Conneaut High School - Tattler Yearbook (Conneaut, OH)

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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

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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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C. J. PHEW, The Florist, State St. l’hone 7 with fear and rolling his eyes in terror dashed into the car and collapsed in a trembling heap in the aisle. “Train-robbers,” he moaned, “the train's held up! Oh, L ordy Massy we’ll be killed, -we’11 all be killed. Help, oh—” The Maneval was the last car on the train and at this very moment three armed and masked men climbed onto the platform and pushed their way through the door. The passengers shrunk back in their seats paralyzed with fear and two of the robbers proceeded to divest them of all jewelry and money wihile the other made resistance impossible by his two extended six-shooters—when suddenly— There was a pistol shot and “Hands up,” cried a voice at the other end of the car and everyone turned to face Miss Smith with her revolver. “Drop those guns,” demanded she, and the men obeyed. “Put down that bag,” she ordered, pointing to the bag of plunder. “Now, I’ll give you just three seconds to get off this car”—the pistol snapped again and she reached for one of the big six-shooters. The man backed toward the dor and just as they were climbing down the steps, Miss Smith thrust a package of her pamphlets into one man s hands. “Read those,” she ordered, “and brace up and be men.” This was followed by a report of the six-shooter fired at the heels of the escaping bandits. Miss Annabel Smith, secretary of the Nebraska State Suffrage Society, turned back into the car and cast disdainful glances at the men. “There are some people,” she remarked, “who still are narrow-minded enough to think that a woman is not a man’s equal.” CORNELIA L. CURTISS. ’13. THE IDEAL OF HIS DREAMS. It was a sigh of content that Jack Wayne heaved as he closed the account books of “The Electric Factory,” for the last time, before leaving for a two weeks’ vacation. It had been a long time since Jack had had time that he could call his own, and, indeed he intended to take advantage of it to the uttermost. Where he would go or what he would do after he got there, were the first things to confront Jack after leaving the office. Upon reaching home, he found a letter bearing the seal of some town in Wisconsin, and upon opening it he found it was from a cousin, who was spending the summer there, and who advised him to take a trip if be could spare the time, and stop off at Hollendale for a week or so. He also informed him that it was a beautiful little summer resort situated thirty miles from Wisconsin’s capital, Madison. Now, “the girls,” attracted Jack Wayne’s attention a great share of his time, and although he required the girl to be,—good looking—well-bred—unique—gentle, and above all a good grammarian, he usually was fortunate in having at least one girl for whom he was willing to go into all depths of humiliation for the sake of becoming better acquainted. It so happened that Jack knew nearly every girl in his home town and