Glass High School - Crest Yearbook (Lynchburg, VA)

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How Stacy and Hank H . OD rest his soul, Amen. The casket was lowered by two large Negro men and dirt was shoveled onto the fresh pine casket. The preacher looked up from his stare at the grave and walked slowly towards the gate of the cemetery, followed by three onlookers. The small cemetery was slightly over- grown with weeds and heather and most light was shut out by jutting pines and tall oaks. The Negro men set up the head marker, finished their distasteful chore and left the cemetery. On the head marker was written: Jacob lVIillstead Born 1860 Died 1937 As the Negro men walked out of the haunting Walls of the cemetery, they 'began to strike up conversation concerning the deceased. Such con- versations were commonplace around a small town such as Narrows. But since the recent death of Mr. Mill- stead, they had become even more plentiful. Groups of old ladies stop- ped in front of shops to exchange an opinion or two on t-he deceased's hid- den riches. Cars would stop at the village's one and only stoplight, in- stalled mainly for looks, as their owners expressed their views on the situation and barbers informed their regular and not-so-regular patrons of the incident that could affect the whole town. Had the old man really hidden a fortune around his farm? There were no facts to support it, but it was generally accepted as a fact around 6 Narrows, considering the miserly life the old man had lived. Thus the only question that remained was to whom the great wealth of the farm had been left. ak ak ak A tall, slender young man with handsome dark features and curly brown hair threw an old blue jacket across his shoulders as he walked d-own a dusty road towards Narrows. Wait up, Stacy, begged a voice from some distance down the road, I can't keep up with that pace y0u're setting, fella. Stacy stopped and sat down on a log to wait for his traveling compan- ion. If I wait for you, I won't get to this farm I've been willed before doomsday. Stacy's companion finally reached the log and seated himself beside Stacy, pulling his shoes off as he did. He looked about the same young age as Stacy but his overweight seemed to hinder his speed more than his youth could compensate for. Stacy Towne, this farm better be worth my visit or that old uncle of yours won't be the only corpse in Narrows. Pipe down, commanded Stacy, I think I hear a truck. On this road?l', q u e s tio n e d Stacy's c o m p a n i o n sarcastically, I-Ia! It could iust as well be the French Foreign Legion on a band of orange camels. It was a truck and Stacy and his companion were soon heading to- THE CRITIC

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Took Narrows By Surprise! wards Narrows with a friendly farm- er of that region. By the end of the ride the old man had related his life's history, one of no great interest, in exchange for Stacy's, and he had learned that Stacy was the benefici- ary of lVlillstead's farm. This tidbit of news was soon relayed to the town via the local barber shop and even greater rumors began to pour forth. Stacy's first impression of his new- ly acquired farm wasn't a good one, to say the least. The road leading to the house was full of rocks and ruts. The large box-style house looked as if it had been built during the early nineteenth century. The paint of the old wood had almost completely chipped off and the tin roof was covered with rust. Four other buildings made up the stead. The barn, largest of the four, was half rotten and about the most hor- rible thing Stacy had ever seen. The other three were of about the same caliber. Now Where's the farm? asked Stacy's companion half jokingly as he glanced about the surrounding woods and buildings. Right over there, Hank, said Stacy, referring his companion to the dilapidated farm. See ya later, fella, returned Stacy's friend as he started walking away. Come on Hank, said Stacy in a pleaful manner. Ya can't judge a book by its cover, anyway we're broke and haven't got anywhere to go. H . THE CRITIC DAv1D BROWN, 65 I still say we should a stayed at Elks Run. A Dusk drew near and light shone through the windows of lVIillstead's old farmhouse while small puffs of smoke floated from the chimney into the still night air. Inside two dis- couraged young men sat across from each other in a poorly lighted kitchen. Now what do we do ? asked Hank. Remember that old fellow we rode to town with? . asked Stacy. Well, he said something about Uncle Millstead leaving a bunch of money hidden around this place, and when we bought those goods in town I heard a lot of people talking about the same thing. Do you think he really did hide that money around here ? Heck, no, said Stacy, Uncle Millstead never could a saved nothin'. He always was a sot and never saved a penny in his life. That's just great, said Hank, greatly discouraged by the letdown in Stacy's story. But I got an idea, Hank. Pk Pk Pk Two days had passed since Stacy's idea had evolved and there was a great bustling about the Millstead place. Hank stood on a ladder in front of the house tacking a sign on a gutter while Stacy lugged furniture a-bout inside the house, dropping it at will in any likely spot. The sign on the front said: AUCTION TO- DAY, EVERYTHING FOR SALE, NO REFUNDS. 7