Conneaut High School - Tattler Yearbook (Conneaut, OH)

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6 THE TATTLER GRANDFATHER’S STORY. (Second Prize Story.) LOSt—Somewhere between sunrise and sunset two golden hours, each set with sixty diamond minutes. No reward is offered as they are gone forever. “Boys,” began grandfather after he had repeated the above lines, “never lose your golden hours as they are very precious indeed.” Great-grandfather Brown was now’ over eighty years old. He had lived a hard life and was now ready to settle down and live the rest of his life in quiet and peace. John and Henry, now ten and thirteen respectively, delighted to hear of their grandfather’s younger days, how he had to get up in the morning at five o’clock and go down the old lane to the wood after the cows; how, all alone, he would go barefooted, even when the frost was on the ground which would make him run fast to keep warm. At last, when the cows were ready to go to the milking shed, grandfather, in order to get his feet warm, w'ould step into the place w’here the last cow had lain. “Why, grandfather, tell us another one of your stories about yourself,” cried both boys at once. “Well, I have just been thinking,” said grandfather, “of the days when 1 was about your age, perhaps fourteen. I thought when 1 had learned the three “R’s”—reading, ’riting and ’rithmetic—that was enough. My father thought differently, so I decided to quit school never to go back. I did, but it did little good, for the next day 1 was marched back to school by my father after a good lecturing. I then took it upon myself to leave school anyway. I would run away. “The next morning my mother packed my lunch and sent me off to school. I had about ninety-five cents in my bank. These coins now danced merrily in my pocket. I did not go to the school house, but went in the opposite direction. 1 walked all day and at night came to a large farmhouse. 1 went briskly to the door and asked for a night’s lodging. ‘No, sir, we don’t keep tramps.’ The door was slammed shut and I was left in total darkness to think of my comfortable bed at home. I dared not think of my mother. I decided to go on with my journey. The night was damp and chilly and I was tired and hungry. But my hopes were somewhat restored when I saw in the distance bright lights. As I came nearer, sounds of laughter and loud talking could be heard. I could now look into the large room. A bright, crackling fire was in the fireplace and beautiful music floated out upon the misty air inviting all to come inside. But, boys, nobody knows how I have regretted that day, for it was here I took a great step into the path of wrong which is so easy for us to follow. I was very hungry and soon a young man came up to me and asked me to have a little drink with him. It was easy to refuse the first time but he quickly saw I was chilling and again invited me to a glass saying it would warm me. It was here my lips first touched the red stuff that ‘biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an adder.’ It was here I lost my golden hours never to be recovered again. I could not get work, I was ashamed to go back home; so I had nothing to keep me busy. Matters went from bad to worse and I

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C. J. FREW, The Florist, 213 Broad St., Phone 1281-Main. 5 the professor was conscious of a feeling of disappointment. He had not forbidden Bill to play the game. But he had hoped that the boy would either coine as he commanded or not come at all. The Waterford team against which the Barton Harbor High boys were to play was already on the field. Professor Smith, teacher of chemistry and physics, had consented to referee. “All ready!” cried the referee. “Oh-h-h,” shouted the crowd. “Wow!” yelled the team, and------ “What the deuce,” grumbled the Waterford boys. For as Bill’s sweater was drawn briskly over his head, there was revealed the gay plaid of Nora’s waist. Solemnly producing the ridiculous hat, Bill snapped the broad rubber under his chin, and with perfect gravity saluted his principal. This was too much for Professor Ryan, and before he had recovered his dignity again the game was on. Bill had a way of playing as though he thought the game had to be won in the first ten minutes, and the very first time he gathered the ball up and broke through the line, head down, his hat went flying, and after he had mixed in a few scrimmages, the waist streamed in ribbons from his shoulders. At the end of the first half the score was six to two in favor of Barton Harbor. The second half began tamely enough. The ball moved up and down the field, never getting beyond the twenty yard line on either side until Bill, pivoting from the clutches of the Waterford tackle, left the amazed youth clutching in his hand a section of Nora’s waist, while he went flying up the field like a deer. The Waterford back shot forward and Bill, who had slowed up a bit, shifted the ball, dodged to one side with a long oblique stride, leaving another remnant of Nora’s waist behind, while he flew on unchallenged to his third touchdown. The school went wild, the referee blew his whistle, and the game was over. Then they mobbed Bill. When, at last, Bill had sheepishly surrendered the last shred of silk to the souvenir-hunting school girls, he drew on his sweater and started homeward. Rose had not appeared. Now that the game was over he thought that she would never look at him again, so he trudged along gloomily. “Bill, oh, Bill!” hailed a voice from behind. He turned. “You did just fine,” she asserted. “Maybe I’ll have a chance to do something for you some day.” “You have!” he blurted out—then stopped. “May I walk home with you?” “Of course,” murmured Rose. He carried her coat and a large bunch of asters she had gathered. When the knight of old entered the lists for his fair lady’s sake—did he not flaunt her colors? —Miriam Davis '18.

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C. J. FREW, The Florist, 213 Broad St., Phone 1281-Main. 7 soon found myself fastened to a habit which is so hard to overcome. One day while in one of my worst conditions my father happened to pass through the town and although I was now a grown man he recognized his son at once. He took me very kindly into his buggy and turned the horse toward home. I was put into my own comfortable bed that I had left several years before. When I awoke in the morning I was bewildered. What could it all mean? Had I had a dream? Everything was just as I had left it on that bright, sunny morning. Then thoughts of my mother came crowding to my mind and a fearful dread came over me. I arose hastily, dressed and hurried down stairs. Father was reading. • ‘Where’s mother?’ I gasped. ‘John, your mother has gone to her final resting place and her last words were of you, my dear boy.’ Oh, how my heart ached. Right then and there I vowed I would mend my ways. I have spent many hard years in overcoming my great enemy, drink, and by the grace of God, let us hope I have throughly succeeded. Boys, take my advice, make every hour, minute and second count.” —Harriet S. Hogle ’20. THE HURDY-GURDY. “Listen, what is that?” asked brother. “Oh! I know,” he shouted, a moment later. “Come on, sister, here it comes!” He caught little sister’s hand, and away they sped down the street, for was not the most wonderful instrument they had ever known coming slowly down the street this very minute? Soon it come in view, and both brother’s and sister’s eyes, ears and mouths were wide open to catch every sound that issued forth from the old, dilapidated hurdy-gurdy. On each side of this wonderful and interesting instrument were painted bright pictures. One was a market scene depicting happy, smiling peasants selling their wares to the passers-by. The other was a picture of a castle in Milan. Lords and ladies strolled here and there in the beautiful gardens. Flowers were everywhere. The trees were full of beautiful birds with gaily colored plumage and, no doubt, they were singing their best songs to the people of the castle. A cage containing a gaily colored, lively little parrot was hung near the front of the hurdy-gurdy, and the parrot was doing his best to keep up with the lively music. The whole affair was drawn by a patient, sleepy little mule, who looked as if he had never enjoyed a square meal in his life. But the owner, who was an Italian, was the queerest of all. T do not remember his name, so suppose we call him Guiseppe. He wore a queer little black velvet jacket, which was prettily embroidered with beads, and under the jacket was worn a bright yellow blouse. The knee-breeches he wore, might have at a time been a bright red velvet, but they were so worn and shabby, that little color was distinguishable. He wore a wide sash, in which appeared every color imaginable. On his head was a funny turban of bright orange, and here and there glimpses of black curly hair could be seen. Large gold rings hung from his ears and around his neck he wore