Cloverdale Union High School - Spectator Yearbook (Cloverdale, CA)

Page 28 text:

26 THE SPECTATOR To the whole colony they were confessed sweethearts and a happy young man was Sheridan when, coming home in the cool of the evening, after a hard day’s work he would see her bright red kerchief come bobbing up the track, to meet him. He would kiss her ardently on the lips and the young couple would walk home talking in happy anticipation of the time when he would have saved up enough to buy them a little home. Six years passed and now there was a little cottage; further¬ more it was inhabited by three, for now there was a little Marguerita also. Indeed it was a happy family. Monday morning Sheridan went to work as usual with some anxiety, for the little one was not feeling well. He had been working for about an hour when a speck was seen in the distance on the railroad. All regarded this curiously . It was not time for the track walker to come on his tricycle. But it was he just the same. When he came within speaking distance he cried, “Sheridan! Sheridan! Your child,—the little Marguerita—she is very sick—your wife, she sent me.” His mind grasped one fact—a doctor. He must get a doctor at once. The nearest doctor was at the little town of B.—two miles up the railroad. He jumped on the railroad tricycle and started up the track. The men divined his intentions and tried to stop him. The train would come up the track towards B. in five minutes and he would be run over. But he was desperate and nothing could stop him. The road to B. was through deep cuts and over steep precipices. Soon he heard a faint whistle behind him; he redoubled his efforts and fairly flew along the track. His arms ached and his head swam, but it was a ride for the lives of two now, and he worked with the might born of desperation. He was rounding the last curve now; the engine was close upon him but on account of the winding way, the engineer was unaware of the fact. He threw his last ounce of strength on the handle and fairly flew down the long grade to the depot. Just then the long train rounded a curve and came thundering by just as he jumped for his life. The tricycle was ruined, but Sheridan stopped not. He ran to the doctor’s house, and soon had him speeding toward the settlement. The child was saved. M. H. ’17.

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“Slie will live,” lie said fervently to the nurse near by, and softly left the room. It was only a week till Christmas and once more the family were living in the fifth story rooms of the tenement house. The mother sat alone by the fire, an empty purse in her hand, a dollar bill in her lap. “Only one dollar left for presents for five children,” she said aloud, ‘ ‘ and my dear babies who have been so good and who are expecting Santa to bring them their reward! How can I bear to see their innocent expectations disappointed? How can I explain to them?” The door had opened softly, unnoticed by her, and the doctor said gently, “Give the dollar to some poor orphan child and yourself and your children to me to keep always—the answer you will find in yourself then complete.” “I will,” she said, ‘‘ my children love you dearly and you shall be their Christmas present.” Z. M. H„ ’14. HERIDAN was a little Italian boy. As a baby he was a very handsome little child. He had large blue eyes, rosy cheeks and little fat kicking legs. As he grew older he played with the rest of the Italian boys that lived around the depot. He was a happy fellow and as he grew to be a young man he was liked by everybody. Six days he worked with men as a section hand and on Sundays he talked and played Italian games with the rest of the men. About this time two great things happened to Sheridan, namely, he was promoted to section boss on the railroad and he became deeply captivated by the charms of the fair Marguerita, the hotel keeper’s daughter. Marguerita was the pride of the little Italian settlement. Those bright dancing eyes, pearly white teeth, and blushing cheeks had played havoc with other hearts. But to all aspiring youths she had turned a cold shoulder until she met young Sheridan.

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THE SPECTATOR 27 WtUp tit? Emu JIatM mt tit? Euuf T is an old garret with big brown rafters; the boards between are stained with rain storms of twenty years. And as the April shower quickened its flood it seemed as if its torrents would come dashing through the shingles upon me and my play. It seemed a grand old place, and it was all great fun—the heavy rafters, the dashing rain, the piles of spare mattresses to lie upon. There is great fun in going through a tall barrel of books on the lookout for startling pictures. There are also apples in the garret—apples that are drying. And when I discovered them, I put a few in my pocket and ate them quietly. But I got tired of this, even of the swing. Suddenly I noticed a copy of Robinson Crusoe. I started to read it, and all at once I was trembling for the poor fellow with his guns behind the palisade. I was nearly dead with fright, yet I thought the old fellow must have had a capital time with a whole island to himself. I thought what a fine thing it would be for me to slip away some pleasant morning; and how, if they knew I were going, there would be such a world of good-byes; and how, if they did not know it, there would be such a world of wonder. And the sailor’s dress would be great. It would all be such rare sport. A sailor’s life on the blue and tumbling sea!—as you have often seen in pictures. I would have better luck than even Crusoe; I would save a compass and stores of hatchets and the captain’s dog, and great barrels of sweetmeats, all of which Crusoe completely overlooked. I would have a tent or two, which I could set up on the shore, and an American flag, and a small cannon, which I could fire as often as I liked. At night I would sleep in a tree, and would wonder how Crusoe did it; I would say the prayers that I had been taught to say at home and then would fall asleep. At sunrise I would come down, feeling very much refreshed, and would make a very nice breakfast of smoked herring and sea-bread with a little currant jam and a few oranges. After a long while, I fancy a ship would arrive, which would carry me back to my father and mother. Then would we have a great deal of pleasant talk about the island far away in the South Seas. Thus, in my quiet garret corner, with my head upon my hand, did my thoughts stroll away from the book into my own dreamy cruise over the sea. D. B. T7.