Commerce High School - Commerce Yearbook (Cleveland, OH)

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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

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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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 As luck would have it, a friend of Evelyn’s who had seen the ill news in the paper in America, went abroad where she met Evelyn. Among other things, she mentioned the supposed death of Jack and showed the piece which she had clipped from the paper. What was her surprise to see her friend blanch to a dealthly white and suddenly throwing her hands forward mutter a little cry of despair and fall upon her face. “Many weeks later, on board a steamer bound for America, a pale, beautiful girl lay on a steamer chair covered with many wraps and steamer rugs and waited on by her mother. The elder woman had not entirely recovered from her recent illness, which had left its furrow on her brow. This strange pair, as you may imagine, were none other than Evelyn and her mother. Peculiar as it may seem, Jack landed in his native land on the day Evelyn arrived. Jack had not been slain nor had he fallen prey to natives or animals, but had fallen in with a friendly inhabitant, who in the course of time transported Jack back to camp and to the delighted soldiers, who had missed their erstwhile companion a great deal. However, the soldiers were not long pleased because our hero told them he had had enough of soldiering and was going back to America to marry an old sweetheart. So, making all haste, he arrived in America on the same day that Evelyn did. “Once in Cleveland, he went as soon as possible to the old High School and looked at the two hearts with the single arrow which he and Evelyn had carved as a little emblem of fidelity. In reflective mood he stood, thinking of her and wondering if she had been as true to him as he had been to her. Then suddenly turning he gazed straight into the eyes of Evelyn, who was staring wide-eyed at him. But he did not stand there long for she swayed and would have fallen had it not been for Jack, who caught her in his powerful arms. Suddenly some finicky person brought cold water with which Jack proceeded to revive Evelyn. But it all turned out right, continued the stone, in a voice which sounded far away; and they were married and lived happily ever afterward, to my certain knowledge.” Saying this the stone lapsed into silence quite as suddenly as it had started. Oh, you sleepy-head, shouted some comrade into Tom’s ear. And Tom woke up to the fact that he had been dreaming and was now being ridiculed by his comrades for falling asleep in mid-day. Well, anyhow it was worth it,” he thought, and so he ‘beat it, as the boys express it. They thought he was running to escape their taunts, but in reality he was making tracks” to his home where he wrote the story much better than I ever can or ever hope to write it. This is all, but, dear reader, would you care to know how Tom’s story was received by his teacher? It was just one grand success, from beginning to end. 119 DORIS NOBLE, 1913.