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

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These years had passed swiftly; his funds were running low and his attainments—Paul wondered. For the first time in his life the question was squarely before him and he was determined to treat it fairly. Yes. now he stopped to think of it, he did have a vague idea of an honorable profession for himself somewhere in the distant future. He mentally gathered his acquirements and arrayed them before him. Jotting down his accomplishments, he first gave himself credit for being a good dresser and a real sport; then he was president of his class which was considerable of an honor; as a member of the basket ball team his average was better than many others—but how about the REAL thing? The report card told of the real things, and it was a credit neither to him nor his school. Was this the answer? All those days, weeks and months, these three whole years—was that all he had to show for it? Alone in that quiet room the boy fought it out. He was just a boy and had not thought of it in this light before. The picture of his parent’s faces, sad with disappointment; their many sacrifices and the many unrealized expectations for him, coupled with their loving care, came crowding in upon him. Unknowingly Paul had come to one of the marked turns in life’s road and as in fancy he looked down the inviting vista, he catches the real vision of what most any boy should be. Any one could have a report such as his. any one couid be a failure. The soul of the boy was in the cry—IT DID NOT PAY ! His disappointed face lighted with this new resolve, a new spirit arose in him. and the weary figure was filled with a new strength. The last year of Paul Emerson's stay in the Lincoln High School was marked by a new purpose. Just as good a fellow—the same jolly, popular—but a better student. His college course is completed with real honors; time rolls on. and in a western city we see a crowded court room, where a brilliant lawyer is closing an eloquent plea in this intellectual giant we recognize the perplexed boy, who sat by the glowing embers way back in those high school days. Paul Emerson’s career had answered the question—DID IT PAY ? 18

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a trace of him, although the soldiers scoured the woods time and time again. It was many, many years ago, but the mother has not even yet given up hope, she sighed. “1 hat is the end of my story, she said sadly. I said nothing for a few moments. Then, “how is it that you know the story so well? Is it possible—are you Mrs. Harris— I stopped abruptly. The old woman was gone! She had vanished as mysteriously as she came. I sat lost in thought. A light breeze swept over the old cemetery, making the shadows move more fantastically over the tottering stones and the sunken graves. i itttt “Did It Pay” By CEDRIC MARSHALL H WEARY, dejected boy sat by the dying embers in an open grate. Its ruddy glow played over the manly yet discouraged young face, as he studied the report of his last month's work in the Lincoln High School. Paul Emerson was one of those ordinary boys, clean cut, good natured, and with the average ability. His parents were of limited means, having barely enough to carry Paul through the four years of school. Three years of High School life had passed and this was the last day of the term. Things had gone wrong with Paul all day—poor lessons, sharp rebukes and trifling incidents had aroused in him the conviction that he was neither living up to the expectation of his parents, nor taking proper advantage of the opportunities offered by the school. Throughout the afternoon these thoughts had persistently come into his mind and troubled him, and tonight as he sat by the open fire, the entire matter had resolved itself into the one big question, that like Banquo's Ghost, refused to down ’—DID IT PAY ? Paul remembered his entrance into the Lincoln High School; an awkward, shambling country boy. He had entered because it was the usual thing to do and because the crowd was going. His good nature had immediately won for him a popular place. By choosing the easiest subjects, he had progressed fairly well. He remembered the jolly times with the boys; the card parties, dances and late hours, as well as trips with the basket ball team, when being away from home, had permitted sly nips of “John Barleycorn just for the sake of goodfel-lowship. 17

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