Commerce High School - Commerce Yearbook (Cleveland, OH)

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fetortn on tlje ©HeStern plains DICK and I had been working in the broiling sun the whole forenoon. Wc had been rounding up a large herd of cattle and had worked like beavers to get through. And, although we had plenty of work planned for the afternoon’s occupation, signs of an impending storm drove us toward home. When the sky assumes that yellowish, saffron color, and the air becomes close and humid, most ranchmen know enough to “make for the ranch,” and I calculate we had as much sense as the average cow-puncher. Bob Tennet’s ranch lay on our way, and as we neared it, its green lawns and spacious veranda (Bob Tcnnet was well known for his luxurious tastes) looked so alluring and cool compared with the torrid heat of the outside that Dick and I were sorely tempted to go in. “Let’s go in and see the ‘Duke’, Dick,” I proposed. (The boys always called Bob Tcnnet the “Duke,” I don’t know why). “There’s a storm brewing, Sam, and we had better get to the ranch as fast as horseflesh can take us there,” he expostulated, “and besides, the ‘Duke’ has gone to Cheyenne to see about some new stock.” “Well, his good wife and daughter arc at home, aren’t they?” I asked, somewhat impatiently. “Oh, I see. Why, yes; I believe his good wife and daughter are at home. I thought you wanted to see the ‘Duke.’ Well, come on. We may as well be carried away in a house as on a horse’s back; for in five minutes the gentle gods of the wind will begin to amuse themselves.” He was right. The soft, hissing sound coming through the prairie grass had deepened into a low growl and it was getting dark. So, assured of a hospitable welcome, we turned our horses’ heads in the direction of Tennet’s ranch, and were soon being welcomed by the cheery and genial woman, who was the “Duke’s” wife. She was a kindly soul, and had a tactful way of making a fellow feel glad he was in her house, instead of wishing he was fifty miles away, as so many dear ladies have the knack of making their guests feel. And she also had a pretty daughter, which fact could have made up for any deficiency. Hardly were we in the house before the storm broke in all its fury. It was a typical Western storm. Great clouds of sand were hurled into the air, by the eddying wind; nothing could be seen but sand, and nothing heard but the sharp whistle of the wind, and the groaning and creaking of the timbers of the house, which were being strained to the utmost. As the wind was beating the highest speed-record of a “20th Century Limited” train, it did not tarry with us long, but moved on in its frolicsome course to other parts. As soon as the storm abated somewhat, we took leave of Mrs. Tennet, as 87

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enabled him to do all but the two most valuable counts. For the solution to these two elusive ones, he could not think, even of a start. Dick wrote steadily away at the answers he knew and when he reached the end of his knowledge he sat thinking about the two impossible ones. Suddenly his thoughts were broken by whispers. He looked up. No one looked suspicious. But still the whispers continued. Then, suddenly, it dawned upon him that some boys were talking in another part of the building, and their words were transmitted through the ventilator. He listened for a while, and then realized that what he had heard was a partial solution to the two questions. He wondered whether he would be doing right if he took advantage of the information. Dick was anxious to get through, and he wrote until he finished the last question when, looking up, he saw the room nearly vacant. He turned in his papers and left for dinner. After his meal was finished he sat and thought over the mysterious help. ‘‘Now. was it unfair?” he wondered. For a week his conscience troubled him. “I wonder---. Did I do right in taking that help?” Then he determined to tell the Head the whole story. In the office his courage oozed, but after a few helps he told the story. The Head watched Dick’s face as the lad spoke, and then, laying his hand on the boy’s shoulder said, “Richard, owing to your honesty in relating this I will give you a trial in the upper class. You failed, though, because the help you received was wrong.” Dick took the trial offered and at the end of the year passed at the head of his class. He often wondered why the Head took so much interest in him, never dreaming for a moment that his honesty won him notice because Dick thought that “Honor is duty.” WALTER BANDLOW, 1911. iJetog Stems June —, 1910. After a meeting lasting till midnight in which a great deal of feeling was shown, the Ecremmocs voted for the final settlement of the oft-considered motion, whether their president should remain standing or sit during the society session. Mr. DcForest made the usual motion that the president be seated: Mr. Kirby for the thousandth time seconded the motion. The usual amendment was then offered by the Honorable Walter Madigan and seconded by Mr. Sinek to change the words “be seated” to “remain standing.” The amendment and question as amended were then carried unanimously, as usual, and for the thousand and first, and it is to be hoped, for the last time the president was given a “standing” vote. 86

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we were anxious to find out whether the high winds had carried away all our belongings or only part of them, for it often happens that a ranchman returns after a storm to sec his house turned over on one side, the bams and sheds in various artistic poses, and his cattle in a general state of stampede. As we rode alcng our horses had to literally plough their way through sand, due to the action of the wind, which lay banked like drifted snow. About half way home we found a neighbor’s barn-roof lying flat on the ground. The “neighbor” lived fifty miles away, but that is not considered much of a distance in the West. “We will doubtless find cattle near here,” Sam commented. Sure enough, upon our arrival home we found a large herd of cattle browsing around our barn-doors. They bore the brand of Jose Secordo, a surly and somewhat quarrelsome Spaniard who had recently taken a ranch near ours. He had never been neighborly and had ignored all friendly advances on our part, so we had let him entirely alone. However, we were in honor bound to see that his cattle were safely returned to him. Accordingly, Sam and I returned them the next day. The Spaniard’s hostility vanished under what he termed an act of “kindness so grande,” and his “graciosas” (meaning thank you) carried a real waimth with them. When we left, it was with the understanding of exchanging visits with him, and a kindlier and more neighborly feeling existed between us. “It’s surely an ill wind that does not blow some one some good, isn’t it?” remarked Sam. E had a dear friend who has gone from among us. Joe’s what we called him before his demise. Much had he suffered before he departed. Now he is gone before in spite of our efforts to save him. We pulled all Joe’s teeth; Joe “bit the dust.” When confined to his bed, Joe escaped by the window and “went up the spout.” Sunbaths were useless; they “let daylight through Joe.” Mineral springs both hot and cold baths and gallons to drink when tried, all combined and sent Joe to “Davey Jone’s Locker.” We cut off Joe’s leg; Joe “kicked the bucket.” Fed him on dainties, regaled him on frogslegs; Joe promptly “croaked.” We gave him emetics; Joe “threw up the sponge.” Now in despair we prescribed whiskey for Joe; Joe got full of spirits and “gave up the ghost.” FLORENCE M. KRAUS, 1912. 9h (Dtifitinatc iflartpr 88 THOMAS PHILLIPS, 1910.