Jackson High School - Osky Wow Yearbook (Jackson, OH)

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ally marrried. Their home was not one DeJi ha I dreamed of, but they were very happy in two small roams in one of the tenement houses. By and by, a tiny Maria came to brighten the life of these two, and when she grew large enough to prattle and to toddle alt ng, Dedi frequently took her with him, on his trips to sell fruits and Egyptian relics. He would always allow her to carry the small purse in which the coins thus obtained were kept, and at night on their return, they would playfully, together, count the daily gain. One evening as they counted the coins, little Maria pointed wonderingly at a little white spot upon the palm of his hand. It was a small speck, so small that he had not noticed it before, but he saw it now. He drew his hand away, and gazed long and hard at the spot, but he threw off the terrible thought which disturbed him. He was now an American. He was no longer of the East. He might be seized with a Western plague, but the diseases of the East he had left behind him on the Egyptian sands. The following day he romped and played with Maria, in the hope of throwing off the fearful dread which clutched his heart. But all in vain. Daily he observed the little spot and almost imperceptibly it grew larger; later other spots appeared and scales began to form on the old one. One day Dedi did not come home as was his custom, and his wife and child never saw him more. Dedi now traveled on westward. He wore gloves, fearing detection, but often when he was in country towns selling his goods he dealt without them, because the people there were entirely ignorant of the dreaded disease in their midst. As the disease gained on him, all the sweetness and kindliness in the man’s nature seemed to die out. He hated all mankind, and cared not if he gave the fearful malady to the ones he met in his daily travel. Why should be, a poor Egyptian, be so accursed, while so many others lived on happily in the world? One day while lounging on a bench in a park, he was detected. The cry of “a leper,” was sent abroad, and crowds 0f curious people, unheeding the danger, came to gaze upon him. He gazed at them doggedly, from under his stiff whitened brows, and cursed them all secretly in his heart. Some sympathizing person brought food and placed it near him, and later in the evening, when all had deserted the place, he made his way to a depot and there boarded an outgoing train. While on this train he was again detected, his detection being caused by the crying of a baby, who was frightened by his horrible appearance. The people in the coach were seized with a panic, and some called out to ‘‘kill him,” others vowed vengeance on the conductor for admitting the man. In that sullen manner, now so characteristic of him, the leper made his way from the car, little caring, if he had endangered the lives of the whole carload of people. On the outskirts of the town—at which he was put off the train, a little hut was built for him. Here in solitude he spent the remainder of his days. Food was brought from the village and placed at some distance away; from there he carried it to his hut, and thus his needs were supplied. Once having a great longing to be among humans again, he dared to enter the town, but here his life was imperiled, and he was forced to return to that scene of ‘‘living death.” One day the food supply was not called for. Dedi, the leper, was dead. His life of long suffering was over. That fearful leprosy, which had whitened his hair, ruined his life, made an old man out of a young one, had finished its work. Back in New York, little Maria still sold her flowers, entirely ignorant of the great shadow slowly enveloping her young life, that shadow which had its beginning on the day when the little Egyptian lad picked up from the hot sand the little sacred beetle. S. M. P., ’13 Twenty-six

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(Hlj? i rarah little lad, swarthy i;of skin, bare of foot, was wending his way through a narrow street, wedged in by high stone walls. On one shoulder he balanced a water jug, and he walked with that grace characteristic of the water carriers. His dark eyes peered from beneath long lashes, and he carefully observed his surroundings, as he passed along. Becoming fatigued, he stopped for a moment’s rest, carefully keeping out of the reach of the sun’s oppressive rays. What little breeze circulated was heavily laden with ill-smelling odors, which seemed to ooze through the walls themselves. The air was dense and stagnant; the street, silent and still. It was noon-tide in an Egyptian city. The lad was Dedi, the Egyptian, who wended his way onward until he came to an open spot, in the midst of which was a well. Having filled his jug with the clear water, the boy sat down again to rest. As he gazed off to the right, he could see the place commonly called the “Dead-land,” that is, the home of the lepers. Suddenly he saw approaching the spot wnere he sat, a man,—a man of strong physique, but with the imprint of death upon him. He was a leper. He was followed by a tumultuous crowd composed of persons fearful, yet unwilling that he should live in their midst; and as he paused at the well near Dedi, a small stone struck him; driven for ward, he passed over that terrible threshold into the leprous city,—he was to be no longer one of the world, but was to die that torturing, lingering death, which no earthly remedy had the power to stay. No one in the crowd noticed him drop a small green scarab in the sand, as he paused. Neither was he aware himself that it had been dropped, for his mind was too full of the horrible facts that now governed his life; and as he hastened his footsteps to evade the avenging crowd, there was no wonder that he did not notice the loss of this one sacred relic of his. Dedi sat by the well and thought. He wriggled his bare toes in the sand, and built air castles, concerning his manhood. He would be wealthy, would have servants to wait upon him, and his wife—a vision of lovliness—should have all that her heart desired. His children should play all the day, as he had never had the opportunity of doing. He would make a visit to that great America he had read of, and would there make his future home. During his musing, his piercing eyes discerned a small green object lying in the sand. It was something odd, and held a peculiar charm for this lad. It lay there upon his hand, a thing of wonderful workmanship, a small green beetle, perfectly modeled, of stone. He admired it and played with it, until he realized that enough time had been spent loitering, so he began his journey back home, leaving the place deserted except for the beating rays of the tireless sun in the heavens. Twelve years later, a part of Dedi’s day dream came true. He was carried by a great ocean steamer from bis Egyptian home to New York City. When he stepped upon the docks his heart swelled, as he wondered what his future life would be. Dedi was young, good looking and fairly intelligent, and soon he became acquainted with a number of his own countrymen, living in a certain part of the city. He earned a respectable living by selling fruits and relics, which he obtained from his own country. It was not long before he acquired a broken form of the English language. Once on his daily rounds he made the acquaintance of a young Spanish girl, Martina by name, and often after this he spent his leisure moments in talking to this maiden. He learned that she was alone like himself, and this was a bond between them. Drawn together by this common lack of sympathy from the outside world, and by the hunger for love and companionship, they fin- Twent y-five

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 Hhr HJaaruUttp of (Things A bright foot ball player is Mike; When he starts with the ball on a hike, He surely does run Like shot from a gun; Is he fast? Why you ne’er saw the like! You probably know Eben Jones, (Please don’t think that I’m throwing stones), Hut a mandolin is his And, tho it’s none of my biz, He certainly produces sweet tones. Don’t know Fletcher Benton?—Oh, the dickens! The fellow who has such fine chickens? To the chick show they went And cost many a cent; When you mention it to him his breath quickens. There is a young man named McVicker, Than whom there was never one sicker, When, on a hot summer day. He tried tennis to play; It was first thot he surely would kick ’er. Most every one knows I. T. Branson, That young High School fellow so handsome. On one Hallowe’en night He was given a fright— I’m not sure but I heard that he ran some. Leon Evans, the Senior President— Of Rocky Hill prominent resident— On questions pertaining To order maintaining, For the right answer never is hesitant. Of the Seniors there’s one who's named Peters; He oughtn’t to be fraid of skeeters; They’d do him no harm For I’m sure he could charm Them all away with his METERS-LiTERS-FEET(ERS,-etc. A very bright Junior named Morgan Has a voice just like a pipe organ; It’s so melodious and deep It will sing you to sleep, And you will not wake up till tin iflunjru. Twenty-seven