you down, or is she already mar- ried?” exclaimed Jerry. “1 thought you said that you were engaged and expected to be married as soon as you came back. Tell me, Dick, I want to know.” “It’s a long story, but I’ll tell you,” 1 said. So I began— “When 1 left for the front, Jean and I promised to be true always and to be married as soon as I came home. For that matter, we have kept our promise except for the marrying part of it. “I had been gone only a short time when Jean was stricken with a peculiar kind of heart disease. It was only a slight attack at first, but gradually be- came worse. The strangeness of the dis- ease bewildered the doctors in charge, so they summoned other doctors to make a diagnosis of her case, but they, too, were unsuccessful. “Finally, as a last resort, they appealed to Dr. S -......, the greatest surgeon of the country. The queerness of the case interested this doctor, so he consented to take the case. 1 le made an examination and declared that the only thing that could save her life was to replace Jean’s heart with the heart of some animal. He declared that an operation of this sort was all that could save her life. “Her parents, after much deliberation, finally consented to the operation. So Jean was operated on, her heart being replaced by the heart of a chimpanzee. The heart of this animal was used be- cause it possesses almost human quali- ties. All this time 1 was kept ignorant of the fact that Jean was even sick And all the time 1 was away, I didn’t even hear one word of it. 27