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

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The N a u t 1 1 u s “Well, I fairly prayed for a wreck or something’ exciting, so I might display my valor and arouse the lady to a sense of my existence, but nothing happened, so I simply had to play sea-shell and let her be star. I had even to sit and hear a beastly porter ask if he could get her a drink of water. And then, when my patience had reached the limit, and I had decided to do something desperate, I noticed she was asleep.” “Rather inconsiderate of her, considering your state of mind,” said Rose, mischievously. Clifford laughed. “I’m glad you think so,” said he, with another glance. “Go on, Cliff. Keep him going, fellows!” “Well, I had about given up the ghost, when I heard something drop. That obligingly rough train had jolted a comb out of her hair.” Clifford paused, and Rose started and turned aside to break some white clusters from the syringa bush that stood near. He glanced at her averted face, seeking permission to go on. “I picked it up, thinking the fates had at last relented, and my chance to speak to her had come, but she didn’t even wake up. So I formed wild hopes of being able to keep it as a remembrance of my unknown princess. However, I had a presentiment of blasted hopes, so I scratched my initials on the comb, thinking that in some mysterious way that might aid me.” “Oh, what an idea! The plot thickens! This is growing delightful,” exclaimed Helen. “Delightful, indeed!” growled Walt. •‘Cliff always does something crazy. Well, get to the end of all this! Give us the grand climax!” “Oh, there wasn’t any climax! There’s the rub,” said Clifford. “Oh, go on! I’ll pitch you out of your chair if you attempt to stop there!” “Well, the spell was broken by an ill-fate in the disguise of a porter, who aroused her, and told her that the next stop was Wyton. She barely had time to get her things together, and, of course, she missed that comb aud I had to hand it over,’’ finished Clifford. “You don’t mean you are going to end this chilling tale in this way, do you?” cried Walt, pommeling him. “Oh, you lobster! You've just got to finish it now!” cried Jack. “Didn’t I tell you there wasn’t any climax? I am powerless in the hand of the fates.” “Oh, we all hope you will find her,’’ said Helen, sympathetically. “Hooray! shouted Ted. Let’s form a detective society, and the fellow that finds Miss Comb gets to be best man.” “Do the girls come in on that, too?” “Sure thing!” “Then what do we get to do, if we win?” said Helen. “You can be maid of honor.” “Oh, won’t it be a college wedding, though?” 12

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The Nautilus of Walt’s efforts to regain his chair. “Well, you know I went down to Cuba with a bunch of fellows to look after a tobacco plantation of my uncle’s. Among others, there was a charming senorita living on the plantation. One day we fellows gave a little entertainment for her benefit, and a funny little program it was. Each one did his favorite stunt- I sang some of our college songs, and someway that rather struck the girl’s fancy, and she gave me this stick-pin as a reward and a remembrance of her.” “You conceited Jack-a-napes!” said Clifford. “A lot of thanks she’d give you for parting with her gift in this way,” laughed Helen, as she examined the pin. “Listen to me. I had a streak of luck, too,” exclaimod Ted Andrews. “You fellows remember that Louise Wilmot lost her society pin at the last ball game, the one that, for some innocent offense of mine, she had forever debarred me the pleasure of wearing. Well, I found it under the bleachers yesterday.” “Going to send it to her right away, aren't you?” “Well, I guess not. She may have my Frat pin instead.” “You were a lucky fellow,” said Clifford. “Last fall, I almost got a valuable souvenir myself, but with my usual luck, just as I thought I had secured my prize, the clock struck twelve, and the fairy thing vanished.” “Oh, go on and tell it in plain English. We fellows can’t understand parables.” “Oh, yes; tell it in plain English, Mr. Willis!” said Rose. “Shall I tell it in plain English?” said Clifford, fixing his gaze steadily upon her. “Why, yes,” said Rose, flushing under his glance, “if you think it is entertaining, tell it in plain English.” “Well, with your permission, I’ll tell it. On the train, as I was coming up here last fall, I sat across the aisle from a real American beauty. She was reading a magazine, and didn’t seem to realize that such a person as I existed.” “Very unusual girl,” said Walt, “very superior. Rose, I recommend her to you as a model.” “Most likely she was as interested in you as you were in her,” interrupted Helen. “No she wasn’t, for I observed her closely enough. Why, I could paint a perfect picture----” “I bet you can’t tell what color her eyes were!” “They were a beautiful brown.” “What color was her hair, or are you sure she had any?” “She had fair curly hair, and a lot of it.” “Say, but this is interesting! He didn’t even know what color his own eyes were last week. Go on, old boy; you have the symptoms, all right.” “Oh, go on, Cliff ! Too many preliminaries!’ said the others.” 11

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The Nautilus “Say, we must get emblems for this society!” “Little combs are just the thing!” exclaimed Helen. “Cliff, can you describe that comb?” “Sure. It was a shell comb artistically carved and set with tiny jewels in the shape of flowers.” “Look here; we boys can’t wear back combs with much comfort, so I move we have little stick-pins made in the shape of combs.” “That’s great!” “Cliff, you are responsible for some of this business if we find the girl.” “Oh, if you find the girl, I will be responsible for the afterpart.” “Oh! and we must have an annual banquet!” “Sure! All great societies do that.” “And give an account at that time of what we’ve done. Report success or failure, you know.” “Sure! Now, detectives, all get to work!” “The orchestra is playing ‘Home, Sweet Home,’ and we must break this meeting up, to come together again next May-day night.” “Now, Miss Rose, you’ll have to walk up to the hall with Cliff now. I won’t take you after so many snubs,” called Walt teasingly over his shoulder, as he went on with the young people who were laughing and fairly bubbling over with plans for the detective society. Rose was still standing by the syringa bush with averted face, and in the pale moonlight she looked more beautiful than ever. Clifford's heart sank. Of course, he had offended her! “Er—Miss Mayton, I hope—er—I— that is—” he began coming to where Rose stood. “I—I told that story solely because I wished you to know how I felt. I haven’t had any piece of mind since the day I first saw you.” “Indeed! You evidently wanted the others to know all about it, too!” “Oh, no, no! You misjudge me. And then you see they couldn’t possibly know that the young lady was you. I’d stake my life on that.” “Are you perfectly sure?” “Oh, perfectly sure, Rose; you’re not offended with me?” “Yes—no—I don’t know.” “Well, I’m very unhappy if you are-Rose, won’t you help me find my fairy-princess? I am very sure this severe young lady is not she. Will you. Rose?” “Oh, I don’t know. How silly!” “Won’t you, Rose?” “What nonsense—ah—er—I suppose so, yes.” Just two years from that day, on the first of May, a wedding took place at the Mayton home, and the principals were Mr. Clifford Willis and Miss Rose Mayton. At the reception after the ceremony, the Detective League held an indignation council and Walton Gray said: “As president of the Detective Society, organized for Clifford Jerome Willis’s especial benefit, I am obliged to announce that the aforesaid Willis 13