Evanston Township High School - Key Yearbook (Evanston, IL)

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pulled up the hood and began to adjust a loose wire. Say, Bud, don ' t you need some help? called out one of the loafers. Abbot ' s bright and he ' d be awful glad to help. No, thanks, I ' ll be through in a minute, sarcastic. Bud worked quickly. During the past years when he had been working almost constantly on engines and often on radio, his mechanical mind had taught him to see details, to understand at first sight, organize the points, and quickly complete the neces- sary work. O. K. now, he called cheerfully. Fast work, old boy, came a remark accompanied by a sl ap on the back. Hey, Bud, how ' s your radio invention coming along? It ' s done. Let ' s see it, shouted another fellow. O. K. Come on in. He led them into a small workshop in the basement of his home. Every kind of radio equipment filled the room. An open um- brella lay in the corner. On the handle was fastened a small box. Bud picked up the common object in his hand. Here it is. Don ' t tell me you think an umbrella with a box on it is an invention, Bud, sneered Abbot. It ' s a portable radio, replied Bud. Bud explained to his surprised listeners that by turning the umbrella in the direc- tion of the desired station one could tune in with the crystal set attached to the handle. He proved the possibility. Having placed the ear phone on his head he pointed the umbrella and wiggled a tiny handle in the box. I ' ve got it, he shouted. He let each one listen to the distant sound of music. By his comments each fellow showed his amazement at the new trick and his pride in Bud. Soon he put the set aside. They talked about their radios and mo- tors, asking Bud ' s advice. With no show of conceit he helped them from his knowledge of mechanics. After the boys left Bud finished his regu- lar job of emptying the ash cans. Instead of stopping at the pantry, as usual, Bud moved on upstairs. A trail of ashes marked his path. Once in his room he threw down a dilapidated Latin book and slumped into his desk chair. His new Mechanic Maga- zine before him remained unopened. Bud sat motionless, staring at the wall. Presently he got up. It was growing dark. The great clock in the hall was chim- ing six as Bud crossed the room and stepped into the upper hall. The half-opened door leading into his father ' s den allowed a stream of light to flood the floor at Bud ' s feet. Bud entered slowly. His father looked up immediately. Hello, dad. May I come in? You certainly may. Sit down here, re- plied Dr. Redington pointing to a comforta- ble chair like his own. How was school today? Pretty fair. Have you been practising with the ten- nis team this afternoon? No, dad, I haven ' t. Ya see . . . You ought to get into athletics. Well, listen Dad, Bud said, hesitating, I want to tell you something important. What is it? his father asked. Bud adjusted himself uneasily, finally got up and stood in front of his father. With a decisive tone he announced, I am not go- ing to college! The deep eyes he was looking into gazed at him with a calm expression. This startled Bud. As he rehearsed this speech over and over again to himself, he had expected an indignant flow of words to greet his out- burst. All right, son. Let ' s have your rea- sons, a kindly voice returned. He began in a steadier voice. I don ' t want to go for lots of reasons. In the first place you have to have real high marks and they count an awful lot. All the fellows say they do. I can ' t get any higher than an eighty in anything. I simply can ' t get in. I have to take an examination in two weeks to see if I ' m good enough to be accepted for final exams. All the fellows have to take it, even Abbot. But it ' s pie for him. Now you know, Dad. I want to go to work after I get out of high school instead of going to college. Dr. Redington had listened to his son ' s reasons. He was glad to have Bud come to some decision, whatever it was. I ' m glad to hear your points. I ' d like to say a few things if you don ' t mind. Sure, go ahead, Bud replied indiffer- ently. Do you understand what your work at school is about? Are you getting each main point in each subject every day? I think so. Page Twenty-seven

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PASSED Frances Philbrick The air within the study hall hung heavy, as though too lazy to stir. Seeping through the windows an uncomfortably warm ray pointed to scattered sheets of paper spread carelessly upon Bud Redington ' s desk. The light was reflected in sudden brilliance. A hand pushed aside one piece on which four numbers ranging from sixty-nine to eighty-five were scrawled. It grasped a neatly printed page and brought it nearer two keen eyes. A college entrance blank was before the motionless Bud. He seemed to gaze at it absently. Yet in truth each word he read comprehendingly. The stu- dent should preferably be in the upper half of his class. This sentence glared at Bud. His glance fell on the list of his grades. All low, but one! Bud scratched his head, laboriously moved his feet which stretched far out into the aisle. Accidentally he hit some one else ' s feet. Whispers were exchanged, silenced by a piercing glance from a far corner of the room. With an embarrassed grin Bud looked cautiously at his seat mate, Abbot. There was no appreciative audience in his person. Abbot, ignoring him, continued studying Latin. Bud turned away from his cold friend to look at his own desk, always a lit- ter of books and papers. Several minutes later a firm step neared Bud ' s desk. Some one brushed his arm and stopped. The assembly teacher standing be- side Bud cleared his throat. I ' m in for a lecture, thought Bud as he grabbed a book, pretending to study. Are you going to enter college next year? he questioned. Yes, sir. Your marks are almost too low. Bud stared uneasily at his desk. Unless you raise them there will be little chance. Your friend Abbott is on the high honor roll. You ought to be, for you have the ability. Let me see an improvement before you take the trial entrance examina- tion next month. The voice stopped abruptly. Bud sat up straighter and shook his head. The straggling wisps of hair falling over his high forehead were a shade lighter than the tawny mass that hung unevenly about his well-shaped head. His eyes were blue . . . or gray? Whatever they were, they gave an impression of alertness, dependability, and good judgment. A bell rang. All filed out in no order. Bud stood up, turned his head about, scan- ning the entire room. With a cool grin he greeted Abbot. Oh, oh, teased Abbot, lowering his voice on the second exclamation, Back again? Every now and then! You seem to Their voices trailed off as they became lost in the crowd of students in the corridor. They were nearing their next class when Abbot put the worn-out question to his friend, Done your Latin? I guess so. Did you think it was easy? No. I thought it was awfully simple, Abbot announced. By the way, what did you get in French? Bud hesitated before repeating in a sub- dued voice, Seventy-two. I got ninety-five. You always get good marks! These words were not said with admiration. You have to if you ' re going to college. Going next year, Bud? Sure, I am, he began boldlv, if I get in. Bud didn ' t like the subject of grades. Having a brilliant boy like Abbot as a con- stant companion did not increase his self respect. The thought of this brief discussion of grades and college remained with Bud all day. As he shut the door of the school be- hind that afternoon he was still thinking of Abbot and his ninety-five. Bud jumped into his old car and drove off. Want a lift? he called out to four boys who were walking with Abbot. Sure. Hop in. Bud turned left and headed home. The balky vehicle oozed up to the curb. With a violent snort it stopped. Darn that motor, yelled Bud. Get out all of y ' a. I gotta speak gently to it. Bud unceremoniously pushed his way out. He Page Twenty-six

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All right, Bud. That ' s all I want to know. Thanks for listening to me, dad, he said as he backed out of the room. By the way, son, are you going to take the exam? I won ' t pass it, but I may try. Do I have to? he asked anxiously. Oh, no, do whatever you like. You ' re a keen father, he smiled appre- ciatively. The same sun was annoying the same boy with its ever sparkling ray of light. It was the time of the preliminary examination. Bud had decided to attempt the fool thing to see if it were possible. His thoughts concerning college had been constantly changing; they wavered from one thing to another. Bud was certain that his father trusted his decisions. Wouldn ' t his father ' s pride in him increase if he didn ' t back out? He had been spending the last few after- noons studying, but he was not over con- fident. The examination will be over in five minutes. Bud breathed deeply, glanced over his paper, and stalked up to the front of the room. Once outside he let a great groan escape him. Thank goodness, that ' s over, he breathed. In response to his father ' s question Bud only said, It was awfully hard. I don ' t think I could possibly have passed it. He stared at the floor, kicking the rug with his foot. The examination papers were being passed back. Those who had taken the examina- tion were excited. Bud ' s hands shook as he took the paper that would determine his chances. On the outside was written: It is better to judge and organize material than to cram facts. Inside something dazzled him as if a sudden ray of sunlight had struck the page. Passed. Big pine, Must I, Always, sigh and sigh in the wind? No, little one, Be still — still, she sighed. He did not wish to be still, — He did not wish to sigh, — But he was mad to laugh and laugh. The wind only moaned Through the green of the branches above him. — Gertrude Fox Page Twenty •ei bt