Grants Pass High School - Toka Yearbook (Grants Pass, OR)

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£EIjf anka 11 drees, and any one not young ought to know better than to wear light blue. She also has fair hair and blue or gray eyes. “This is a somewhat ridiculous way for a hungry man and a temporary beggar to reason, but it shows that my exposures and privations have not impaired my powerful intellect.” He tried hla fate at the kitchen door. ‘‘Sure, iow, it’s hungry you are, and it’s something to ate ye’re wantin’?” “If you please.” ”Thin I’ll be askin’ the mistress.” ‘‘Can’t you give me something without?” Ave coorse I could, young man, but it’s Nora O’Flaherty that obeys orders. Certainly, Nora, give him something’,’ he heard a sweet voice say in answer to Nora’s inquiry. ‘‘What sort of a looking man is he?’ ‘‘Ah, Miss Penelope, he’s a wicked lookin’ chap, wid the blackest eyes 1 ever see in a living cratur’s head, and he just takes in everything at a glance. I’m afraid he’s a thafe, Miss Penelope.” ‘‘Did you leave him alone?” ‘‘Not I, Maggie is there, and she’ll kape her two eyes on him.” ‘‘Go and give him something to eat and I’ll come out and take a look at him. But watch him carefully. In a minute or two more, Tom was sitting on the back porch eating a bowl of bread and milk and blackberries. Nora had given him a seat at the kitchen table, and had set forth other food, but he had taken this pastoral dish and retired to the porch. “He may be a dacent fellow ater all,” Nora thought. Pretty Boon he saw approaching him as fair a vision as had greeted his eyes for many a day. It soon materialized into a dainty little bit of feminity, apparently about nineteen, with a cloud of light brown hair, large hazel eyes and a sweet but resolute looking mouth. She wore a light blue morning dress; had a rose tucked in her belt and a book in her hand. Tom spilled the milk he was carrying to his mouth, adding greatly to his discomfiture, but not at all to his appearance. Milk doesn’t enhance the beauty of a black mustache and whiskers. The girl took a chair a little distance from him, gave him a quick glance, in which there was sympathy and distrust mingled, the sympathy predominating, and said, ‘‘Good morning!” ‘‘Good morning, madam!” ‘‘Have you walked far?” ‘‘Quite a distance.” ‘‘You look tired. No response. Tom thought if that were the worst thing that could be said of his looks, he would be thankful. ‘‘Are you looking for work?” she asked. ‘‘Yes, ma’am.” he answered, boldly. ‘‘Do you understand farm work?” ‘‘Some kinds.” ‘‘My father is in need of help. He is away from home for a few hours, but if you are inclined to wait till he returns, I think he would give you something to do. But—perhaps you were going somewhere in particular.”

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in 2hr aufeti putting it back; but it was gone. Then he had loat his hat one day in going over the rapida, and had borrowed one of Jim Hunt. Aa it was several sizes too small for him it gave the sun a great advantage, which it had improved. His coat was demoralized; his boots had lost the shine that distinguished them on State street. What few effects he had brought with him were either in the hands of the rest of the party, for they had taken charge of the luggage, or—in the hands of his “aboriginal brother!” All would have been well, or endurable, but for the loss of his purse. But he had learned that the appreciation of money is a wide-spread characteristic, being often in curious ratio to its possession, and had no idea there would be any special exception made in his favor. That morning of which 1 speak, his cogitations were something in this wise: “Well, Tom Hamilton, this is rather an interesting state of affairs, Twenty miles from a railway station; no money, no clean clothes, no anything. “It looks like quite a little trip to take on foot. Walking from necessity is a different thing from walking for fun, and when I get to the railroad station I shall probably find that the companies have a habit of charging for a ride; in fact, I don’t know but a man is as well off In the Wisconsin woods without money as anywhere. “I do charge you, Tom Hamilton, with being a tramp. That’s what you are, and now' be true to your character, sir, and make a successful one. Perhaps, however, you would better take an account of stock; In other words, see what your resources are. First, two soiled handkerchiefs, evidence of former respectability; a bit of rhyming, composed and sung by our campfire, evidence of extraordinary mental powrer. No one could read it without pronouncing it a remarkable production. Shakespeare wrote nothing like it. A photograph of Cousin Bessie, showing that I have known the refining influences of female friendship; a copy of Tennyson, showing—don’t know what that does show—haven’t made up my mind; a couple of cigars—blessed be Raleigh! and, oh Lucifer! an empty match box. These are my possessions this a. m. Now here is a little hamlet, where, according to poetic tradition, I ought to find every latch string out, and every man ready to clasp me in his arms and call me brother, ready to share his last crust of bread, and last cup of coffee with me. But I greatly doubt if I find any such thing. I am a disreputable looking creature, but I deny that the apparel proclaims the man in my case.” Tom reconnoitered a little after the fashion of a thorough-bred tramp. One woman offered to give him his breakfast in return for an hour’s devotion to her wood pile, but he fully intended to be consistent, and so declined her offer. He noticed a large, pleasant-looking, white farm house, set well back from the road. The lawn in front was smooth as a floor. He noticed a flower bed, gay with blossoms, in the distance. He saw the hanging baskets on the porch and he looked upon the place as critically as though he had meditated purchasing instead of asking for a breakfast. “This looks Inviting. This house has a fine expression—for houses have expressions as well as their Inmates—and, there is a young lady swinging In the hammock. I konw she is young, for she has on a light blue

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12 ah? uuka No, ma’am, I was not, ami 1 will be glad to wait.” The truth was Tom had fallen in “lore at first sight” with the blue-robed maiden and enjoyed the sensation; and, though at this moment he would have given half a year's income for a change of raiment, he still felt grateful to the fate that had led, or misled, him to this spot. After he had finished his breakfast, he told Penelope that if there was any little piece of work he could do while he awaited hir father’s return, he was ready to undertake it. Penelope didn’t know. She thought there must be something, but she didn’t know just what. She tried to be very dignified and very businesslike, and failed completely. Finally she said that if he understood using the lawn mower he might employ himself in mowing the lawn for a while. Father is very particular about the lawn,” she said. Tom could easily believe it, for it was already as smooth as a carpet; and he begau his work somewhat cautiously, it must be confessed. Fate plays queer pranks sometimes,” he said to himself. Here is a croquet ground, and you are a skillful player; here is a charming young lady, and you have been known to be agreeable to charming young ladies in your day; here are all the facilities for a summer idyl, and yet—and yet—. Then he heard the piano. “Ah,” he groaned, that will be harder to bear than all the rest, though probably she will play ‘Why Don’t You Try,’ or ‘I Have Taken Quite a Fancy to You, Dear!’ I have noticed that those two stand prominent in the repertories of many young ladies, and though, of course, I dote on them—yet I COULD forgive her playing them. However, If she will not sing Oh You Kid.” But no, there w'as a skilled hand upon the instrument, and in a moment, floating from lip and finger, arose exquisite strains from 11 Trovatore. Tom resigned his positio nas an amateur gardener and threw himself down under a tree to listen. Then she tried the garden song from Faust. This she commenced, proceeded with a certain distance, hesitated, tried again, stopped. Again and again this wag repeated. Tom had several talents. He was a musician of no small ability, and he had an accomplishment, which, though it may not take high rank, was still the source of a great deal of pleasure. He thought, I am not presentable in your parlor, but I think I can help you if I am a tramp.” She tried again; this time he, from his position under the tree, accompanied the piano by whistling. Again she faltered at the some place, stopped, while he carried it through to the end. Then he saw Miss Penelope on the porch, and her sweet voice reached him in these words gentle and courteous: “I wish you would come here a moment.” Tom walked slowly towards her. Will you please whistle that passage again where I failed? You remember—I haven’t the music. I tried to play it from memory, she half exclaimed. And you whistle it with wonderful accuracy, and wonderful expression, too.” Tom colored with pleasure, through the mosquito blotches that adorned his face. He raised his hat and said: I will stand outside and accompany you; or, if you will grant me the pleasure, 1 will play it for you.” Penelope lifted her eyebrows in astonishment, and replied: “I have some curious people in my life, but I don’t know where I ever saw a-a