Commerce High School - Commerce Yearbook (Cleveland, OH)

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indicated poverty and looked as if it never knew the magic touch of a woman’s hand, from which I inferred that he was working his way through school. While I was busy with these conclusions the room seemed to melt away before my eyes and like a moving picture scene, the next act in the drama unrolled. On an upper floor of one of the city’s sky scrapers were two old women. One, by her brogue, I recognized as Irish, and she was exchanging confidences with a large, red faced woman, whom she designated by the name of Gretchen. “Sure, Mrs. Schneider, thot boy Danny o’ mine is a darlin’. He’s makin’ foive dollars a wake on the strates and ivery blissed Saturday noight he brings near to four of thim home to his ould mither. Och, Gretchen, its a grate toime we’ll be havin’ whin Danny gits his eddication out at Casey’s School and takes me an’ Pat out west to thim mines he’s always talkin’ about. He don’t know, bless his heart, that his mither is working up here foive nights in the wake an’ addin' to the nest egg he has in the bank. Sure, me back’s about broke with the wurruk and I have all I kin do to kape the sacret but he’s the only boy I got lift, an’ I love him so much that I git silly ivery time I talk about ’im, an’ —an’—he’s goin’ to git that lamin’.” Here she seized the scrubbing brush and set to work again her old voice lilting away brokenly on “Kathleen Mavourneen.” Before I could catch the reply of Gretchen who seemed to have a story of her own to tell, we were standing before another window The interior of this house was of better appearance than the others but I had no eyes for the surroundings of the two ladies who were conversing earnestly on some subject. Each was sewing on some article of a girl’s clothing and some of the pieces looked remarkably like my own dresses at home, which I knew, however, were not yet being made up. What drew my attention more than anything was the loving expression on their faces as they cut and measured and basted until the garment began to assume some form. And all the time when the shears were not busy the voices went on and the sole topic was “the girl.” “She will like this.” “That will be becoming to her, don’t you think?” “I hope she passes in her mathematics this term.” And then the shorter one said, I must go see if she is asleep. I am afraid she will sleep cold tonight.” At this point, the mist seemed to fall from before my eyes and I recognized the room and surroundings and knew that I had seen my dear aunts at work for me and had solved a problem not in the arithmetic, namely, why they always sat up so late. With tears in my eyes, I turned to my guide, when lo! she had vanished, I was in my own room and straight before me was the Bible and crucifix illuminated by the level rays of the moon streaming through the closed window. I lay for a moment thinking of all I had witnessed and then fell on my knees by the stand, with thanks in my heart and on my lips for the lesson I had learned that night. 94 FLORENCE M. OTT. 1912.

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keen with frost. But never, I think, while I live shall I hear a sweeter voice than the one which said in reassuring tones: ‘‘Be not afraid, my daughter; I only wish to show thee some scenes on that great stage out there. Trust me, and do not speak at any time during our journey. If thou dost doubt me, take the crucifix with thee; I can say no more than this,—the Master sent me.” I was ashamed of my doubts and would not be so rude after this speech as to take the crucifix. When I had taken her hand, it seemed but an instant until we were out of the room and in a totally strange portion of the city. The street was narrow and seemed little used for traffic; for I could see by the light of the moon and in spite of the falling light snow, the outlines of stones, bricks, and here and there a fragment of a child’s wagon or other plaything lying on the ground. These things were before my eyes but a moment, when I saw that we were peering in at the window of a poor sort of dwelling. Although it was after midnight, a woman was sitting by the light of a kerosene lamp sewing buttonholes in a coarse shirt, such as are worn by the rough laborers of a city. Her fingers moved nimbly, and when one garment was finished she drew another from a huge pile at her side and the operation was repeated. At the other end of the rough old table was a girl, no younger than myself. She had evidently been working over some task assigned her in the book open before her, for when my eyes turned from the older woman to the girl I saw her close the volume and coming round the table to the mother’s side, she imprinted a kiss on the faded hair. The wrinkled, careworn faca lighted as its owner said, ‘‘Most through, Jean?” ‘‘Yes, mother, and now I am going to help you with the shirts.” “No Jean, you must go to bed, and as soon as I have finished this pile, I am coming. I have good news for you- John says he sold thirty more papers tonight that he has ever sold in one evening before, and that means that you can have that new dress we saw the other day. I needed only a little more to make up the amount.” “But mother, what are you going to do for the medicine for your cough? I thought you were going to doctor yourself with that money.” “No, dear girl, you must get that education; my cough is better, and if we can stick through two more years, you, with your fine education, are going to earn enough to give me all I need in the way of comforts. Run along, now, and send up a prayer for daddy out there in the big mills.” Tears sprang into the eyes of Jean as she kissed the eyes of the woman and with the mother fondly watching her walk over the bare floor to the cot in the next room, I saw no more. We were in another part of the city and peering in at the window of a room decorated with a few torn banners and carpeted with some worn and tattered rugs. A student with tired face was poring over a huge sheep bound volume spread open on his knees. There was no fire in the room and he, consequently, had arrayed himself in one of the bed blankets, from a dilapidated cot in the corner. Every item of the furnishings 93

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2In Jmaginarp 2Erip to tfje ifloon ONE clear, cold night in the year 2000 some friends and myself started for a trip to the moon. We sailed in an airship until we reached the end of the atmosphere, then we resorted to our ethership, which sails through ether just as an airship sails through the air. We carried tanks of liquid air sufficient for breathing purposes. Oh what wonderful sights we saw. Knowing that we had taken paper with us, one of my friends said to me, “Let’s make notes of everything interesting we sec.” I agreed, but alas! we had forgotten both pen and ink. What were we to do? Suddenly we noticed a large bird fly by. “Try to get one of its feathers,” I said, “that will make an excellent pen.” After much scrambling, during which the ethership was in danger of being upset, we finally succeeded in securing two large feathers. Now what were we to do for ink? I had often read stories of people who signed their names in blood. Why couldn’t I? That would make the story of the trip more adventuresome and exciting I proceeded to prick my finger with the point of my pen and wrote my notes with blood. As we sailed on we saw our old friend Skygack from Mars taking notes in his note book. He invited us to Mars, but as we were in a hurry to reach the moon, we declined the invitation. Skygack therefore sent a wireless message to Moongack telling him to be prepared to receive us. Then he asked to join our party. We agreed and he entered our ethership and sailed with us. We asked Skygack what he thought of the earth people. He said he did not wish to offend us but that he thought they were a very peculiar and noisy class of people. He showed us his note book and oh! what queer looking characters it contained. They certainly looked as if they might be more difficult to read than any of our shorthand characters. Upon reaching our destination we were met by all the moon people headed by their king. They showed great pleasure at meeting us and were anxious to hear news from the earth. We could not speak their language, however, so had asked Mr. Skygack to act as interpreter. As we were very hungry the king invited us to his palace for breakfast and such a breakfast as it was, fresh honey and moon berries! We were surprised that none of the celebrated green cheese appeared on the table. We asked the people whether they ate much of this famous cheese but were laughed at by them for that is what their planet is made of and we could not very well deprive these people of a home by eating their planet. After breakfast we took a street car ride to Moonville, the great business center of the Moon. Much to our surprise the car was no pay-enter, neither was it crowded. Even at this early hour the streets of Moonville were crowded with people hurrying to and fro. The shops were already open for business and we entered one of them just to gratify our curiosity. It happened to be a store 95