Conneaut High School - Tattler Yearbook (Conneaut, OH)

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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

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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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s THE TATTLER being convinced that each and everyone was far from his ideal, 'he was only too glad to be allowed the pleasure of making himself known to some girls of “The Elite,” for Jack thought that all girls spending the summer at a summer resort like Hollendale would be especially tine. By the next morning Jack ihad everything in perfect condition for traveling, and after sending a telegram to his cousin, stepped into a “sleeper,” which would carry him to Chicago. Nothing out of the ordinary happened to him during his stay on the train. Arriving at Chicago he easily found the Illinois Central railroad station and after purchasing a few of the late magazines boarded a train on which be wa3 to complete the last ninety miles of his journey. Looking around he noticed immediately that the car contained many people and that at the extreme end of the car a girl sat languidly munching chocolates, while she watched the passing scenery through the smoke.! window. How he wished that he had taken a seat at that end of the car! But as all the seats were now occupied he determined to make the best of it. How iher eyes impressed him! How tastily was she dressed! How appealing iher manner seemed! If fortune would only favor him by having her leave the car also at Hollendale! For once Fortune was friendly, and so Jack decided an interesting time was in store for him, for snub him she could, but meet her, he would.” His cousin met him at the depot, but when Jack inquired from him who the girl was—he answered, lotal stranger. How did you enjoy the trip?” A week passed, and each day Jack caught a glimpse of the girl, but his luck seemed against him, for in no way could he learn her name. One day while walking along one of the main streets, he noticed h s friend of the train, just stepping into a limousine, but before he could say a w'ord, the chauffeur had slammed the door shut, and the car moved silently off. Just then he stepped upon something, and looking down found a small gold mesh bag—set with all colors of clear rich stones. He looked about—and seeing that no one had noticed him he hastily slipped the bag into one of the pockets or his ulster for he was quite sure the bag belonged to the girl. When he reached the home of his cousin he immeliately went to his room and, closing the door, proceeded to go through the contents of the bag—hoping to come across something whioh would throw light upon her name. What? rouge—pencil for eyebrows—book of powder leaves horrors!—Oh! well, if these were what made her so beautiful, he didn’t blame her. At last he found a card upon which he found written in a scrawdy ihand, “Miss Rose Cameron.” In one corner of the carl an address was written, so donning a white serge suit—putting on his dancing pumps and selecting his English derby, he proceeded to hunt up the said address in hopes that it would be the home of his late charmer. After a careful search he found the address, and his ring was answered by a petite maid, who took his card and returning to him said that Miss Cameron would be down directly. It so happened that there was another person also waiting for Miss Rose and as the fellow was a frien l of his cousin’s, Jack had become acquainted with him recently. So the two entered upon an interesting conversation and before Miss Rose made her appearance the fellow had promised Jack he would introduce him to her. When ehe entered the door Jack thought of all girls, she was the one