Hedding College - Orange Yearbook (Abingdon, IL)

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1 W' Y ,N 1 I .U A EIKTL- - ?27'1?27?li22i21Ei3iiZ3?i5f2f5?fE1-ji? fi me Orange Cl2T?fZ7l?5E' 53 ,-ifi-7254 l 'Q Q ' ff 14 l. il, board, and smiling softly to herself over her victory. Her husband was game but li incredulous. Three months later, VVayne Patterson was seated on the veranda of the Green- ill! way Country Club, deep in a discussion with his friend, Holmes. jj X, llf No he said, as he azed somberl over the olf links I scarcelv ever see mv c px, A 2 , gl Y g 1 . . ., W wife any more. She s a changed woman. She never goes to the matinee, she's given up bridge, I doubt if she can even dance any more. She and her friends do nothing ill but play chess. It's enough to make a fellow sick. Is it any wonder that I've taken ,lug up golf?,' Jlf VVayne Patterson bit angrily on his cold cigar, but his friend Holmes grinned LZ Q, and murmured something under his breath which sounded like,- pr Women seldom do things by halves, but often by doubles ! l, if BIIRIAM BICOMISIER M IT' 'XV wa Il ' w'l M li! S: ff if Q 95 s 3 N5 lil ' Ghaprl ' . L l VVhile in my chapel seat I sit by And hear the songs upon the air, I like to gaze around a bit, 3 Ui And at the faculty I stare. 'wil A .9 U Upon the right the solemn stand L , And frown, the whole song through. 'Q if' But they upon the other hand, Do grin, or nod a head or two. 4 lvl, ffl Then comes the long and weighty spell y 3 When the announcements are at stake, lj Of great events we hear them tell, Hifi And choking breaths we hear them take. if ,RU L., . fl 0 ' ' Sometimes we have some college pep iff And give a yell or sing a song. ll. Those are the times that make us step, L, gil Nor do we care if chapel's long. X. 1 j - , . VVhen chapel ends, we meet our fate xl And march out, two by two, lil' To classes never are we late, If as the music bids, we do. i ual '-fl But as we go we cannot fail To feel the staring glances cast A I il V By hanging martyrs, weak and frail, XVho speak to us of days gone past. f.- ci. in R. A. ill 'il xlwlr 'if-C3g' f3-?faQ?g31,.jLe,1:5237? ?7ffT7:i f Qieiitgifigfiffjc,2liE,fE?5Si1?lfg5LT'7i?ii1 X One Hundred Sixteen

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4 1.1-magag fimsiszi 2259 Ofgn Glhraa ua. Glhraa Young Mrs. Wayne Patterson stood by the library table impatiently fluttering the leaves of a book she had picked up idly from the table. The soft glow of the table lamp not only showed her to be a charming young lady dressed presumably for the theater, but it brought out rather disturbingly the soft, red lips set in a firm line. the small chin lifted defiantly, and the pair of smoldering blue eyes. Mr. VVayne Patterson, apparently unconscious both of the lovely picture his wife made and of the helpless fury in ther blue eyes, was placidly arranging the chess-men on the board in front of him. For a moment there was an electric silence and then a choked voice began. Wayne, do you know that this is just the third time in a week that I have planned to go to the theater or a party with you, and you, in spite of my wishes, have stayed at home and played chess with that Mr. Holmes or that horrid Barney. Oh Y she added, in desperation, I wonder if you have any feelings for anything but Kings or Bishops or Pawns Pi' Why, my dear Louise, you musn't feel this way. If only you would learn the game yourself, you'd realize-but then chess is a man's game and I suppose that it would be impossible to hope that a bridge playing woman could master such a gamef' .lust as Mrs. Patterson stood trying to decide whether to throw the little book that she held in her hand at her husband's well groomed head as she wanted to do- or to sweep from the room in icy silence, her eyes fell on the open page before her. It contained a quotation from Adams: Women seldom do things by halves, but often by doublesf' She caught her breath, and after a moment's careful thought, turned slowly and left the room. The maid opened the door of the library. Mr. Holmes, sir,', she announced. The next morning a sweet faced wife remarked to her husband as she poured his coffee, VVayne, dear, I'm going to run up into the country this morning to see Aunt Ellen and Uncle Bob. Aunt Ellen has been urging me to, you know, and besides I think it will do me good. I may be gone a couple of weeks, so you had better engage your meals at the club.', Uncle Bob had three hobbies, if there can be such a thing. One was his pretty niece, Louise, for he adored her. Another was his delight in telling his Civil War experiences, and last, his love for a chess game. So, for two weeks, Uncle Bob en- joyed himself immensely. His charming niece had unexpectedly come to make him a visit, she listened more attentively than ever to his war stories, and she seemed to have been taken with a sudden mania for learning chess. As the long evenings went by, Uncle Bob's heart swelled with pride, for his pupil proved to be a surprisingly apt one, and one memorable evening he even very nearly suffered apoplexy over the fact that she had actually checkmated him. Wayne Patterson was happier to have his wife home again than he thought it politic to admit. For a couple of weeks home had been a deucedly lonesome place, for some reason. He had missed her bright nonsense, her frivolous chattering, her gay voice. He caught her slim fingers eagerly in his own that first night and an- nounced, I have some tickets for the Follies. Want to go, honey? He received one of the biggest surprises of his young life when his wife answered demurely, Not to-night, old dear, let's play chess. I've been playing a little with Uncle Bob, and I've rather enjoyed it. Three hours later a prettily flushed young lady was helping put away the chess 215 1Q.ff3YL2fiI?F 2fi?1SQifr3Z14'2KI Z ! 2 2iji:dff7E7fi'2si One Hundred Fifteen

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Mg Q,-'gn 9 We 't Uhr ilmgaterg nf Bvath Olliif 01215112 Above the noise of the howling wind and the driving rain rose a long wail, three times repeated. The younger of the two men seated in the paneled library of Death Cliff Castle shivered and drew his chair nearer the fire. He glanced apprehensively toward the rear of the room, but there, all was velvety blackness. He looked furtively at his host, who had throughout the evening maintained a stolid and immobile countenance. But now, his lips were twitching and his Hngers moving nervously, or, was it a trick of the firelight? The young man sat tense, waiting, expectant, but the wails were not repeated. All was silence, save for the ticking of the great clock. The host drew out his watch with shaking fingers and held it near the Hre. Well, Mr. Leith, it's- He started, smiled feebly, and sank back into his chair. The sound of his deep voice caused the echoes to reverberate from every corner of the room. The host sat huddled in his chair, Mr. Leith was rigid. As the last echo died away, both men tried to laugh, but the smiles froze on their faces, for again sounded the long, mournful cry, this time from the wall not six feet away. The host, muttering something under his breath, leaped from his chair and started toward the panel, but the chiming of the old clock stopped him. The men started to count the strokes, although they knew it was midnight. As the last sound died away, a peal of thunder that seemed to rend the heavens, shook the old castle, the partition split from floor to ceiling, and a flash of lightning illuminated the face and figure of a woman-a woman upon whose beau- tiful, although ernaciated countenance was a mingled look of hatred, agony, and pleading. She seemed to start forward, the host shrank back into his chair, gasping: there was a grating sound in the direction of the big clock, a rustling in a far corner of the room, a sudden gust of wind rattled the shutters, a door slammed, and the next flash of lightning showed only a crack in the wall. Leith sat petrified with fear, the host was gasping and trembling. As soon as he had partially controlled himself, he started out of the room without a word. As they reached the door Leith looked back. The storm had abated, and the moon, shin- ing through a rift in the clouds, cast a gleam on the old clock. YVith a start the young man saw that it was twenty minutes past eleven. Could he have been dreaming? He turned and followed his host up the long, winding stairway, through a dark hall, and to a large room, dimly lighted by a small candle. YVith a muttered Good- night the host stumbled down the hall. The echo of his footsteps gradually died away, and all was still again in Death Cliff Castle. Leith locked the door, picked up the candle, and inspected the room. The old- fashioned furniture contrasted sharply with the small, low bed. Suddenly he blew out the candle, sat down on the deep window seat, and pulled the heavy curtain about him. He could not sleep, for the memory of the woman's face haunted him. Could she have been the woman whom, as tradition had it, his host had plastered in the wall when he built a new section of the house? Whom he had thus tortured because she alone knew that he visited a certain room at a certain time? Hitherto Leith had put no faith in the stories that he had heard. People said that there was one room of the get afirgefxze f Q- e.-. 2113- -. et'ff'e ffl, YT7 ATX One Hundred Seventeen