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

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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

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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 has treated us pretty mean—gone and married another girl after all our tireless efforts to find Miss Comb.” “Well, you were best man and Helen maid of honor. What more could you wish?” said Cliff. “Why, I suppose we’ve got to disband now, and we’ve had such good times. Then, there’s our pins, too!” said Helen. “Oh, Rose, wait a minute! Your comb is falling out. Pretty, isn’t it? May I take it out a minnte? Why, look here! It is set with jeweled flowers. Oh, Walt! Jack! look here!” she almost screamed. “C. J. W. scratched on the inside corner.” “Sure,” said Walt, blankly looking at the comb. Then, suddenly glancing at Clifford, who was standing beside Rose and smiling mischievously, “Oh, you lobster! Explain this!” “Well,” said Cliff, “I always said I would choose my own bride, and I also chose to find her without any one’s assistance. I found the owner of the comb first, two years ago today, and would have apprised you all of the fact long- ago, but Rose would not give her consent. The souvenir is mine, and the lady, too. What more is there that heart could wish?” The Prize Money ELSON BAKNES “Are you going to try for the prize?” asked Gladys Mason, as she joined her friend, Margery Benton. “What prize? I do not know of any.” “Why, the two hundred dollar prize, Prof. Manton spoke of in Chapel this morning. Didn’t you hear him?’ replied Gladys. “I was late to Chapel, so did not hear about it. Won’t you walk to the car with me and tell me about it?” said Margery, never guessing that Gladys would rather be with her own friends than that “stuck up Margery Benton,” as the girls called her. “Some one, who does not wish his name known, has offered a prize of two hundred dollars to the girl or boy who writes the best essay on “Fads” and bands it to Prof. Manton within ten days. It must not have been read or corrected by any one. All who wish to compete are to hand their names to Prof. Manton before school tomorrow morning. This is my corner; so goodbye,” and, waving her hand, Gladys turned down Elm street. Margery walked on, still thinking of the prize. When she reached the house where she lived with her guardian (her parents were dead), she went right up to her room, and, removing her hat, sat down to think. “Why 14