Glenville High School - Olympiad Yearbook (Cleveland, OH)

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THE REFLECTOR eyes, I began to feel foolish over my unreasonable agitation. “Well,” I repeated indignantly, “she was growling at something ! Still inwardly shivering, I followed mother upstairs, when I heard more remarks from the irate Patsie below. “Patsie,” I summoned, sternly, “come here at once! She, interested, obeyed not. Scraping up all the courage I possessed, I dashed wildly down the stairs and up again with the recreant animal. If you growl again. I'll spank you, you naughty thing! One unacquainted with cat nature might think this terrible threat sufficient, but Patsie promptly emitted another stirring yowl into the dark area below stairs. “Mother,” I said in firm tones, we must put something over the stairway so that the person can’t get up. I must here pause long enough to advise the abandonment of this narrative in case you have never experienced the terrors which the imagination is capable of calling forth. Otherwise you are not sympathetic with my state of mind. After we had fastened a window shutter over the trap, we heaved a sigh of relief. At any rate, if the villain should attempt to climb the stairs in the dark he would whack his head soundly on the shutter, thus giving loud warning of approach. In spite of this barrier, we felt safer in the next room which could be securely locked from the inside. How very securely, we did not as yet comprehend. With many stumblings and awkward shin bumpings, we carried a small cot into this room, which heretofore had not been used for sleeping. With great perseverance we coaxed our reluctant pet from the attractive stairway into our harbor of refuge, whereupon we securely locked the door. The room was small with sloping roof and unfinished rafters, but it seemed beautiful to me because it offered comparative safety; and I never remember holding greater admiration for a door than that one which closed us in, for it was a very strong, substantial appearing door, truly a noble door, thought I. Like a true martyr I lay on the floor, with mother on the cot next me. Her hand in mine seemed the only link between myself and safety, as we lay listening to those peculiar night noises which are most noticeable when one especially wishes not to hear them. How the wind sighed in the rain-laden trees; how drearily the waves washed upon the beach! Thud! My common sense counseled, “Merely the screen door banging.” My fear suggested, “An unwary footstep! Gradually, however, drowsiness possessed me, and away I slid into the realm of unconsciousness. In total disregard of our topsy-turvy world, the sun punctually rose in his usual splendor and wakened us early. The fear of the night seemed a nightmare, yet a remnant of it haunted me. Accordingly I waited for Mother to suggest the opening of the door. “Of course,” I assented, while she proceeded confidently. (A few seconds of fumbling with the key). “It won’t open!” “Won't open?” I cried in disgust, “Well just let me try my hand at it. After many vain attempts 1 gave up. “We are locked in! I remarked brightly, revealing a great truth. “Indeed, Mother replied dryly. “We must get out, I added in explanation. “True.” “In the first place, I said, thinking of a recent movie, “is there a rope in this room? I could tie it to the bed post and slide out the window.” In the first place there is no rope, and again, in the second place, there being only a cot in the room, how can there be a bedpost ?” Although I hated to give up this daring plan, I reluctantly agreed with her argument. However.' I was ready with another proposition: “Why not tie the bed clothes together and fasten them to the doorknob ?’’ “Nothing of the sort. retorted Mother. 26

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Ethel Duer, Editor AN ADVENTURE IN COWARDICE I HAVE changed my mind; I am neither brave nor strong in the face of threatening circumstances. As in geometry —proof: Early summer saw my mother and me safely stored away in our lake shore cottage. How good it seemed to break away from school books, pavements, high shoes and table cloths ! There the grass grew untamed, and the pebbly beach shone in the morning sun. But at night this same grass was capable of ghostly rustlings and the lake was dark and still. There was only one other family of early migrators on the beach, this being several doors from our cottage. The children told cheerful tales of tramps and other suspicious characters often entering the cottages. Returning home one night from their house, I was startled by a rifle shot prob-?bl fired by some negligent hunter, hut which my imagination readily conceived as from the hands of a prowling tramp who had been infesting the railroad track. However, when I entered the cheerfully lighted living room where mother sat placidly reading, and Patsie, the feline pet of the family, purred in pensive mood, my fears were temporarily dispelled. The natural tact of human nature prompted me to pass on the stirring information I had received. But mother, though easily roused, paid scant heed to my story. After we had sat reading for some time, I found myself nodding over the magazine, perhaps because of the drizzling rain upon the roof. Alas! My lethargy was of short duration. Before ascending the stairs to bed, I went in search of Patsie. She had wandered out onto the front porch, and on approaching her, I was assailed by a low and indignant growl. My mind acting logically, I determined that she must be growling at something—and that something must be in the front yard. There the animal stood peering through the screen, tail in a ridged, bristling line, hack up. As I listened, the rhythmical spat of the rain upon the leaves and grass, the song of the night insects, served but to enhance the lurking fear in me. The atmosphere seemed divided into measures by the drip, drip, drip of the rain, and the chirping of the crickets; each interlude a period of tension, an ominous waiting. Suddenly breaking up the fearful spe'l, I snatched up Patsie and ran gasping into the living room. “Mother!” I cried in dramatic tones, “Patsie just growled at something on the front porch!” Seeing the twinkle in her 25

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THE REFLECTOR “You’d tear the clothes—and besides, you might break your neck.” Not disheartened, I proceeded. “Then, since the key won't turn in the lock, why not use that stick in the corner as a lever?” This plan proved very disastrous for the key broke off in the lock, and we were in a worse plight than ever. “You are a nice one,” Mother contributed. I tried to rid myself of surplus wrath by kicking and banging on the door which I had recently so revered. Suddenly light dawned. The door had been stuck with dampness and would probably now open if we had only not broken the key. “I’ll bet there's a key in that purse of yours that’ll fit this lock.” At last this proved the “Open Sesame and once more we were free to roam at large. As Patsie purred contentedly we were not afraid to go below stairs. ‘‘Ha! Ha! That’s a funny pickle we got ourselves into! “We!” snorted Mother, “Who started this scare anyhow?” “It’s funny just the same.” And so it is, as I now look at it. although my self-esteem has suffered in that I have been proven a base coward in the face of imaginary danger. Frances Bath rick. THE ELOPEMENT J IMMY, aged seven years, three months and two days, was worried, terribly worried over his brother Bob. Xow it seems strange that one so young would be troubled over an adult member of his family. Bob was almost eighteen; but it is very noticeable when one’s big brother, usually so ready to tease, just sits around looking glum, and flies right up in the air, so to speak, when one addresses him. And this is the way Jimmy’s big brother had been acting for two whole days. Surely there was something the matter. And that “matter” was what Jimmy was trying to figure out. This small innocent brother had just asked some trifling question of Bob, who was busily engaged with pen and paper, and had been sent off with a Darn it! Get out o' here! Can't you see I’m busy?” Jimmy, dumb-founded at his brother’s attitude toward him, took himself meekly off to reflect on Bob’s condition. What was the matter? he asked himself over and over. Surely Bob had gotten into some dreadful scrape—perhaps he had been turned down by his girl. Jimmy knew what that was like from experience and could imagine no more serious trouble—except perhaps having to keep dressed up on Sunday or hav- ing to study arithmetic in place of playing ball. But what would he be so busy writing for if this were the trouble? He had seen no occasion for writing when the saucy little Miss Jean had snubbed him. He wandered aimlessly through the house trying to solve the mystery. He went to the library where his brother had been writing. Bob was gone, but a sheet of writing paper lay unfolded on the desk. He drew closer. Surely there would be no harm in reading what was on it. Jimmy was no sneak and would not have thought of prying into his brother’s private affairs just to satisfy his own curiosity; but he felt certain that paper had something to do with the thing that was troubling Bob. Then it was Jimmy’s duty, he reasoned, to read the note—whatever it might be—and stand ready to help his brother if the occasion required his assistance. He picked up the sheet of note paper in a trembling hand and read: Dear Frank:- I have done everything in my power to persuade the pater to allow me to have Elizabeth. He absolutely refuses—says I'm too young and all that sort of thing. I must have her right away! I can’t possibly get along without her. I’m desperate. So, my dear fellow, I am going 27