Conneaut High School - Tattler Yearbook (Conneaut, OH)

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C. J. FREW, The Florist, State St. Phone a train in his own characteristic manner, the men had glanced with indifference over the other passengers and then become absorbed in their newspapers, but the women,—there were seven of them—had, as is characteristic of a woman, each mentally taken, in one glance, a hasty invoice of the other travelers and labeled each in his distinctive class by criticising his clothes and actions. There was a Haughty Lady in Furs who demanded most of the porter’s time with her inquiries and in the section across the aisle sat a Stout-Lady-in-a-Black-Silk-Dress. She smiled amiably and impartially upon all the travelers and seemed to be enjoying herself to the utmost. Beside her was a young girl with a .high, fluffy pompadour who was busily engaged chewing gum when not commenting to her mother upon things in general. At one end of the car, two Commercial Travelers were volubly talking politics; in front of the Haughtv-Lady was a small man wearing huge gold rimmed spectacles which gave the impression that the man would have escaped one's notice entirely had it not been for these. The other passengers were a Shy Young Lady; a Bald-Headed gentleman with whiskers; a dapper young Frenchman who could not make the porter understand what he wished to have him do; a woman with a little boy who asked innumerable questions and a College Girl. The trip from New York to Chicago was uneventful only that, as always after the first few hours of traveling with strangers, everyone began to wonder where everyone else was going and the women began to make slight advances toward conversation. For what i6 harder for a woman than to be in company of other women and not talk? By the time the train reached Omaha, everybody knew that the Lady-in-the-Black-Silk-Dress and the Girl-with-the-Pompadour were going to California to spend the winter with the former's brother who had, to use her own pihrase, “struck it rich in the oil-fields” and who had sent them the money to come. The Mother confided to the College Girl that her brother had said to be sure and travel in a Pullman, and as they had never ridden in one before, they were having “more fun than a circus.” The Girl-with-the-Pompadour also remarked that she would “just love to marry a train official” so that she could travel all the time. The College Girl had made several attempts at conversation with the Shy-Young-Lady while the Haughty-Lady with the Furs had unbent enough to say that she considered the train service unbearable and termed the porter most unobliging. The gentleman with spectacles entered into a political discussion with ike rra eling men, and the Bald-Headed-Man whiled away the time playing solitaire. Only the Young Frenchman remained an unknown quantity as his English vocabulary was too limited to permit of much talking. So, by the time Omaha was reached the passengers had advanced to that state of friendship peculiar to train associations, and here a diversion was caused. The porter, carrying a iheavy bag. came briskly down the aisle followed by a tall woman. The newcomer was dressed in a plain tailored suit and hat, and possessed a business-like manner that caused all of the occupants of the car to take a sudden interest in her.

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THE TATTLER 4 had left, she rose and wently deliberately up to Allison McKenzie’s room, where she knocked and waited. “Who’s there?” came a muffled voice from within. “It’s Florence Clavering,” replied Florence pleasantly, whereupon the door flew open, showing Allison standing with disheveled hair and a tear- stained, sullen face. “I suppose,” she began abruptly, “that I ought to have thanked you for saving my life; but I was so upset—anl I’m all tired out anyway—but, of course,” she added stiffly, “I’m very much obliged to you—” she paused, still holding the door wide open. “Mayn’t I come in please, and see if 1 can’t make you more comfortable?” inquired Florence kindly; for Allison’s face and dress showed the marks of her hard scramble. “Yes, if you like,” returned Allison ungraciously, eyeing the trim little figure rather shamefacedly. “I was too tired to do anything but just dump myself on the bed,” she continued, with a trace of apology in her tones. Florence did not reply immediately, but gently combed out the matted hair. Finally she said, rather abruptly, “I learned to ride while I was a ery small girl. We all ride where I came from, but here, one very seldom sees anything but carriages and automobiles, and somehow—I don’t care for them.” “You didn’t seem to me like a girl that would ride horseback, but rather ” she caught herself up, but Florence finished the sentence for her. “Rather old fashioned? Well, yes, perhaps I am, but the girls here are so different that—well, I feel sort of out of things, you know.’’ There was a litle pause broken by Allison. “I’ve a horrid temper,” she said, suddenly, “and Florence, I’ve been mean to you, as mean as can be. But I feel miserable now; oh! can you ever forgive me?” “Why, Allison! I haven't anything to forgive,” said Florence, as she bent over the weeping girl. “Now stop crying and don’t think anything about it.” Just then, Gertrude appeared in the doorway but stopped in consternation, as she saw Florence. Soon, however, matters were explained and the three spent a pleasant evening together. As they were departing, Florence called back cheerily, “Good night, A'lison; remember the old adage,—‘All’s well that ends well.” MABELLE BROWN, ’14. THE SUFFRAGETTE IN A NEW ROLE. It was much the same kind of group that is found every day in the cars in any railroad train, a gathering of nearly every type of people that makes up our country. Perhaps, however, the assembly in the Pullman car, Maneval, was more mixed than usual on that November day. When the Trans-Continental Limited left New' York there were twelve occupants of the car besides the porter and conductor. Each person had boarded the

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r THE TATTLER “Suffragette,” said one traveling man to the other with a nod towards her. The woman heard and turned to stare at the man. Of course, 1 m a Suffragette,” she remarked, “what woman with brains isn’t?” Here was a diversion indeed and one that was most promising. “A Suffragette, my dear child,” answered the lady in question, “is a woman who dares to stand up for her rights.” She was evidently one of those Suffragettes that are usually termed “militant” and she seemed to. think that here was a place to expound her doctrines for she immediately turned to the Stout-Lady-in-Black and said, I am Miss Annabel Smith, secretary of the Nebraska State Suffrage Society. Are you, too, Madam, working for t.'he Suffragette Cause? The Stout Lady started and stammered that about the only thing sire had ever done for the aid of the suffering was to help raise money for the Foreign Missionary Society of Harpersburg, X. Y., her home town, to send to the suffering heathen in Africa. “Indeed,” said Miss Smith, in an icy tone and was about to make a sarcastic reply when the Girl-with-the-Pompadour exclaimed, “Oh, Ma, my goodness, there’s thirteen people in this car. Miss Smith makes the thirteenth. Oh, dear, something’s sure to happen, there always does when there’s thirteen anywhere. Don't you remember how they was thirteen at Uncle Henry Perkins’ birthday dinner and how Cousin Millie Ames was took sick and died right after?” Miss Smith shifted her gaze from mother to daughter and remarked, “Superstition is the child of Ignorance; for anyone to be superstitious in this day and age of intelligence, equality and progressiveness is a mark of positive ignorance. 1 should think you’d be ashamed of yourself, a great big girl like you to believe in such nonsense. I have some pamphlets relating to the Cause that 1 shall ask you to be good enough to read.” These were her first victims and by the time that the train was winding through the Rockies the next day, she had crushed in some similar manner each or her fellow-travelers. The porter had been reduced to a state of fear and trembling when she was heard to remark that she always carried a loaded revolver in her hand-bag as one never could tell when one might need it. Every occupant of the car had been provided with Suffragette literature, and all, the porter included, were reading these papers thrust upon them by the zealous Miss Smith; for, under the steely glances of iher sharp eyes, no one dared to refuse to read what she provided. Indeed, the ear had developed into a sort of monarchy with Miss Smith the relentless queen. She talked incessantly with one or another and everyone had been forced to acknowledge allegiance to the Cause in order to keep peace. The next morning Miss Smith was the first to appear in the dining-car, the others allowing her to go in alone while they gained fresh resources for the day’s lectures that were sure to come. The lady, however, dallied over her breakfast and all were devoutly wishing that she would return so that they could at least eat one meal in silence when the train jolted to a sudden stop and loud cries and the sound of men running came to the ears of the travelers. The porter, quaking