Jacksonville High School - Crimson J Yearbook (Jacksonville, IL)

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The N a u t 1 1 u s A Comb Incident GRACE DUNCAN POOR, ’07 Clifford Willis put his umbrella in the rack, placed his suit-case so he could use it as a foot stool, and glanced through the car to see if he knew any of the passengers. As his eyes roved over the faces before him, they finally rested upon that of a very attractive young woman who sat in the seat just across from him. It was a face not soon to be forgotten, and Clifford spent the next half hour admiring the beauty and grace of its owner, and wishing very much that he might find some occasion to address her. He did not know how to manage it, however, without seeming impertinent. So he waited, thinking,perhaps,she mightwant a window raised or that there might be some other service he could render her. For some time she continued reading, and glanced neither to the right nor to the left. Then, throwing aside her book and resting her head against the back of her chair, she closed her eyes. Her hair lay in a soft, blond mass against the velvet cushion, and as the train jolted and the engine shrieked, a comb slipped from its loose waves and fell to the floor. Clifford picked up the comb to return it to its owner. But she did not open her eyes, and, evidently uncon- scious of her loss, remained in the same statuesque pose. No one else seemed to have noticed the incident, so he decided to keep the comb until she should arouse, and then he could speak to her without seeming rude. The comb appeared valuable, even to Clifford’s inexperienced eyes. It was a shell comb, set with tiny jewels and artistically carved. If he could only keep it! Not for its money value, of course, but because—because— well, if the fates prevented him from speaking to her, they must allow him something as a remembrance of her. He took out his knife, and neatly scratching his initials on the inside of the comb, he slipped it into his breastpocket for safe keeping. “Next stop Wyton,” called out the porter, as he passed through the car. The young lady sat up hastily, rearranged her hat, and putting her hand back to press her comb in securely, missed it. She arose quickly, and made a hurried search for it. Then, as the train stopped at Wyton, she gave a sigh of vexation and a worried glance toward the door. “Pardon me, I believe this is the object of your search? I—er---” Clifford was taken by surprise, and was consequently somewhat disconcerted. 8

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The Nautilus And I should think you above even trying- it.’’ In the twinkling of an eye a decided change had come over the speaker. His manner was stiff and his voice cold, and be bowed a very distant good night, as she moved away with the parling shot— I think I shall try it tomorrow.” Nell went 1o her room, but not to study. Her thoughts roved from her books, and she finally put them aside. “He must be a Senior; he knows so much about the school. I wonder if he is,” she thought, ‘‘and I wonder, too, what under the shining canopy could have made me give such a false impression of myself to this serious, fine young man.” A few minutes before time next morning, she went to her examination with a troubled heart. Two young men stood by the instructor’s desk, one of them a candidate for examination, she knew by the pen and papers in his hand, the other—her eyes surely did not deceive her—her acquaintance of yesternight. Quickly she bent to the candidate at her right. Who is the taller and older of the two young men at the desk?” she asked. “The one with the light hair? Why, that—that’s Mr. Livingston, the examiner. Didn’t you know that?” The room danced and swam before Nell’s eyes. Her hands trembled with cold, and her face turned deadly pale. The climax of her misery had come. Some one—she did not know who—laid some paper and a list of questions on her desk, and with smarting eyes, and shame at her heart, she gathered herself together to write. One thought only possessed her. She must do her honest best, although her work might never receive any credit. The questions required thought, yes, and much knowledge of the subjects that they covered, but they were all fair, and none of them puzzling. So with the same pale face she wrote on, and with the same pale face she passed in her paper after two hours of solid, unflaging work. “Nell,” said May, as she returned from the postoffice with their mail on the afternoon of that same eventful day, “are you really turning to stone? Well, here’s a great manuscript of some sort in this big envelope, addressed to you, and I hope it will have the power to transform you again into your own lovely, happy self. And Nell opened the great envelope, and found, along with the examination paper which she had that morning handed in, a card, which she treasured faithfully all the rest of her natural life. It ran thus: “You need fear nothing. Honest work means everything. Your credit is ninety-five.” 7

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The Nautilus But the stop was short, and the moments precious. Without, as it seemed to him, even a passing- glance at him, she smiled her relief, and catching the comb hastily from his hand, hurried, with her light luggage, from the car. “A rather slim chance I stand of ever meeting this fair goddess again,” sighed Clifford, when he had seen her disappear in the station, the center of a group of admiring friends. “Still less hope have I that she would know me from Adam if I did. Well—he chuckled—anyhow—I didn’t slight the opportunity of leaving my mark on that comb. I hope the fates will be fair in this deal.” Clifford was on his way back to Oxbridge College after the summer’s vacation at home, and during the next few months, when not engaged in foot-ball practice and the usual round of college affairs, he devoted himself to his studies. But, although he was rushed with work, he did not forget the owner of the comb. When he and the other fellows were planning for the Junior Prom, the greatest social event of the year, he thought with dissatisfaction over the whole list of his pretty girl acquaintances, and could not decide which one he would take to the hop. The affair was to be May the first, and the students of Oxbridge were making great preparations for it. Each Junior had invited a young lady of his acquaintance from his home town, and had left the fellows of the other classes to invite the Oxbridge girls. On the afternoon of the first of May, Walton Gray, Clifford’s chum, asked him to accompany him to the station to meet his aunt, Mrs. Mayton, and her daughter Rose, who were to come in on the afternoon train. “Come right along! No nonsense, you young scamp. What are you up to lately, anyhow?” said Walt, taking Cliff’s hat from the table and tossing it upon his head. “Come on!” “Oh, of course, I'll go. But, Walt, I’m in hard luck just now. Do you know, I haven’t asked any girl to go with me to this affair tonight? I’ve just kept putting it off, and putting it off, and now it’s too late. It’s too late to ask any one.” “Well, you are in a nice fix! ‘Too late to ask any one!’ I should think so! Well, don’t ask me to help you out!” Then, as he saw Clifford’s dejection, he added, “Cheer up, old fellow; my cousin, Rose Mayton, is coming on the next train, and Jack Fox says his cousin, Helen Shaw, is coming at the same time. They are two capital girls, and Jack and I won't object to a little assistance from you in entertaining them, provided you don’t make yourself too conspicuous.” When the boys reached the station, the train was just pulling in, and Walt was up the steps and into the last car before it had quite stopped. Clifford stepped into the waiting room to speak to a friend who had accosted 9