Emmerich Manual High School - Ivian Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

Page 16 text:

man who constructed this conductor for smoke was, perhaps, somewhat unskillful. The two pieces were replaced, but in the course of the opera- tion it came apart in the middle. He rushed to the scene of this new separation and wrestled vigorously with the pipe. As a natural result it all came down, pelting him on the head, should- ers and feet and rolling around the room with an awful din. In a vain attempt to escape he stepped off the table backwards and his head was unexpectedly and somewhat vio- lently introduced to the stove, while his feet attacked the two innocents on the bench. He rose with a pale face and a bump the size of a cucumber on his head. Con- found you! wha-chue doin ' in here? Can ' t chue see you ' re in the road? Get out! The boys gladly obey- ed, being in fear of bodily injury. WILL R. BALLARD, June, ' 99. THE CRYSANTHEMUM When cold gray days of winter come, Then blooms the brave Crysanthemum, Nor fears the sting of biting winds, Nor deems the cunning frost unkind. With stately pride it lifts its head In amber, yellow, white and red. And color, clothed with beauty ' s grace, Bewitches, like a maiden ' s face. A. RICHT, June, ' 99.

Page 15 text:

A LESSON IN PATIENCE Mr. Holiday believed in giving his boys object lessons in the cardinal principles underlying all virtuous action, and often did so. On one occasion he said to his two young hopefuls who were playing in the back yard, Now, come into the house and I will show you that it is quite possi- ble for a man to put up a stove-pipe without losing his patience. Rollo and Thaney came quickly as they usually did when their father spoke. They seated themselves on a bench at one side of the room, eying the course of events with rather un- certain interest. It was necessary that the pipe should run al- most across the room and Mr. Holiday had arranged an impromptu scaffold of chairs and tables. After placing the stove in position he began to erect the pipe, explaining the reason for each step with painstaking care. When he had the upright portion in po- sition and two or three pieces along the ceiling, he began to grow enthusiastic. You see, he said, it only requires a little care. If you use your brains you economize your patience. There is no reason why anyone should have trouble in merely putting up a stove-pipe. Here his lecture was interrupted by a shower of soot which filled his eyes and mouth and delivered a generous supply down his neck. He started to utter a questionable phrase but stopped. Here — you see is where the patience — comes in, he said, between his efforts to spit out the dirt. Self-control is a jewel and few possess it. The boys were evidently much impressed, for they sat lean- ing forward with faces turned upward, and eyes and mouths opened to the fullest extent. The performance was resumed and continued with great success till the last piece was being fitted in. Then the pipe came apart at the elbow and two joints fell upon the heads of the unsuspecting youths who seemed some- what disconcerted by it. So did their father, who began — The fool who made this pipe hadn ' t the sense — . Here he stopped, but resumed a moment later. I was remarking that the gentle-

Page 17 text:

IN THE OLD ATTIC I feel so sad to-day. I hardly know why, for I am rich and therefore ought to be happy. But I don ' t wish to see anyone to- day, so I shall go up to the attic and see what has been stowed away there. How dusty the garret is. The sunbeams can scarcely struggle through the window-panes. What memories these things bring. This was mother ' s chair, and how comfortable it feels. It creaks very audibly and would hardly suit my fashionable friends, but it is a rest to me. It makes me think of the dear, old, country home, and mother sit- ting in the old chair by the fire-place, and at her feet I sit, once more a happy child, with no cares and no riches. I smile as I think of the awkward little country girl I was then and the styl- ish woman of the world I am to-day. How long ago it seems. But here is an old trunk. I can not remember what it con- tains. Ah! here on top is my first party dress, white satin slip- pers and fan. How well I remember the large, brilliantly lighted room with its beautiful decorations, the sweet music, the fragrant flowers and the merry dancers whirling lightly about. How old- fashioned the dress looks. What is this? A faded blue uniform and a soldier ' s cap. I seem to hear again the band playing trium- phantly, the crowds cheering and see the old flag waving in the wind and the soldiers marching away. How mother wept when brother marched away that day and how grand I thought it all. And here in the very bottom of the old chest is a picture, my baby sis- ter ' s. Those small shoes, worn at toe and heel, were hers. How well I re- member her lying in the tiny coffin, the sweet, blue eyes closed forever and the dainty, waxen hands crossed in peace. Silently I lay the things back in their places, and softly close the lid of the trunk. Shadows of twilight are gathering fast in the old attic. I move slowly down the staircase and am soon back in the world of action again. CARRIE BEGGS, June, ' 99.