Conneaut High School - Tattler Yearbook (Conneaut, OH)

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22 THE TATTLER .lane. 1922 that time, now they were eighteen. Tonight had severed their connection with Oakswood High School. Tomorrow would find them in scattered parts, George to the city where he had secured a position on a newspaper and Tom to West Point, New York, where he was to enter West Point Military Academy. George’s ambition was to be an author while Tom wished to become an army officer. Tomorrow would find them, each on his own way to success or failure. They came to the gate of George's home. Farewells were exchanged and Tom continued on his way home. It was morning and the sun cast its splendid and heart-cheering rays upon the station in Oakswood. Few were present at this early hour. George was to take the 8:0fi west bound and Tom the one at 9:18 going east. lie had a good ten minutes privacy alone with his friend and then George had to leave to bid farewell to his parents. During this time Tom and George made a promise that each would meet the other in ten years on, July lf at 8 p. m. at the Harlem Hotel. Oakswood, no matter what circumstances they were in. The last word Tom had of George was as the train curved around ahead and George had his head out of the window, his mind concentrated on the beloved scenes far behind. Ten years passed. George, in the city of his youthful dreams, had lived up to all expectations. Ten years before he had entered a room on the extreme right of the building and on the ground floor. This was the reporter’s room, where “cub” reporters received the training which was to fit them for a journalistic career. Hut gradually George, the “cub” reporter had advanced, until now at the age of twenty-eight, he made his headquarters in a room behind plate-glass, the door of which bore the inscription, “George Warren, City Editor.” The copy-readers room was busy. Copy-readers and re porters were rushing in and out of the room, with manuscripts clasped in their hands which when, put into type, made “The Lakeview Daily News.” the best paper in the city. A few minutes later and the paper went to press. George sat back in his chair relieved. He held a sealed letter in his hand. He ripped it open hurriedly, but when lie saw the writing, his face became more tranquil and peaceful. The letter was from his friend, Tom Barry, on duty in Texas. As he read through it his face lost some of its hard lines and as he read on, he became more absorbed in it contents. Then he came to a paragraph which he read for the second time, pondering over its contents. It was as follows: “I am looking forward with pleasure in keeping that engagement made with you ten years ago. The general has granted me a furlough of a month. Only forty-five more days, “old top and 1 will see you and keep the promise made ten years ago, to meet you in the Harlem Hotel, Oakswood, on July l(i, at 8 p. m. You be there clear friend, and I will keep my promise. Yours very sincerely, “Tom”. George brushed his hair off his forehead. “To think I nearly forgot it he said, amusingly. Hut now I’ll be there too. Tom, “old pal. And he knocked the papers off his desk. Things were quiet at Fort Morgan. Mess was over and the officers were resting in their tents and their men doing whatever their active minds could find for them. In the tent of the commander of Troop H. was Tom Harry. On the chair nearby, was his friend Lieutenant Ralph Miller. The Captain was speaking to his friend. “And there's one more thing I wish to tell you, Ralph,

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June, 1022 THK TATTLER 2i tyrants and hope in the heart of the people’.” ’ e await you at the usual place, complete your task and hurry back’.” “With this the two shadows slunk away and left the one alone.” “It moved out unto your light Mr. Moon, and I saw him face to face, lie was young, and moderately well dressed and he carried a heavy suitcase. “He stared about, half fearfully, and then set off down the path toward the State building when a train whistled, far in the distance. The sound traveling in the quiet of the night sounded loud and very near. He shuddered, turned pale but went on.” “At the end of the path he stopped, before him lay the great building white, in the pale moonlight.” “One could see he was nervous, one could see he was inexperienced, and yet he was held on the spot by some invisible force of determination.” “A scene rapidly passed before his eyes, the building destroyed in the night, the consternation at the discovery of the ruins.” “The phrase, “fear in the hearts of the tyrants, hope in the hearts of the people,” passed through and through his mind.” “Then sharply another scene was outlined. They were not prepared to start a revolution. He saw the people working in the late evening to raise the extra taxes levied to replace the building.” “Pear in the hearts of the tyrants.” “Yes.” “Hope in the hearts of the people.” “No.” “He turned and strode away, toward the shores, where the quiet waves touched the land and there in the pale moonlight far from the hand of treacherous men, and very harm- less. he hurled the bomb into the sea. and turned his way with thoughtful steps to his moderate room in a moderate boarding house.” Said the Man in the Moon, if your story is true, you do see wonderous things, but you. Mr. Tower Clock, having struck, I must go on to Japan. ELIZABETH COSSITT. '23. A PROMISE MADE AND KEPT The dining parlors of tin Presbyterian Church of Oaks-wood were flowing over with human beings, members of the graduating class of ’12. of Oakswood High School. The members were seated at a long, rectangular table. Thomas Barry, the president of the class, was acting as the toastmaster. The greater part of the class had been called upon and had responded to toasts. But one part of the program still remained and the toast-master proceeded to it. “ We will be honored to have a toast from George Warren.” The person in question arose and spoke briefly on “Life s Prospects.” That little matter would not have seemed so important but for the fact that George Warren and Thomas Barry were firm friends. The banquet broke up and George Warren and Tom Barry escorted some girl friends to their homes. Then as they left the second one safely at her home, Tom eaught George’s arm and they swung down the street together. They had been “pals” for fourteen years; ever since the day in July, two freckle-faced youngsters had shaken hands and agreed never to tell who had broken the Armstrong side window, and it was still a secret. But that one small incident had ripened into a friendship, which was as strong as “The Rock of Gibraltar.” They were four years old at

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June. 1922 THE TATTLER 23 I have a dale in Qakswood on July lf . The date was made ten years ago. Tomorrow, as you know, I go in pursuit of the dirty “gringoes” that killed Rogers. I do not know if I will return. If I don’t, I want you to write to George, telling him all. Will you do this for me Ralph?” “Most assuredly,” Tom. “But remember you're coming back. I’ll count on it anyway.” One week later, forty-seven survivors of Troop B rode back to Port Morgan. But their Captain was absent. They had met the “gringoes and defeat was theirs. Lieut. Miller faithful to his trust, wrote the sad letter home to the friend. One evening, about a week later, a man in tattered army clothes walked into Port Morgan. It was Tom Barry but how different from the one who had left. lie was weaker than before, he was pale, an unusual thing for Tom Barry, lie told his story that night. “My men were driven back. I was shot and left to die among the greasers, who didn’t see me for 1 crawled into the shade of a cactus bush. I ate nothing for two days. Then I started walking and made Fort Morgan in five days. “1 have my months furlough. 1 will see you at the appointed time. Congratulate me, George. Promoted to Major, so long, Tom.” This was an extract of a letter from Toni to George, but it never reached its destination. It went into Tom’s poeket there to stay. It was one minute to eight. George Warren sat at a table in the Harlem Hotel at Oakswood. He had come there, knowing full well that his friend was dead—just to keep his promise. As the clock in the town struck eight, lie heard a door open. George turned towards the door. His friend, Tom Barry stood in the doorway, with his smile of old. “Tom,” was all he could exclaim. The next minute, the bronzed hand of Major Barry’s was clasped to that of George Warren. Thev had kept their promises. MAXWELL LEWIS. BOOK TALK. A deep silence reigned in the dark Stu ly Hall, the hands of the clock crept slowly around to twelve, at last they pointed directly at it. the magic hour when tin gift of speech is given to everything. Through the long dark room a faint whispering, a rustling of leaves ami a crackling of paper from each desk. Gradually the sound grew louder and more distinct until it seemed that many small voices were uniting in a confusion of argument and protest. Near at hand from the dark depth of a desk a small voice arose. “What a terrible day this has been, it cried, “just the day before vacation and all my owner has thought of is how soon he can be free from me. as a result 1 have been thrown and banged until every leaf in my binding is loose. “I can well sympathize with you. Madam French Book,” came a reply from a neighboring desk. “My Geometrical dignity has been greatly offended today, usually my owner is very careful of me, but because 1 wanted to close up my covers in Geometry class I was rudely grasped by each side and my leaves and covers were bent until my back was nearly broken. I am sure I will be an inert mass hereafter.” On the left a very weak voice came faintly from a crowded desk. “My owner doesn’t know what waste paper baskets were made for. but insists on putting all old papers into me so that 1 am a ragged sight and can hardly find any of my topics.”