Conneaut High School - Tattler Yearbook (Conneaut, OH)

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C. J. FREW, The Florist, 213 Broad St., Phone 1281-Main 3 BILL’S DISGRACE. (First Prize Story.) Bill was in disgrace. For a young giant of seventeen, who played football like a wildcat and was regarded by the coach as the likeliest half-back the Barton Harbor High had ever had, to appear in the assembly hall in the discarded finery of the school scrub-woman, was nothing less than stupid, according to Professor Ryan; and the effect of his arraignment before the entire class had been to arouse in the easy, good-natured boy a bitter antagonism which was worse than his silly prank. “I consider this a clownish breach of discipline, Boyer,” the professor was saying, ‘‘and I shall make an example of you, William Boyer. You may take your choice of expulsion, or of appearing in that ridiculous makeup on the gridiron tomorrow. And”—as Bill started toward the door— ‘‘you may have today to think it over.” The boy was conscious of the titter that followed him out of the assembly room. On the way down stairs he divested himself of the now hateful plaid silk waist, split down the back from shoulder to belt, and tore the ridiculous little hat held on by a shoe string from its perch on his shock of brown hair, rolled them into a wad and threw them in the darkest corner of the gymnasium as he went to his locker. He pulled his sweater over his head, his cap down over his eyes and went out into the October morning. He was loath to see his aunt. So he trudged down one street after another and out upon a country road.

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C. H. S. Basketball Team, 16 - '17 Top row—Coach Irwin, Harvey Puffer, George Saville, Manager. Center row—George Hubbard, Harry Cameron, Russell Jones, Charles Eades Bottom row—Kline Loomis, Edwin Zack.

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4 THE TATTLER Why was it that he had nothing as other boys had? Home? Home was a Michigan fruit farm, twenty miles back from the lake. He supposed that he would be sent for as soon as the news reached his father. For his aunt would lose no time in reporting over the phone the disgrace Bill had brought on her household by his rube tricks. It was late before he slouched into town again. It was Friday afternoon, and he knew that he would not meet any of the boys for they would be at practice. As for the girls. Bill had never cared a rap for them, so that not until the flying figure had stopped beside him, did he suddenly remember that Rose Wilson was the principal’s niece. “Oh, Mr. Boyer, I want to ask you something,” she said. Bill stopped gravely, his eyes taking in the girlish figure in the long plaid coat and felt hat. “Whatever made you do it?” she asked. Then she broke into a laugh. “You looked so funny. That awful bonnet!” “I did it for a joke.” “Of course,” answered the girl. “The girls are laughing yet. It—it isn’t so funny about tomorrow, is it?” “You don’t suppose I’m going to wear that rig tomorrow?” “Oh, why------” “Not on your life, I don’t. I am going to Chicago, as soon as I earn money enough.” She looked at him timidly. “I wouldn’t let him expel me,” she said forcefully. “He gave you a choice, didn’t he? And there’s the game. They’ll lose it without you.” “I don’t care.” “Yes you do. I heard Uncle Robert say that it was your touchdown that won last Saturday.” “I couldn’t have made it in a silk waist and dizzy hat,” grinned Bill. “Say, what are you trying to do, make me go down there and make a fool of myself?” “I’m trying to get you to play the game, yes,” she answered. “Oh, all right, I’ll play. But not in Nora’s silk waist, even if it is the last game with them. I threw the dog-gone stuff away.” “Is that all that is preventing you, Bill? I was the first one in the gymnasium tonight. I saw those things and put them in my locker. Here is the key. You can get them if you hurry.” He turned. “I’ll think it over but I cannot promise.” “Please?” “What! Do you care?” he asked. She looked at him for a moment then said, “Yes, I do,” and fled down the street toward her home. The boy looked after her, then turned and strode off in the opposite direction. » On Saturday afternoon, when Bill trotted out on the Barton High field, his maroon-colored sweater was easily distinguished from the others, and