Charlotte High School - Delphian Yearbook (Charlotte, MI)

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DELPHIAN, C. H. S. NINETEEN SIXTEEN LITCRARO Page twenty-two

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DELPHIAN, C. H. S. NINETEEN SIXTEEN EDITORIAL To the Faculty and many friends of Char- lotte High the class of ' 16 present this volume of the Delphian. Once more the Delphian Board has accom- plished its task. Countless questions have been asked us, much advice has been offered. We hope that we have profited by it all. In undertaking our work we little realized the difficulties that would beset our path, and altho we have groaned beneath the burden yet as others have done in the past, we have lived through it all and modestly present the Delphian of 1916. If perchance what we may say does not please some, do not wreak venge- ance upon the Delphian Board, but, remember- ing that we all have imperfections, forget it, and buy a few extra copies of the Del- phian for your friends. Faculty, Alumni and the students. Trusting to the gentle criticism of our readers. It is with pleasure that we look back on the progress of athletics in our High School during the past year. Too much credit cannot be given to our able directors, Messrs Gibbs, Gillert and White, who have given unstintingly of time and energy. Let us stand back of them in all their efforts and keep our standards high for good clean athletic sports. The Class of 1916 wishes to express its sincere thanks for the hearty support of the Mr. Pinnoek ' s departure the latter part of January was regretted by the student body and teachers, and we feel sure that he carried the best wishes of the student body with him. During his absence Mr. White, who has taken his place, quickly established himself in the good graces of the Faculty and the stu- dents, and is one whom we hope to have with us again next year. Page twenty-one

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DELPHIAN, C. H. S. NINETEEN SIXTEEN The Rose-Lady (By Velma Sackett. ' IB.) Paper, sir? Something in the childish voice stirred David Ames from his revery and looking down at the urchin at his elbow, he frowned. No, of course not, was his gruii reply. Pretty cold night, isn ' t it? the child ' s teeth chattered in spite of his brave effort to restrain them. With a start the man turned back. A bad night — yes, indeed. He was cold in his heavy coat while this little fellow could be cheerful even as he stood there, shivering in his rags. Yes, I will take one, boy! Thank you, sir. As the great dark eyes were lifted to his, memory stirred vaguely in his heart, yet it was nothing tangible, nothing he eould name. He slipped the paper into his pocket and continued on his way but somehow the little newsboy kept returning to his thoughts and he eould not forget the cheer and patience that shone in those dark eyes. The next night he found himself looking for the little fellow amidst the throng of people. In the nights which followed he made the purchasing of a paper an excuse for talking to the child and when he was missing for even one night, David Ames was coming to feel a sense of disappointment, for he looked forward to these snatches of conversation as the one bright spot in the day. As he was pocketing his change one evening the child timidly laid a bare, red hand on his sleeve and looking up into the stern face said, A Merry Christmas, Mr. Ames. Why it was Christmas eve and this was the first time he had thought of it or heard the wish expressed to him. Here, Peter, take this and buy yourself a gift with it, he said as he pulled some money from his pocket. Oh! Thank you, sir. The man walked on again lost in thought. What a lonely time of year it was — how he dreaded going back to that dark and gloomy place which he called home, with its velvet hangings tightly drawn over the windows, its closed rooms and shrouded furniture which he had long ago ceased to use. If only the boy had not reminded him that it was Christmas — after all money could not buy happiness. Why, doubtless, that ragged urchin was happier than he with all his riches. A man and woman passed him, laughing and chatting gaily; he looked longingly after them; he, too, might have been happy. The only way to get hap- piness, my son, is to give it. These words which his dear old mother had so often re- peated kept ringing through his head. I wonder, he mused, if I really could make anyone happy. How — how do you know whom to help. It had been a long time since David Ames had thought of anyone but himself. Scarcely realizing what he did, he turned back, and re- tracing his steps, reached the corner where his little friend was still striving to sell his papers. Peter, would you like to go home and spend Christmas with me since you have no one else in the world ? ' ' Had that been his own voice which spoke, so alive and full of emo- tion? He hardly knew. A look of happiness came over the child ' s Christmas day dawned clear and cold. All was confusion and excitement in the big stone house of David Ames ; servants hurried about opening rooms that had long been closed, pack- ages arrived, an immense tree was set up in the library — even the master seemed to be filled with the Christmas spirit and was kinder than he had been in several years. Noon came, but no Peter appeared ; an hour of anxious waiting passed and then the man turned away from the window and ordered dinner in a voice irom which all the life seemed to have fled. Suddenly the ring of the door-bell pealed through the house and without waiting for the butler, David Ames opened the door himself. If you please, sir, Peter said I was to tell you he can ' t come, bein ' as how he ' s sick. What, Peter sick! Where? Page twenty-three