Commerce High School - Commerce Yearbook (Cleveland, OH)

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morning? I cannot believe that you would ever be involved in an affair such as this.” Mabel stood bewildered, not knowing what to think nor what to say. What could the principal be talking about? Surely there was some misunderstanding. “I do not understand you. Dr. Thompson; please explain yourself,” said Mabel, who, however, was pale and trembling, thus seemingly proving herself guilty of, she knew not what offense. The teacher, whom Mabel had not seen heretofore on account of the gloom, now stepped forth and proceeded to tell the astonished girl of a suspicion against her. “A small slip of paper containing the answers to the test, and various text book notes was found on your desk,” said the teacher. “I cannot think that you would make use of unfair means, but the evidence seems to say that you are guilty.” ‘‘Why, I don’t know a thing about this,” cried Mabel, and she stood gazing at her two judges with a bewildered countenance. ‘‘We will further investigate the subject,” said the principal, “but you know the rules of the school, so please hold yourself ready for leaving. A paper found on your desk indicates outside help in examination.” “How did that paper get there?” wondered Mabel. Then she drew a dismal picture of the result. To be sent home in disgrace! What would mother, and Tom, and Jack, and father say? She might be expelled from the school where her mother had graduated, the school they both loved and honored. These thoughts flew through Mabel’s head later, as she gathered her belongings together. With every article she packed, a fresh outburst of tears came. Finally exhausted, she stopped her packing, threw herself on her bed, and cried herself to sleep. Meanwhile Lucy Barrows was in misery. She regretted her deed, but was afraid to confess for fear of being expelled. “Dear Lucy, whatever you do, always be true to yourself and to others,” ran incessantly through her head. Those were the last words her dear mother had said to her before she departed from this earth. “Yes, dear mother, I will go and confess this act,” sobbed Lucy. Whereupon she arose and went with a beating heart before the principal. Lucy confessed the whole, miserable affair, in a sobbing voice, and he, good mar., pitied this motherless girl and forgave her. Mabel was then called in, and Dr. Thompson related the whole affair to her. “None of the girls like me, and all seemed so fond of Mabel, so I was jealous,” sobbed Lucy. When Mabel glanced at the sobbing, penitent girl, the hatred which had at first risen on hearing the story all fled, and instead a rush of love surged into her heart. She took the limp girl into her arms and forgave her. 108

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“All right, Mabel,” came from the throats of all girls, as they entered the examination room, and in a short time they were busily at work. All know what quiet resigns when examination is being held. The clock ticked the minutes off one by one. Once in a while a sigh was heard, for the test was very hard. Many of the girls sat and pondered over this question and that, and finally despaired of ever getting through. Two hours passed, and the girls were still working, some to recall what they really had learned, others trying to remember what they knew must have been given on the subject. Finally some of the weaker scholars, as is usually the case, handed in their papers; all the others followed, until only Mabel and Lucy were left, still at work. “You are my two rivals,” said the teacher in a pleasant way. Mabel was puzzling over the last question, and at last, with a victorious smile and a sigh, she finished the test, handed in her paper, and left the room. Then Lucy raised her head from her paper, and, seeing that the teacher was busy, cautiously threw a slip of paper upon Mabel Griggs' desk. “Still at work, Lucy? asked the teacher. “No, I am through,” answered the girl as with a beating heart, and a guilty blush stealing over her face she handed in her paper and left the room. “I wonder if he saw me,” thought Lucy nervously, as she went off to her room. “Mabel, you’re wanted at the office,” said her roommate, when she entered the room, two days after the examination. “I suppose to tell me that I failed,” answered Mabel, in a care-free way. She left the room happy and cheery, but wondering why she should receive a summons to the office. Generally the office of Hollow Dale College was a bright, cheery room, through whose windows one beheld a lovely scene. The small lake, now frozen, lay in the distance, the trees of the ground were laden with silver icicles and crystals of diamonds, the wide winding path led up from the road to the main building of the school, and beyond this the distant churchspire rose from the nearby town. The tinkle of merry sleighbells was heard at intervals. Inside it was cheery and comfortable and the principal’s broad, bright smile was a welcome to many a homesick girl. But upon this day when Mabel was called to the office, all was dark and dreary. No sleighbells were heard from the distance. No faint rays of winter sunshine crept in through the windows. A cloud hung over the skies, ready to burst into a heavy snow storm. Mabel’s heart sank within her when she opened the door of the office and perceived that in place of a smile of welcome a grave look covered Dr. Thompson’s face. At her entrance the principal, with a stern though sympathetic voice, said: “Miss Griggs, you doubtless know why you were called here this 107

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Later, whenever any of Mabel Griggs’ classmates showed surprise at the changed relations between herself and her now devoted friend, Lucy Barrows, Mabel would laugh happily, shake her finger at them warningly, and say, “Don’t ask questions. This is an official friendship and brooks no interference.” The other girls, therefore, never learned exactly what took place in Doctor Thompson’s private office, but Lucy often averred to Mabel that there occurred what was the greatest surgical operation in the world—the removal of “a guilty conscience.” SARAH YOELSON, 1912. Jfcntfjcrtop HOW empty the very name sounds! It conveys an idea of vacancy, frailty and irresponsibility. Yet it furnishes a singularly fitting epithet for some people—indeed, for a great many. These people confront us with their perpetual smile, fine raiment, fluent and eloquent vocabulary and affected grace. Yet are these things an index to a noble character? Is there a mind of intelligence and sincerity in that bedecked head—does that smile convey aught of sympathy and good-will—is the heart beneath that splendid garment beating with love for his fellow-man? True, they make their way in the world and very often with more than ordinary success. An opportune smile, a word at the correct point in the conversation, a nod, a flourish, and their object is attained. But they are not always successful. By their contact with other men—truer, better men—they suddenly become conscious of their own deceptions. The personality of the sincere man casts off and reflects back the sham of Feathertop who sees himself and knows himself to be a conceited, deceiving piece of humanity. He confesses to himself his deception and his utter worthlessness; sometimes begins anew and atones in a measure, but more often he goes to his death unrespected, despondent and unnoticed. On the other hand, many of them continue to delude us, gain their quests and are looked upon by the world at large as respectable, able personages. Are you a Feathertop? 109 FLORA PUTNAM. 1911.