Houtzdale High School - Jack O Lantern Yearbook (Houtzdale, PA)

Page 45 text:

g THE JACK Of LANTERN g g in futile effort to decide the contest. The novelist raised his javelin to hurl lt -at his opponent when the latter deftly struck him with his lance unhorsmg him and thus gaining the' victory. 4 The battlewas over, The victor descended from his horse. - Slowly he advanced and presented his offering. From his hands I received a much-worn volume and settled down in contentment to read again- The Idylls of the King. - . DOROTHY PIDGEON '26s H. H. S.. i ,A illriple mragehg a It was a dark cold, stormy nightin the middle of December. Ar old woman sat huddled in front of the tire place of the great Weston mansion, a look of terror in her eyes. lf those mysterious noises come again tonight, 4 she said to herself, I shall die.'f Almost every night terrible moanings and noises were heard .in the attic of the stately old mansion. Old Mrs. Weston lived by herself with the exception of a maid whom she had brought with her from Spain. Shefcould never find the courage to search for the cause of these noises lerself and when she asked the maid to help her or stay up with her she always made some excuse. - ' M 'The maid went by the name of Anita. She was a tall, dark, lan- guid sort of person, who went around for hours at a time as if in r trance. Always on her face was a look of revenge. She always retired-- before midnight, the time the noises were heard, and apparently they never ,bothered her, at least, she never spoke of them. ' The clock struck twelve, and just at the last stroke of the clock a terrible scream echoed through the great halls of the mansion. Mrs Weston seemed frozen to her chair, every muuscle in her body was rigid. -After a few moments she managed to drag herself slowly up the greatstaircase, each step seeming an eternity. She called in a weak trembling voice, Anita, Anita, but Anita did not answer. Just as she reached the maid's room another of the terrible screams was heard This was too much. She fell in a heap to the floor unconscious. Sl.e' gained consciousness ahfew .minutes later, finding herself lying in the same place. Again she called, Anita. but still no answer. -She raised herself slowly, and just as she did her eyes fell on a shining ob- ject near her. 'She picked it up, and after examining it found it to be a curious little case which Anita always carried with her. Anita must have been in a hurry to drop that, she thought to herself. Slowly, cau- tiously, she' opened the door and peered into Anita's room. - It was empty and apparently Anita had not been to bed that night. Where could she be? Anita has been acting queerly, thought Mrs. Weston, I wonder why. ' Then she raised her head in the air, a look of oezer- mination in her eyes. c If there is any possible way, I will solve this mys- tery. A A -39- 1 1 x 1 'T., ' ' ' ,I I - ' 3. ., 0 -

Page 44 text:

, C THE JACK of LANTERN ,-,,.,T--, . - yi ' Eg '..5ss.'f? - -ww-vw I It i S T CA 'flliterarg 'Honest Q One winter evening I sat alone in the library, wondering what I should read. I glanced around the room--all about me I saw old friends, dear comrades in the realm of books. Soon I fell to musing. Old scenes presented themselves in a new guise. Beloved authors, familiar through their works, appeared, each offering his treasures. It seemed that I was ruler over a vast universe and the precious thoughts of all the ages were at my command. Should it be poetry or prose? Suddenly it was apparent that my old friends were about to de- cide the question among themselves. All rushed forward, eager for battle. The poets drew up one side, the prose writersuon the other?A joust! The idea struck my fancy. I sat alert, waiting for the signal. Each side rallied about their leader, chosen by virtue of his age. My heart throbbed as I saw Vergil lead the line of poets proudly into position for the fray. Manyloved ones were there-Tennyson, Shakes- peare, Mlton and others. As I waited I saw one appear whose name 'I could not recall. His shield was blank and he wore no favor by which I might distinguish him, yet somehow that face was familiar. Ah, yes my former encounter with him recurred to me. I had met him in Beo- wulf. i My attention then encountered on the prose writers under theulead- ership of Cicero. I breathed a sigh as I watched my honored friend, so greatly misunderstood. With him were many other friends-Emerson, Scott, Dumas, and Irving. One ponderous knight on a black charger caught my eye. I thought for a moment then I recognized him. It was Plutarch. Who would ever think of solomn, thoughtful Plutarch en- gaged in a tournament? I almost laughed aloud, but feared to wound my stalwart friend. l U While these thoughts were crowding through mybrain, I -heard the signal, Laissez aller! and the battle began. For sometime the heavy blows fell without avail. Then I heard Shakespeare exclaim: A hit! A very palpable hit! as he fell a mighty opponent. Others followed. Soon only four remain. After repeated efforts Cicero defeated Vergil and Tennyson was left alone against the eminent Roman orator and my beloved Elizabethan Sir Walter Scott. It looked as if the contest .would be won by prose, when suddenly Cicero's -horse reared and threw him to the ground. 1 It was now a duel between Tennyson and Scott. The vanquished viewed the scene with intense interest. Charge after charge was made .438'.... lr x Yi xx g V ,lurk . .f . Q 'i.f, f-' ,f ' , L1 .N1,4 , A' f . , eff J : L- VV . Q u.g51 1:4 -- 1 It-11,13 K

Page 46 text:

L V, THE JACK 0' LANTERN gg gg - The next morning Anita appeared as usual. Mrs. Weston did not say a word- about the happenings of the night. Instead she telephoned a detective agency and hired the best detective they had. The detective was a tall, heavy set man, with a black moustache and eyes that seemed to read your very thoughts. He stayed at thc house as a visitor, supposedly an old friend of Mrs. Weston's. Anita's actions were explained to him and he watched her closely but he could not find anything out by her actions. The first two nights he was there nothing was heard. The third night, however, just at the last stroke of the clock at midnight, as usual the screams were heard. The detective listened, thought a minute and then rang for Anita. He rang several times but she did not come. He went up to her room, opened the door, and what he saw there made him gasp in surprise. There on the floor lay Anita, a great stream of blood on the carpet where she lay. Someone had stabbed her. But who? Did this have anything to do with the screams? No, they had been heard for some time previously. He went over to her, listened to her heart and found that it was still beatinglslowly. He raised her up and she opened her eyes with a great effort. Then in a voice almost too low to be heard she said, UP --in - attic - gave - slow - poison - to - avenge-, then her head fell back and she became silent. She can't die now, said the detective, or this will be a .mystery unsolved. He waited a few moments. Slowly her eyes opened again and she said, her voice still weaker, To - avenge - my - father - I got - him - here - kept - him - prisoner - in - attic - screams - were - from - pains - caused - by - slow - poison. Again her eyes were closed. Try to talk just a little more, he said. Who stabbed you? She looked up once more, He - came here - to-night then her voice trailed off. She was dead. H The detective left the room and was going downstairs to tell Mrs. Weston when he heard a noise back of a curtain hanging in the hall. He hurried back, looked behind the curtain, and there lay the body of 'lnita's slayer. Her poison had at last done its work. Slowly the detective went downstairs to tell Mrs. Weston of the terrible tragedy. He hated to tell her of this awful thing. When he told her she just sank to her chair, weak and trembling. ' - He went back upstairs to see if he could find a clew to the identity if the man. He searched his pockets and there he found an envelope with the man's name written on it. On the envelope was written, Mr. Weston. He took the envelope downstairs and showed it to her. She looked at it and there in letters that trembled before her eyes she read, Mr. James Weston. My God, my son, why I thought they told me he died on an expedition to Spain. Oh God, help me, and with this she sank to the iioor, never to rise again. -D The solying of the terrible mystery of the Weston Mansion ended in a terrible tragedy. , , . 4 . .HELEN K. DICKEY ' -40.-- I W AAL' -4--Ana --x1...3ggfi5,,,,,,Y iQ' Ju