Commerce High School - Commerce Yearbook (Cleveland, OH)

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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

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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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lacking I just can’t wait until I get to work.” v- Bessie held her fork suspended and looked at the other girls seated around the table. It was noon at the High School of Commerce, and the girls were busy eating their lunches brought from home, but pieced out by Mr. Bonaparte’s famous soup, cocoa and ices. Eleanor, a brightly dressed girl who sat near, said, I dcn’t care whether I get a position or not. If I don’t get work, Dad’ll buy me anything I want anyway.” “Well,” said Bessie, “perhaps your father is rich and doesn’t care, but mine cannot afford the luxury of an idle daughter. Besides, I want to put my stenography and typewriting to some use.” Bessie was well liked by the rest of the students of the school, in spite of the fact that her parents were poor, for Bessie always had a pleasant word. ♦ Commencement was over. And the boys and girls were seeking positions. Bessie’s first day was filled with disappointments. She fairly hated the sight of an office, but she would try one more. With forlorn hope she bought the afternoon “News.” Yes, here was an advertisement: Wanted—A Stenographer. She hurried to the office of Mr. Robinson, the lawyer. Would she be too late? Hopefully she entered. The office was furnished with everything of the best. How she would enjoy working here! A busy man sat at his desk writing. Bessie timidly spoke to him. “This is Mr. Robinson, is it not?” Certainly,” he said, and his kind voice renewed her hope. “Did you answer my ad. for a stenographer?” In response to his question as to her experience as a stenographer, Bessie explained that she had just graduated from the High School of Commerce. “Our werk is very particular; we never send out a faulty letter,” said Mr. Robinson. Fortunately Bessie had her letter of recommendation from Mr. Curry, “the particular teacher,” as the boys of the school “dubbed” him. Mr. Robinson’s perusal of the letter seemed more than satisfactory. “I know Mr. Curry,” he said. “You may come to-morrow.” Ycu may be sure that Bessie v ent heme that night feeling very happy. The next morning she arose early, determined that her employer should always find her on time. Her effort surpassed itself, for when she reached the office the big clock showed her that she was ten minutes early. She saw hundreds of people 96