Commerce High School - Commerce Yearbook (Cleveland, OH)

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ing.) They forgot to look ruffianly. Willis expressed the thought of all when he said, “Wish we could run away.” “We can,” replied Joe with so piratical a glare that the others gasped in admiration and fright. “I’d like to know how. Pa wouldn’t let us,” choked out his brother, astounded. Joe pulled twice on his pipe, crossed his left foot deliberately over the right, blew a cloud of smoke from his nose, and delivered himself thusly: “O’ course he wouldn’t; fellows that run away always have to go after dark.” “Joe-y-y, dinner’s ready!” came the call from below. Joe turned to Hal: “You be up here at seven tonight, and we’ll start.” “Joe!” This time the call was sharp and commanding. “Yes, mamma, I’m coming,” called Joe with his head stuck through the hole in the floor. “I didn’t hear you the first time you called.” Cautiously the leader of the “gang” lowered the rope ladder. With difficulty his two subordinates climbed down it. (The difficult part was to use the ladder at all to reach the wood pile two feet below.) Then Joe “dowsed the glim” and secreted the poker chips (tiddle-de-winks), the matches, the pipes and the book, in a hidden chamber in the wall. The “gang” was assembled in the “den” per appointment, except Willis, who refused to be of the party. Cautiously, Joe scratched a match and lit the candle. The flickering flame caused huge shadow giants to appear, beckoning and reaching toward them from the walls. Hal shivered. “Awful still, ain’t it?” he whispered. Aw, you’re getting scared out already,” scoffed Joe. “No I’m not; but I bet our folks ’ll catch us, and anyway they’d be awful worried. Once when I was only a little late getting home from swimmin’, mamma was so worried she was sick-a-bed for a week.” No! you’re not getting scared any,” sneered Joe. “No, but I don’t see what we’re going to do ’thout no money.” “Aw, come on, let’s start,” replied Joe, “we’ll go over by your house and you can get some for us.” Outside it was moonlight; all that the moon’s rays reached was a bright, silvery white; the corners of the house and shadows of the trees were twice as black as usual. Keeping well away from the black shades, the boys hurried across the lawn. Hal touched his companion on the arm. Joe jumped as though he had been stabbed with a pin. Didn’t you see something move over behind the big tree, Joe?” Hal huskily whispered. “No.” Joe’s reply was checked by the choking fear that rose in his 94

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(Efje Barb is Jfligfjtirst (Being ye tale of how ye valorous Lord of ye Dark did intercept, foil, and overcome two desperate villains bent on flight.) « A ND the culprit marched boldly into the house. Fearless, he took his stand in the middle of the room and remarked indifferently: ‘Hello, Dad.’ ” ‘‘The gov’n’r looked up and surveyed his son coolly. Without showing any surprise, he said: ‘Come into the woodshed, my son.’ ” “ ‘All right, dad,’ replied our hero.” Joe Conkle had finished reading the tale of the wonderful youth who ran away from a hard-hearted father, had all kinds of adventure, and after becoming miraculously rich, returned to the “old man” and bore his punishment unflinchingly. The story was very interesting but the two listeners were more so. The youngest was a winsome little fellow. Joe’s brother. Willis. Their father was the doctor of Polus Center. Willis, or “Little Doc.” was the pet of the town. His large, innocent blue eyes and curly light hair won him many friends. Hal Brandt, the second boy, was also known as a cute youngster, smart as a whip. Joe Conkle, the oldest of the three, was ten years and five months old. (He never forgot to mention the months when stating his age.) He was: the leader, the one who originated all the games. He invented a new game of fire engine. He had built a wonderful telephone of two cigar boxes and a ball of wrapping twine. And it worked!—except at times when the transmitter proved too much of an obstacle for Joe’s voice to overcome. But on these occasions it was only necessary for Joe to step aside and call to Hal across the street: “Did you hear what I said?” It was Joe who first conceived the idea of a “den” and the forming of the “gang.” The den was located among the rafters of the woodshed, a few feet above the piles of cordwood. A villainous place was this retreat of the “gang.” It was a low-ceilinged, cramped-up little room under the eaves. At one end stood a box, which in black letters maintained the superiority of Larkin’s Soap. On this rested a candle-stick in the neck of a bottle which was proudly admired by its proprietors because blown into the glass were the letters B-E-E-R. The flickering light of the candle dimly revealed a bench along one wall occupied by the three scowling, savage beings, each pulling meditatively at a dingy black pipe. The air reeked with the smoke of the cornsilk. As the hero of the story achieved the consummation of his glory in those last bold words a sigh escaped the listeners—a sigh of relief, regret and long- 93

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throat. A long-drawn, mournful, far-off sound rose with the wind, then died away, and all was as still as stillness can be. The boys looked at each other; their fear grew in leaps. “It's a dog,” Joe tried to grin, but the effort was sickly. “There was a ma-mad dog shot at Sinclair’s day ’fore yesterday,” faltered Hal. They stood silent. The silence was absolute, tense. They listened. Close at hand from the stillness a second howl rose in answer. More mournful, weird, threatening; it leaped from the dark fiercely; it seemed to attack them. Screaming the terror that was in their hearts, the boys fled and burst into the Doctor’s house. By the light of a lamp on the dining room table, Mrs. Conkle was reading. Beside her, curled up in a big arm chair, Willis lay fast asleep. On the table was the good Doctor’s toast and milk, ready for him when he should come home from his weary round of visits. Here all was peace and safety! Shaking with sobs, the leader of the “gang” buried his head in his mother’s lap and told the whole story. TOM PHILIPS, ’10. $3 Broil Stroll ONE black night the Junior Class took a stroll, and a very adventurous one it proved to be. They reached a Klump of bushes, and there stood a Fox, which was soon joined by a second. Of course, there were some members of the class who were very much frightened by the appearance of these ferocious animals, but the Stern visage of a certain Junior sent the foxes Thoering away through the Meier. Next they saw, through the Hayes, a Hird of buffalo, and the feminine majority thought they could not Barrett, but Wick’s son waved a Long Branch dramatically toward the beasts and they immediately became aS docile as lambs. The class then proceeded and made a Call on the Burgess of the community. The Porter answered their summons and ushered them in. As they stepped inside, Groman struck his head on a Boehm, and a Hack was called to convey him home. The Burgess appeared and he was asked: ‘Have you seen a Feller named Dubs?” “We are looking for such an one.” But the answer was “No, and you are not Libal to find him.” At this same time three Smiths appeared with Arm strong, and we decided to annex them to our band and proceed homeward. FLORA PUTNAM, ’ll. 95