Commerce High School - Commerce Yearbook (Cleveland, OH)

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that he did not go outside of his house for a week. It was fully six months before the boys summoned courage enough to pay Andy a visit. But as time wore on Andy came to look at the affair in a more cheerful light. But ever after, if the matter was mentioned, Andy would say, “Luck comes to a man’s door only once in his life, and that omathaun (an Irish expression for a foolish, simple fellow”) referring to Tip, “has spoiled his own luck for the rest of his days. Begorrah, but for his foolish actions he would be a rich man today.” THOMAS V. MURPHY, 1912. 9 Hast 3Hori IS it a spell which settles upon us in the last few months of our schooldays? Is it a charm working its magic and bringing to us thoughts which never intruded themselves before? The time is fast approaching when we must leave the building which we have learned to love, the schoolmates whom we respect and cherish, and last but not least, the teachers who have always been our true friends. All these we leave—the sweet companionships are severed and our faces are turned toward the cold, uncompromising world which has received scarce any notice from us heretofore. How many of us feel regret at parting? When we, at last, leave this building which seems a sort of guardian over us, we will remember that our happiest days are behind us, never to be recalled. We will remember the helpful words of the teachers, which fell on unheeding ears when they were spoken. We will hear the laughter ringing through the halls, and remember that it came from happy, carefree boys and girls. We will, perhaps, remember the neglected tasks with regret and wish we had spent just a little more time on certain ones, and we will be glad to think of the well-learned lessons. The world will demand a great deal of us and we must be ready to fill our place. Neglected lessons in school lead to neglected instructions and orders in the business world, so, Seniors, to you who have worked faithfully in the school-room, continue to do so in the office, or wherever you find yourself in after-life, and to you who have not put your best into everything take a fresh start and make good” in the world’s work. May we, as Seniors of the Class of 1911, leave the High School of Commerce with respect and esteem for the teachers and Principal, with kind thoughts for our schoolmates; and with broad minds and determined hearts, make our way in the busy world, ever keeping a place in our memories for reminiscences of the happy, happy schooldays. FLORA PUTNAM, 1911. 101

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During the day, the cook and housemaid heard Tip and Marshal making their plans, but the only part of the conversation they could hear plainly was, “Eleven o’clock tonight in the graveyard.” Womanlike, their curiosity was aroused, and when Marshal went away they begged Tip to let them into the secret. But he, being a good judge of human nature, knew that if he told them all they would probably spoil the fun, so he told them not to say anything to the butler or Nolan, but at eleven o’clock that night to steal softly down to the lower end of the garden and they would see for themselves. Cautioning them again not to open their mouths, he left them. Marshall nervously watched the clock, and at least fifteen minutes ahead of the appointed hour he was on hand. With the greatest secrecy he climbed the old apple tree with the chains concealed on his person. As the clock was strinking eleven Tip and Andy walked into the graveyard. Nolan and the others had previously stationed themselves outside the gate so as to be in readiness to carry out their part of the scheme. As they neared the spot, Tip said, “Andy, how much do you think will there be in the pot?” “Whist, you spalpeen; there’ll be enough to make us rich men for the rest of our lives. We’ll not let anyone know where it kim from, but there’s one thing certain, when we git it you kin marry any farmer’s daughter in the parish.” They now arrived at the old thorn bush, and Andy, taking off his coat, hurriedly began to dig. In the meantime the two girls had stolen out of the house, down to the end of the garden. The night being dark and windyj they succeeded in reaching the garden wall under the apple tree unknown to Marshall. A mysterious silence reigned, which was broken only by the sound of the picks and spades as they struck the hard, brown earth. Tip and Andy had been digging for about fifteen minutes, carefully looking over each spadeful of earth. They had several feet of earth thrown up and had not spoken a word. Suddenly a most unearthly yell was heard, followed by a vigorous rattling of chains.. Tip dropped his spade and ran like a lamp-lighter. The girls, not knowing there was anybody in the tree, screamed frantically, and one of them fell in a dead faint. Marshal, not aware of the presence of the girls, and taking the flutter of their white gowns for ghosts, was so frightened that he fell out of the tree breaking his collar bone in the fall. Nolan and the others, hearing the commotion, hastened around to see what was the matter. When they saw how things stood they were as badly frightened as the others. They helped Marshal and the girls to the house, then they returned, as they said, to calm the fears of old Andy. They found the old cobbler coolly digging away. When they climbed the wall and gave him the laugh he slunk home, as mad as the proverbial hatter. When the news spread about the village, poor Andy felt so bad about it 100

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?CI)t Jfaboritc ecc “Play it again, Philip.” The speaker was a short, stout middle aged Russian woman with a round face, clear cut features and dark hair. ‘It was your father’s favorite piece, and will always remind me of him. It is a sad reminder, too, of his disgraceful death --” She choked with emotion at these words, and could speak on more. The whole scene of her husband’s arrest and accusation flashed vividly across her mind. The visit of the gendarmes, the hurried accusation, her husband’s vain plea of innocence. These passed only to give place to the still more terrorizing remembrances of his execution. Their last parting, the halter around his neck and then the body hanging lifeless in the air. That terrible feeling of hopeless despair again overcame her. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed bitterly. “But father is not dead!” interrupted the stricken boy, clasping his mother’s arm in terror and alarm, as he slowly grasped the tragic fact. The boy recalled his father as he had so often seen him during the hour devoted to his music lesson. He again heard his father rebuking him kindly. “You do not put your whole spirit into your playing, Philip. Technique is not the only thing, inspiration and soul make the artist.” Philip suddenly realized how good his father had been to him, for when it is too late a person fully realizes the true value of his parents. “Yes,” she answered, in a sad voice, “he is dead. Hung for a crime which I know he would not and could not have committed. But they did not give him a chance to clear himself. They followed the usual custom in the Russian courts, a custom which has cost many an innocent person his life, and has allowed the escape of the real criminal. This custom is naturally practiced more vigorously at the present time, when the Czar is afraid to take a little exercise in the open air and each official confines himself to a safe refuge, so as to be as far away as possible from any treacherous bomb that might dare to toy with his sacred life.” “I do not see how they could have convicted him, as they had no evidence to show that he had murdered the Honorable Ivan Schershevsky, Chief of Police,” declared Philip Petrowsky, for that was the boy’s full name. “I know,” was the answer. “It was only on the testimony of that despicable man, Peter, who had been trying to injure your father for the last five or six years, because--- But you must not know that unhappy story, and she bit her lips in an agony of repression. “What will we do now, mother?” “I cannot do any work here, because the people are afraid of being suspected of conspiring with me if they should employ me, for are wc not a family of bold anarchists,” she answered ironically and again began to weep bitterly. 102