Commerce High School - Commerce Yearbook (Cleveland, OH)

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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

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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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going in every direction and a lonely feeling crept over her. She felt lost in the strange crowd. Suddenly a young girl, brightly dressed, stepped up to Bessie. “Why, Bess, what are you doing down here this morning?” Well,” said Bessie, “I intend to start to work this morning at the cffic’ of Mr. Robinson.” “So do I,” exclaimed Eleanor, much astonished, for the newcomer proved to be her old school friend. Why, Eleanor, I am almost postive that Mr. Robinson needs only one stenographer, but we will go in and ask him.” “Good morning, Mr. Robinson.” Both of the girls spoke. “Why, good morning girls,” Mr. Robinson spoke cheerily, “I think I have some explanation to make, for as you know I haven’t work for more than one of you girls.” He then told the two that he had hired Bessie, but his son. not knowing this, had hired Eleanor a half hour later. But he told them that since the mistake was on his part he would give both of the girls a trial. “First,” he said, “you may each take dictation.” Dictation from a stranger is no easy task, but both of the girls stood the test. “Oh, dear,” said Bessie, a half hour later, “I am glad that first dictation is over, I can get the rest of my work all right, I am sure.” But Bessie spoke too soon, for when she sat down to copy her letters she found her machine in a terrible condition. The keys were filled with dust, the spacer didn’t work, neither did the carriage. Eleanor immediately began copying the dictated letters. When she finished them she called to Bessie, “I am way ahead of you. Just think, I am on my seventh letter and you haven’t finished one yet.” This thoroughly discouraged Bessie, but now she had her machine nearly in order. As she went to Mr. Robinson’s desk for a new ribbon, which was the last thing needed to bring the type out clearly, she noticed several letters in the waste basket. These she recognized as the ones that Eleanor had just been copying. Bessie was no longer discouraged. Eleanor’s rapid work had proved to be untidy. She now returned to her desk, greatly encouraged and sure of her success. For she remembered Mr. Curry’s last words of warning to her class: “Do not hand in an untidy letter. Your manager does not want anything but a perfect copy.” After Bessie had copied her letters she took them to the lawyer. He looked them over, then turning to her, said: “Those are very neatly done. I can’t find a mistake. I am well pleased with the work you have done today. You may return tomorrow at eight-thirty.” Bessie felt sorry for Eleanor, but was delighted at her own success and decided then always to remember the old saying: “Make haste slowly.” 97