Commerce High School - Commerce Yearbook (Cleveland, OH)

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Comrade was beginning to feel faint. He soon fell to the ground a lifeless, shapeless, Tin Soldier on whom all looked with pity. How many people are like poor Comarde. They have, really, little good solid stuff in their composition, but even this might not be fatal to them if they only kept their light burning, the light of purpose and determination to win whatever they undertake. EDWARD TUMA, 1911 JCfje ;§ torj tfje € lb tone ZEolb ON a warm summer day about the middle of June, when the bees were buzzing and busily extracting the honey from the myriad colored flowers, and the crickets were chirruping and the very air seemed alive with The songs of the birds,—Tom sat alone. He was musing and gazing at the little patches of azure sky which showed between the leaves and branches of the trees, and trying to collect the unimaginative wits sufficiently to think up a plot, setting, characters, and so forth, for the story, which he was that day obliged to write. Tom felt romantic. Yes! that was just the word for it. And, though a senior at the High School with the business-like name, in other words the High School of Commerce, still, at this period of the year, he could not shake off this feeling. Languor and dreaminess simply overpowered him, and in consequence he was always having day dreams, or so his unsympathetic English teacher called them. So he sat, dreamily, wistfully gazing about him. He noticed a small, beautiful, many colored butterfly fluttering about and saw it alight on the huge, red rock in the northeast corner of the school yard, the object on which his eyes had been riveted for the last half hour. This particular stone had caused him to speculate with a great deal of awe about the wonderful, beautiful tales the stone could tell, and thus help him out of a bad predicament, if only some good fairy would give it the power of speech. Softly he stepped closer to the little creature, now poised so daintily on a small pinnacle of the old rock. As he gazed rapturously at this little queen-ruler of the air, suddenly she spread her glorious wings and for a minute appeared before him in all her magnificent splendor, then before he could say “Jack Robinson,” she was gone. Tom of course did not know why Miss Butterfly had taken “French” leave, but surmising that she had in all probability very good reasons for seeking other society than his own, he promptly stretched his tall, lanky form on the mammoth rock and proceeded to forget all about her and actually began to think. Thus he lay at rest, and yet not at rest, for although he was physically at 117

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JJrotfjerfjooti of tfje €mptp UuU I SAT in my old time playroom dreaming of bygone days. Among my playthings I found a dear old tattered tin soldier. One arm was out of the sleeve, but he still carried his gun. His nose was battered and his eyes had a look as dull as lead. He looked as if he would collapse. I took him in my hands, straightened cut the dents the best I could, repainted his face and eyes, and brushed his dusty coat. Then I looked admiringly at him “My dear playfellow, you look too good to stand here useless. Go out into the world and fight in its battle for fame. Just then a brightly lit coal fell out of the fireplace, and immediately things took on a brighter aspect. I seized the light and placed it in his gun which he held. Immediately a bright look came into his eyes and his lips curved into a smile. Bestir yourself now, my comrade, and put on a bold front.” “Shoulder your gun and go forth fearlessly.” The soldier stirred not from his place. “What, get you gone, you coward, you numskull! Think you I took such pains to renew you only to have my work in vain. Go forth and dare not return until you have performed some deed that will repay me and show your gratitude.” This so frightened the soldier that he tottered toward me a few steps. “Good,” I cried, “Try again, you will do better each time. Thus encouraged the poor fellow took a few steps more, each time more certain, until you could hardly tell him from a real live soldier. “A soldier need not talk much, only a few commands in a voice that is clear and to the point. Therefore I bid you speak! Speak! Left face! Shoulder arms! “That was splendid, you are learning rapidly,” I cried with joy. “Any time you are surrounded by difficulties, just use your voice of command and you will gain your end.” Now go, dear comrade and bring me good news of your success. But be careful not to let your light go cut. If it grows dim, cry, ‘Replenish, O Light,’ and the light will replenish, but if you let it go out you will again become nothing but a Tin Soldier.” Then I let Comrade out the front door into the street. He walked with a left, right, that made one feel preud of him. Along the street he strode looking straight ahead. “My, he looks like a General1 at least,” said some passerby. “Look how he holds up his head! He will surely make his way through the world.” Comrade, as he walked down the street, passed a blustering fellow who was abusing his little dog. “Halt! Right about face!” said Comrade’s commanding voice. The blustering fellow was so frightened he took to his heels as fast as he could run Next, Comrade met a man beating his horse. “Halt! Right about face! Shoulder arms!” cried he with such a commanding voice that the man stopped at once. But alas, poor Comrade was so heart and soul in his work, he forgot to watch his light. It had gone out. It was too late now to replenish it, for 116

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ease, yet his active brain was busy concocting all manner of speculation about a peculiar mark which he had discovered carved upon the side of this old stone. This mark was not artistic in the smallest sense of the word, but to Tom it appeared to be full of pathos, for it was composed of two hearts pierced by a single arrow. Finally, tired out with wondering, as well as by an overpowering sense of his own stupidity and laziness, Tom closed his eyes in sleep. Gradually through his slumber, he heard a voice which, though soft and low at first, became stronger and more distinct as it proceeded. “Tom! Oh, Tom! it whispered; have you not been wishing I would tell you a story?” “Yes,” murmured the half-conscious boy; “fire away.” For Tom would occasionally lapse into slang. “Well, it’s a long story,” continued the stone; but here goes. Twenty years or more ago a beautiful girl and a handsome boy, both about your age, went to this school and sat on the very stone upon which you arc now resting your lazy bones. This boy and girl loved each other with the first and sweetest love of youth and had ever since she wore short dresses and pigtails and he had been the bashful, barefoot beau who gave his sweetheart apples and carried her slate.” “The girl’s name was Evelyn and her old playmate, with whom she had been used to climb trees and jump fences, was named Jack. “Now,” the stone continued, “after a while the girl’s mother became ill and the girl had to be her nurse, then the physician prescribed traveling for her mother’s health. Evelyn went, too. “Before the companions of years said ‘adieu to each other, they carved these hearts and the arrow, which you now see, and promised to be faithful to each other till death us do part.’ One thing which made the leave-taking doubly hard was the thought that they could not correspond, as Evelyn was to be traveling continually and never knew the next place at which she was to stop.” “Several years passed and not a word did Jack hear of Evelyn. In the meantime, Jack had graduated from West High School and, after much drilling and practicing, had, through a relative taken a military post in the Philippine Islands. “In the Philippines he suffered many hardships and privations, but by his kindliness and generosity to his fellow sufferers, he became a prime favorite with his superiors, as well as with the subalterns. He also advanced in rank quite as rapidly as he did in the favor of his comrades. “One day while leading an expedition into the interior of the island, he became separated from his men, and they were obliged to return to the camp minus their bold, fearless leader. Days passed and no word was received from Jack, so the soldiers, with much sorrow, reported him as lost, or killed by the natives or some beast of prey. This news was sent to America and published in the newspapers with an account of his brilliant, though short, career. 118