Decatur Catholic High School - Tattler Yearbook (Decatur, IN)

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DUkKlN'S MODERN GARAGE --Distributor for-- Dodge Brothers Cars and Graham Brothers Trucks Phone 181 Thos. J. Durkin, Prop. Charles N. Christen 81 Co. General Building Contractors Decatur, Indiana Estlmates Furnished on Application. Ph 219 d 363 N

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x --,-..H--...--..H...--....---.-..--TlIE fl-QTTI I R...... z ' 0 A 55001300 NO! It looked as though there were no one at honfe. There was no light in any part of the house, and the dark shadows crowding about, gave it an appearance that was at once grim and forbidding as if some tragedy were being enacted within its somber walls. During the day it had a smart and even gay appearance as befitted a council- man's rank, but now-it was dark, dark as the heart of a man who had just suffered a severe and killing financial reverse. From the inside of the house came the spasmodic mumble of voices, pathetic voices. Someone was crying. The crying rose in intensity of feeling. It was the voice of a woman. John, we simply can't go on like this. Not a cent to our name and bills, bills, bills. The grocer was here today and what- could I do. We owe everybody and we can't pay. Oh, I wish I were dead! No, dear. No, not that. Something will turn up. If we can only keep going for a few more months, perhaps-perhaps. He had patted her on the shoulder and tried to speak reassuringly, but his voice trailed o-ff into silence. Oh, if he could only think of some words of encouragement. But his voice failed him, and quivered as he spoke. Husband and wife sat in silence for nearly an hour, when a burst of grief sent tears gushing from the woman's eyes. John, the children. I can't bear to think of them being forced to quit school to go out to work, young as they are. I would rather end it all and A knock at the door. She broke off suddenly and dried her eyes with a tiny handkerchief. Her husband rose, switched on the lights and walked weakly to the door. Opening it, he saw nothing but a street light being drenched in cold 'blasts of rain. Something brushed past him. Shaking the mist fro-m his eyes, he turned around and saw a tall, well-built man with a large, squiare jaw, a broad forehead, and gimlet eyes, proceeding to divest himself of his wet overcoat. The stranger sat down and smiled. Perhaps you don't remember me. I represent the Rembrandt Construction Com- pany. I was here a month ago at a meeting of your council to submit my company's bid for the new asphalt streets which are to be constructed. As these bids were not sealed ones, perhaps, you remember that they took them under consideration. Last night they rejected our bid in favor of that of our keenest competitior. You were the one whose vote lost Us the contract. Now, heres the idea. We would do anything to secure this contract. Tomorrow night the council will make a final decision co-ncerning this matter. If we land the contract, we shall clear about S2,000,000.00, because, as you said at the meeting last night, our materials are inferior. Switch your vote and it means 5500.000 i11 your pocket. Five hundred thousand dollars! John! Sit down, dear. He tried to appear cool, but it was of no use. His face flushed and his eyes. burned in their sockets. S500,000.00! It would pay off all the debts and then he could live in ease, no worries, no cares, no troubles. He knew the materials of the company were worthless, but-Five Hundred Thousand Dollars! It was a fortune. John! Keep still, dear, I've made my decision. The agent leaped from his chair and grasped him by the shoulders. Will you do it? No. Get out of here. Q. ' ....... QQ Eighty ni re

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Apparently disgusted, the stranger put on his overcoat and started towards the door. Just as he was about to go out into the darkness and rain, he turned and spoke. Have you changed your mind? nNO.,, You'll always regret it. I warn you. I don't care. Get out! The door closed. John! Let's go to bed, dear. I'm tired. The next morning a telegram came from the Rembrant Construction Company. It read: Agent's report favorable. We need honest men like you. Name your own salary. A. H. Jones, President. Cedric Voglewede, '26. A SERIES OF NIGHTMARES One hot day last June, Helen Staub, Geraldine Kohne and I decided to go camp- ing in Eiting's Grove right outside the city of Decatur. VVe took our lunch and camping supplies with us. While we walked through town on Main Street, we were attracted by a sign which read, Free. We could not resist, for that magical word strongly appealed to our empty purses. We entered. There on a stage Mary Colchin and Cecilia Appleman were singing, Brown Eyes are you Blue? and at the same time doing the Charleston. They were so startled when they saw us, that they forgot their lines and broke down completely. Opposite the stage, at a small card table sat Frances Gase, with a yellow canary and a black cat perched on the back of her chair playing Old Maid with Cletus Junk. Cletus' hair was quite grey and a long beard covered part of his face. He was smoking an immense Meerschaum pipe. Just as we approached, the black cat got frightened and jumped off the chair landing right in the middle of Mr. Junk's pipe. At the other end of the room three familiar faces met our gaze. They were seated at a long table heaped with sport papers and magazines. Nardy Meyer was the same as ever, but Wemmie had added about two feet to his height and Tubby had just doubled his weight. He was so big that the landlord of that famous Recrea- tion House had generously cut a semi-circle into the large oak table so that Carl could enjoy at least a little comfort. 'We were hurrying to greet them, when we were startled by a loud crash. The heavy iron bench upon which they were seated could no longer stand the strain, but gave way, sending the three sprawling under the table. We decided to leave this place, when we noticed two radio fans, whom we rec- ognized as Gibby and Pete. They were so engrossed in listening to a lecture about The Value of Chewing Gum, that they did not even notice us. We were about to nudge them, when an electric current escaped from the batteries and sent them both dancing all over the floor. In our hurry to get out, we bumped into a group of four funny-looking jiggs. They were Cyril Heiman, Francis Coyne, Edward Lengerich and George Loshe, all eagerly working at a cross word puzzle, and almost devouring an immense dictionary. When we bumped into them, the giant cover of the book fell shut with a bang, leaving only a tiny piece of each one's coat tail hanging out. We took to our heels, but before we got to the door, I stepped on a burglar alarm and a big, bulky policeman entered, swinging his club over our heads. I scream- ed-and then awoke with a start, finding myself on the verge of falling out of bed. Margaret Lengerich, Comm, II. Ninety one