Central High School - Mirror Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

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other shrill whistle and a puff of white smoke, which faded away as it disappeared behind the hill. Fifteen years had passed since the graduation of the three chums. Doctor Henry Wilson sat at his desk gazing at a telegram which lie had just received. He had made a great success as a doctor since his graduation, and had become famous as a surgeon. The telegram on the desk was from a doctor in another town, telling of a case which he was sending to him. When he first saw the new patient, a little girl of ten years, Dr. Wilson was struck by her resemblance to someone he had known. Who was it? Where had he seen that face before? But there was no time to waste. He must act at once. An examination showed him that her condition was very serious and that his only hope lay in the transfusion of blood. Her father offered to give the blood, but the doctor thought this unwise, so they decided to advertise for some one else. So it was that the next day on the front page of the newspaj er appeared the heading: “SI ,000 Paid to a Strong. Healthy Man for Some flood Blood.'' This caught the eye of a poor fellow sitting on a bench in the park. His suit was old and worn and his face covered with a heavy beard. “Gee, a thousand dollars! He whistled at the idea. “Why. if steamboats sold six for a nickel. I couldn’t afford to hear the whistle blow.” lie mused. “What would I do with £1,000? I’ll tr this anvwav.” So, putting the paper in his pocket, he set forth in the direction of the hospital. Late the next day tin- doctor sat quietly by the bed of his little patient. She was still unconscious. In another room was the poor fellow who had answered their advertisement. He had given his blood to the child, but lie, too. was unconscious from the operation. The father sat on the other side of the bed. The doctor looked from the child to the father, still puzzling over the resemblance. Suddenly a queer expression came over his face. He brightened at once. What is your name? he asked, turning to the father. “Davis. This laconic reply the father gave without looking up. “Fred Davis?” The Doctor spoke eagerly. Yes. replied the other, raising his head with a surprised look. They both looked at each other for a moment, dazed. “You, Henry?” Davis fairly shouted the words, forgetful for the- time of the unconscious child. The two men clasped hands joyfully; it was their first meeting in fifteen years. A faint groan brought them to themselves. They turned. The child was waking. Davis turned anxiously to Wilson, whose face brightened as he examined the girl. The operation had been successful. Two weeks later the girl was silting on the porch of the hospital convalescing, with the doctor and her father sitting close by, talking'over old times. Footsteps were heard in the hall. It was the poor man hobbling out to see the little girl whose life he had saved. I Ie was pale and haggard and had suffered a great deal from his operation. He stopped instantly at the door. He was amazed and looked blankly from the doctor to Mr. I)a is. Finally he spoke. 10

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r. r - - Three Chums IT WAS commencement night in the large college of Williamsburg. I he diplomas had just been awarded to the eighty-five graduates who had toiled so hard for four years. The last strains of the class song died on the ears of the audience as the graduates filed out in order. As The Three made their way to the room they occupied jointly, they brandished their diplomas joyfully. These boys. Roy Jackson. I'red Davis and Henry Wilson, had been close companions during their college years, so it was with a certain reluctance that they set about their packing. Henry and Fred were to leave on an early morning train; and even the light-hearted Roy realized that from this time forth The Three” would be widely separated. “Well. I’m through.” sighed Fred as he f1op|ied down on the bed. I can almost hear that 7:10 train pulling in already, can’t you. Henry? ('.ere. I'll be glad to see the folks at home. I suppose Dad will take me into his law firm the minute I hit the station. That’s what he sent me here for. You'll hang out your M. D. shingle at once, won’t you, Henry? No telling what I'll do. sighed Roy, the pessimist of the trio. ”1 haven’t any more plans now than 1 had the day I started to kindergarten.” Oh. you can get a job as messenger boy anywhere, laughed Fred, jokingly. You could get a job if you would get down to earnest work. said Henry. You haven’t done any studying since you’ve been in college. You've wasted your time and barely got your diploma, and what’s more, you “Aw, can that. Henry,” groaned Roy. You certainly will miss your calling if you are a doctor instead of a preacher. Why, you could make Billy Sunday sound like a deaf and dumb undertaker if you would be a preacher. Please don't give me one of your serious curtain lectures the last night we are together. As for wasting time, haven’t I made two V in baseball and one in football, besides this silver fob on the track? What more can you expect of a fellow?” Say, quit your jawin’ and come on to bed. growled Fred. My soul and body, you fellows are worse than two old women.” The next morning a great crowd was at the depot to see the boys off. The three chums were still together discussing plans for the future with some of their friends, when the train pulled in which Henry and Fred were to take. “Good-bye! So long! Farewell! were shouts that rose from the crowd. As I lenry and Fred stood on the train steps, Roy swung up for a last hand-shake. I won’t say good-bye to you. said Henr in his most serious manner, “but as old Shultz would say. Auf Wiedereehen.’ The train gave a shrill whistle and pulled out of the station, leaving the crowd behind waving and shouting. The only answer the train gave was an- 15

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r A Fantasy THE library door had closed upon the last visitor to the letter-writing contest. Immediately, there arose a soft flutter. From the neat rows of folders on the wall, a medley of gaily dad figures tripped down. The library buzzed with happy voices. Everyone was merry in the anticipation of a great time. Tables and chairs were pushed aside, and the frolic was on. Suddenly the great Caesar cried, “Set on; and leave no ceremony out.” With a lingering glance toward Viola, the Duke Orsino exclaimed, “If music be the foml of love, play on. Thus the dance began. Several numbers had been danced when a great commotion arose in the far end of the room. Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew Aguccheek had started an argument over a dr nk with Stephano, who had been serving refreshments to the best of his staggering ability. Then Sir Toll) and Stephano tussled. “By my troth, quoth Sir Andrew, the f H)l hath an excellent breast.” Festc looked at Sir Toby, “His eyes do show his days are almost done. Hold thy peace, shouted Sir Andrew. Troth, sir, I can yield ye none without words. and off skipped Feste. In the meanwhile ladies had retired to one end of the room. Oli ia sat with her head held in haughty disapproval. Portia turned to Xcrissa and said in an undertone, O Jupiter! how weary are my spirits! I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary. I his from Stephano, who had heard her. The music had ceased. More, more, I prithee, more, called Jaques. And once again the swaying figures glided over the floor. The hour was getting late. Well, come, my Kate; we will unto your father's,” said Petruchio. So. one by one. the guests sprang back into the I ook over which the judges had made so Much Ado.” 19 Emma Slockmar, 18.