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Page 14 text:
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FEBRUARY, 1926 he BASTERNER “Why?’? asked Jack. . “He didn’t have a license tag.”’ “Why didn’t you get him one?”’ “They’re rather—kinder—high,”’ faltered the little old man, much embarrassed. nodded Jack. For a while there Then Jack jumped up. “T’ll get Teddy !’’ he exclaimed. : A sudden joy spread like sunshine over his companion’s face. ‘‘Oh! will you?”’ “You wait here till I come back, and you can take Teddy home with you,’’ returned the other. Without waiting to hear the little old man’s expressions of gratitude, Jack went quickly down the street on the mission of kindness. As he passed his own house, the boy’s gaze was wistful, and for a moment he wavered, his step lagging. Then he straightened and walked with firm step past the house and down the street. Beg anyone’s pardon? Not he! “T see,” was silence. At the pound, he picked out Teddy from the wagonload of dogs which had just arrived. As he was hurrying back to the park with Teddy under his arm, and a new license tag shining on a new collar around Teddy’s neck, he bumped into someone who was hurrying in the opposite direction. “T beg your pard—”’ he began. He glanced up vas addressing. Re Dad!’’ he gasped and laughed, foy he had done what he said he wouldn't do, and recognized the pergoy “Son!”’ eried the other, and he laughed too, understanding]y- Ge It was evening. The rain was over, and al] that remained of it were a few puddles, which reflected the rosy clouds. ‘ The soft quiet of the early twilight hushed, for a time, even the noise and hurry of the busy streets. als Jack reflected the time was like his life— emerging fresh, and invigorated from ine storm. His father was flicking his cigar ash into the fire as he eoneluded his speech, «After all, son, it was a good lesson to me. Your mother had repeatedly warned me against letting my temper overcome wal), You see, when you went, it seemed something in life had died, and I promised God if he would send you back I would do all I could toward conquering my temper. God brought you back, son.”’ Below on the damp street, Jack heard the patter of tiny feet and the contented eall of the little dog’s master. “Yes, dad,’’ Jack answered dreamily, ‘God helped, but it was mostly Teddy.’’ fee ee eS a The Legend of Saint Valentine Along the dusty village street With falt’ring steps and slow, There passed the good monk, Valentine, Dispelling gloom and woe. Now day by day the kind man sits His prison cell within, And on the violets’ glossy leaves He scratches, with a pin, Sweet love-notes to his friends of old. The pigeons on the sill He sends as joyous messengers To fly o’er vale and hill. The birthday of this saint of yore We celebrate each year, By sending messages of love To those we hold as dear. JOSEPHINE TREMAIN, 726. The Teachers’ Baby Pictures Yes, this is our dignified faculty on the opposite page. Perhaps, since they were a few years younger when the pictures were taken than when we go to press, you will have difficulty in guessing their names. The names of the teachers will be printed in the next issue and a sheet of hand- painted fly paper will be awarded the pupil making the nearest guesses.
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Page 13 text:
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Frpruary, 1926 The KASTERNER Pace 11 Teddy Rurn Benn, ’28 “Sure, his name’s Teddy, and he ean do lots of tricks. Show him how you jump, Ted.” The little old man held his arms together near the floor and the shaggy, dirty, little poodle jumped through them. “Now, that’s fine!’’ beamed his master, approvingly, ‘‘You can have your candy now. Good boy!’’ And then the little old man dropped a store chocolate (price one cent) into Teddy’s open mouth. Over in a far corner of the store, Jack Morris shifted his feet restlessly, in disgust with the world in general. A quarrel with one’s father is distressing to one of any age, and especially to one home from college on a vacation. Why was it he and dad were continually having ‘‘run ins’? to spoil his vacations? Now, because of a little foolishness his father chose to call impertinence, Jack was an exile from his own hearth. He reealled with a shudder the last scene before the library fire- place—his father’s accusation, his own alarm and anger, the father’s threat that the home was to stop being called Jack’s home until that young gentleman begged dad’s pardon. Jack’s mind could not blot out the picture of his father’s face as he had last seen it, nor could he eseape from the tones of his voice, which rang in his mind. But pride is a hard thing to conquer, and Jack’s temper at best was not a gentle one. Those who believe in heredity will agree he had just cause. Just now the temperament was enjoying full play. He gazed wretchedly out through the dingy shop-window, into the street. Rainy, unfriendly, and cold was the outside world. Was there a silver lining to the gray cloud hanging just over that tall building opposite? Suddenly there penetrated into Jack’s de- spondent thoughts the voice of the little old man; and he turned around, in time to see Teddy finish his last chocolate, roll over, and trot after the little old man. “That’s a queer old man,’’ remarked the storekeeper as the last sound of Teddy’s little trots died away. ‘‘He comes in here every day and buys a loaf of yesterday’s bread, and three pieces of candy for his dog. He used to be lionized for his art. by society, they say, but you know the whims of the 400. He has a hall room on Pratt Street now—lives there alone, except for his dog. I don’t think he has a decent suit of clothes, or any money to speak of; but for all that he seems mighty cheerful. He’s crazy about that dog o’ his. Now what was it you wanted? Cigarettes?’’ Jack nodded, pocketed his purchase and de- parted. For several days Jack haunted the store, having no other interest, and became well ac- quainted, from his sequested corner, with the eceentricities and devotion of the strange couple. Then one day the quaint pair did not make their eall. “T’m afraid something has happened to him,’’ remarked the storekeeper to Jack. “This is the first morning he’s missed for— oh, two or three years.” Jack was suddenly disturbed. It was noth- ing to him, and yet—the Morrisses were ten- der-hearted people. An hour later Jack, aimlessly strolling through the park, came upon the little old man sitting on a bench. His hands were folded on his knee and he was bent over in dejection. Jack took a seat on the bench. “How do you do?’’ Jack began timidly. The old man nodded, silently. “T don’t see your little dog,’’ ventured Jack. “No. Teddy is— is— he—’’ began the old man brokenly, as though words were hard to find just then. “Not hurt? or ill?’’ asked Jack quickly. “No. The dog-eatchers were around this morning, and they— they—’’ ““Took him! Oh, no!’’ “They did, though.’’
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