High School of Commerce - Annual Yearbook (Cleveland, OH)

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illibe Qlixpefteh letter 66 CAN'T mend anything more to-night, said Mrs. Livingston, despon- dently, as she laid down a half-darned stocking, and to think I can't get work. The coals glowed brightly, but the Fire was too low to really warm the room. Mother, I'll build the Ere for You, I know if this room were warmer you'd feel better, and little Gertrude, a child of ten, stopped talking to her pet kitty and jumped up to replenish the tiny Fire. Darling, we'll have to be careful and not make too big Hres for coal is so dear, and really I am warm enough. The mother thought of the mort- gage, and the interest which was over due, and a sigh escaped her. She tried to speak cheerfully for she would not burden her child. If John would only come home he could help me. The words unconsciously escaped her lips. Mamma, I'll help you if I can. Perhaps I can get some money by run- ning errands for Mrs. Brown, and then I'll give every cent to you. Don't worry, mamma, don't worry. A sound of footsteps outside sent a glow of hope to Mrs. Livingston's heart. The thought that her absent son had returned from the Philippines always rose at any unusual movement. A knock sounded and hope fled. John would not wait to knock at his mother's door. Run, child, open the door. It is cold to wait outside. A messenger gave the child a telegram, shook his head at the invitation to enter, and departed. Mrs. Livingston opened the message with quivering hands and read the following: Mother: Home about next Sunday, just mailed the thousand dollars. Love. John. Only ten words, yet her life was changed. Her face beamed with hap- piness for the mortgage could be paid. The next morning the postman found her waiting. He handed her a letter. The home was saved! She tore the envelope open, but to her sorrow the letter was not from John. The bank had sent a notice saying that the property mortgaged must be sold at ten o'clock the following Saturday. The mortgage must be satisfied. The notice was printed with here and there a blank space Filled in va ith writing. Her case in the eyes of the bank was only one of many. This thought passed through her mind as she laid down the pitiless letter. ' Two days went by and still no letter. Can it bef' she asked the postman, that my letter has been lost ?', Sent by my son last Saturday, she responded in answer to his question as to the sender and the time. 91

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Charles saw that his grandfather Was going to say something, and draw- ing closer he heard: My boy, I am about to die. At these words Charles shuddered but said nothing. When I die, continued the man, look in the Indian? If he was going to say more he never said it fc' convulsions seized him and he tossed and rolled and coughed that nerve racking cough that sent the chills over the body. Charles could stand no longer the cries of anguish that pierced his heart and he ran from the house in search of some one. Charles returned with the doctor but he was of no use, for the old man had died in the boy's absence. After the funeral Charles returned to his grandfather's house and for the first time thought of the Indian bust. Taking the bust off the stand and unscrewing the head, as long ago his grandfather had shown him how to do, he found inside an envelope addressed to himself. Tearing it open he read the following note that was enclosed: Dear Charles: Many times have I longed to tell you, you who have been so faithful to me, that the people had a right to think me a miser. For in my younger days I caused a sorrow due to a miserly act. Hoarding my money, I refused aid to a poor family and death claimed one member. Since you came to me many times have I longed to tell you that I have tried to atone to my Maker by giving to others secretly. And now to prove that I am sincere and to complete my atonement I ask, as a dying man's request, that you do not tell anyone the contents of this note, so that I may go to my grave with the reputation of being a miser. As you have helped me in other things help me in this, my atonement. Your repentant, Grandfather de Vine. JOHN TOBIN, 1911. as lurk HIS, from the pen of the French author, Max O'Rell, is recommended as of value to every graduate student at Commerce High. Luck means rising at six o'clock in the morning, living on a dollar a day if you earn two, minding your own business and not meddling with other people's. Luck means appointments you have never failed to keep, the trains you have never failed to catch. Luck means trusting in God and your own resources. 90

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Then it should have reached you the day before yesterday. I'm sorry, madam, but I'll have to inquire into the matter. Mrs. Livingston closed the door and the postman walked nervously down the street. Could I have lost that letter? he muttered to himself. I remember having some mail for her Tuesday, but I think I delivered it. Shall I tell the postmaster about it to-day? No, I'll wait. The thought of the letter troubled him but he would tell no one. He remembered the bank letter which he had delivered and his consicence was clear. Meanwhile the week passed. Mrs. Livingston became nearly frantic. The money to save her home was somewhere, but it would come too late. All efforts to delay the sale were useless. A rich customer had long coveted the little home as an addition to his beautiful grounds, hence the bank was merciless. Saturday carrie, the day of the sale. The mother thought of her child as already homeless. A knock startled her. The sheriff, she thought. But to her surprise it was the postman. He handed her a letter. She opened it and clasped tightly a one thousand dollar San Francisco draft. You donlt know how thankful I am that it has come on time, she said. The postman was touched. I am glad to bring you the letter on time, madam, he said, and with a light heart he continued on his regular round of duties. She hurried to the bank. Would she be too late? Sir, here is the money, she barely whispered. The cashier and president, for one man served the bank as both, looked at the clock, the hands pointed to 9:45. All right, madam, I will telephone the sheriff that the sale is off, as the mortgage is paid. His face reflected the excitement that she exhibited. The sale of the widow's home had been distasteful to him. Her home was saved, and with a light step, keeping time to the beating cf her heart, she hurried homeward. She had reached the bend in the road, in a minute she would be resting in an unmortgaged home. But her heart stopped its beating. A volume of smoke was pouring skyward from the direction of the home. What did it mean! She hurried around the hill that hid the view. Her home was safe. The smoke was pouring from the chimney, and on the porch was an explanation of the extravagant use of the fuel. Oh, John, my boy, was all that she could say as son and mother hap- pily met. Later john heard his mother's story, but the mystery of the delayed letter was never made known. ADELENE GREER, 1911. 92