Conneaut High School - Tattler Yearbook (Conneaut, OH)

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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.”

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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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24 TIIE “For my part I eon si dor myself lucky, boomed a Chemistry book. “My owner never takes me home, gives me very little handling, and 1 am molested only about fifteen minutes daily. My pages are clean and new.” be proudly boasted. Is it possible that there exists a Chemistry book with such good fortunes? came a dampening voice. 1 am always laid right beside of the sink where every time the water is turned on I am given a generous bath. My complexion is ruined.” “You don’t know how relieved I am that vacation is here. a tired voice answered. “My mates and I are all carried home every day and even deprived of our rest by being studied far into the night. Our faces are disfigured by pencil marks and all our joints are weak from so much studying. 1 alone escaped from being carried home for study over vacation, but because of my overtime work last week. I was allowed to remain here.” Just then, far in the distance from a back lot on Sandusky street there came a prolonged wail which must have been a cock crowing. Immediately the whispering ceased, all sounds died away and silence reigned in the large room once more. BELLA BROWN, 22. ARIZONA. “Oh, indeed! I fail to see the necessity of such a thing. Who is she? Jean Marlowe was standing by the window in her room at Miss Overton’s school in New York City. Jean was the daughter of wealthy parents who lived in a small city in New Jersey. She was arguing with her roommate “Billy” Richards, the advisability of noticing a new girl who had recently arrived at Miss Overton’s. TATTLKR June. 1922 Joan was a leader among the girls at the School and if she chose to ignore the new girl most of her friends would also. Hilly did not like to argue with Jean but she did feel sorry for the girl who was very poor and had been sent lo the school by wealthy relatives, and was very home sick for her home in Wyoming. “Well, you may befriend all the poor girls you care to, hut I shall have nothing to do with her. Thus Jean dismissed the subject, and picking up her tennis racket left the room. Jean was a rather striking looking girl of seventeen, tall and with black curly hair and hazel eyes. Her mother as the wife of the wealthiest man in their city was a prominent society leader, and expected her’daughter to be like her. She had taught Jean to expect homage from every one. and to associate with only the wealthiest girls. In order that she might have an opportunity to meet the girls she wished her to. she had sent Jean to the fashionable girls school. Jean had always been fond of music and at the age of five had begun to study the violin. To Mrs. Marlowe it was only an accomplishment that would make her daughter more popular. Mr. Marlowe whenever he had been at home while Jean was practicing, thought that while playing the violin was the only time that Jean was her natural self. W hile he had not opposed sending Jean to school he often worried because he knew she would become the affected, snobbish, sort of girl her mother seemed to wish her to be. Jean wrote him telling of the new girl and that she intended to ignore her. The idea of such a person coming to the school! The letter worried Mr. Marlowe who had once been a poor, homesick boy at school himself. About two months later Jean gave a recital at the school.