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

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back and forth in front of her. His ‘Knibbs, the Editor.' That surely applies to him. But, logical girl, you don't understand exactly. It was the awful, awful downfall that my pride received.” “You know the old adage,” laughed the girl. He stopped to smile ruefully and threw himself at her feet. Little girl, my pride HAS had a fall, but listen! I’ll send the manuscript back, and if he’ll take it for his Cozy Corner business, and hand over the five hundred dollars, we’ll visit the Little Church around the Corner, and say—but that five hundred will help out! What do you say, Rose o’ Mine?” “John!!” One week passed and found the two once more at their trvsting place. The sweet summer breeze blew the ringlets around the glowing little face. It disarranged the soft tendrils most bewitchingly. John was all adoration. What fun it was to dream and plan and steal away from such sordid tasks as dish washing and lawn mowing! You’re just as silly as you can be. John Dunaway, to talk to me this way. I can't help it, if I blush.” “That’s true, too. Rosie o’ Dunaway, some day you’ll be, and not Rosie o Grady. Eh? But say, I think it’s time his Knibbs was writing. What can mother want? The nerve of any one to interrupt at a time like this.” “Here’s a lettter, son, panted the fat old lady, throwing it to him and retreating. “Very official, I should say,” muttered John, tearing it open. Read it! Read it!” All right, dear:” Mr. John Dunaway, My Dear Sir and Eriend: Your manuscript received. Welcome back to our city, my boy. I have a confession to make to you. Probably it will surprise you to know that your little Rosie is my niece. We have been confederates and wished to test you along certain lines, such as Cozy Corner Chats or Ladies’ World, for instance. But you have come to the front bravely, and I admire you for sending the manuscript back. I have sent your story to the editor of the Blank Tribune, and it has been sent back to me O. K’d. Accept my heartiest congratulations and this check for $1,000. His Knibbs, the Editor. CLOTHILDE The golden gates of the castle swung open and the Princess Clothilde rode out on her gleaming white charger. The retinue that followed bowed their glittering heads, for the lady was going on a curious quest, the quest of happiness. The gaunt, grey castle had been silent; no sounds of merriment had rocked the grim walls for months. The gloom had settled, and it seemed permanent, for the lady Clothilde was changed. Her beautiful face grew whiter each day; t!vi dark, soulful eyes grew hollow, and no 5

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there was a smile on his face, a song on his lips. “Oh, 1 wonder who’s kissing her now?” Shut up, Dunaway; that’s your privilege. Huh, three o’clock, and my train goes at four. Cioodby, little New ork. His authorship is going home to write some Cozy Corner gossip. Goodby, Mrs. Jen-cy.” Dunaway lumbered his bulging suit case into the bus at a small jumping off place (to use the traveling man’s expression) some fifty miles southwest of New York. He also lumbered his six feet something in and grinned broadly at the driver. |)t Dunaway s! This concise answer was sufficient; a tip of his hat and away went the antique vehicle. Dunaway, manuscript and all. There were lovely little lanes out past the scraggy town and John D. smiled as he looked around him. “Drive on! drive on! fair one!” he shouted. ‘ Home again, and Rosie! Ah! I am inspired. Rosie shall help me with my story. She shall be my good angel. She shall, by my troth; she shall, say I! Don’t I run on just awful? Driver, stop, I beg of you! Here is the cot where I was born, and there is the old oaken bucket, all intact. Take your two bits, give me my little wicker suit case, and au revoir. Bon voyage, my man!” “Chee, but he’s cracked,” thought the fellow as he climbed back up on the rickety seat and drove off. “Poor young fellar! Too bad! They ought to put him in a » 1 » sylum. Dunaway strode through the narrow gate and up to the flowery porch. He whistled three times to a clumsy setter pup, which lost its wits immediately and capered around its master in a most strenuous manner. “Mother! oh, mother!! Oh, ma!!!” “Why, John E .ra Dunaway! Lost your job? Why are you home?” And the round faced little woman smacked him soundly. “Homesick; couldn’t stand the pressure of city life. No; I just took a little vacation unceremoniously. How’s Rosie?” “She is here now,” replied his mother with that characteristic vagueness of woman. “I know she likes you awfully well, son. But don’t say that I told you. I don’t want her to think me an old busy body.” A sweet, pink cheeked girl arose and extended two slender hands to the young fellow, who caught them in a crushing grip. “How good it is to see you, John,” she said, shyly. “Yes, and how perfectly grand it is to see you again!” he exclaimed. “Let’s go out in the orchard. Want to tell you something.” “Go on. Isn’t that just like a man?” laughed his mother as she rushed over to peep into the oven. “Go on; I’ll ring the hell when dinner is ready. Your pa is over in Albinhurst and won’t be home till late to-night. The two strolled slowly down through the grape arbor to a natural seat where two elms had grown together. It wasn’t in the orchard, and it was a snug fit; but what cared they? John began his troubles, his tales of woe diversified. Rosie smiled and twirled her sun bonnet strings, but patted his hand wnen he became too turbulent. “Johnnie,” she murmured, “it’s just what you needed. You were riding your high horse, and His Knibbs, the Editor, unseated »» you. “You’ve struck it right, Rose o’ Mine, he laughed gaily as he got up and walked

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r bright song danced through the tapestrv-hung corridors. Her waiting maid, the petite Sacronessa, wept and plead for a smile, but her austere mistress remained stony. The stately father’s brow wrinkled and his gleaming eyes flashed. One day, a gloriously bright day, the little Sacronessa found the princess sitting idle before her great golden wheel. She was humming a mournful ballad, and the maid’s heart went out to her in her loneliness. “Gracious, lady,” she cried, unburden your heart to me. My tears flow at your grief. Let me comfort you. Your little Sacronessa is earnestly interested in your welfare. Tell me, noble princess!” “Sacronessa,” replied Clothilde with a sad smile, “my grief is too deep for your blithesome disposition. My hour of gloom seems to have come and found me weakening. The strength I once thought 1 possessed has vanished under this strain.” “Oh, princess,” the little waiting maid threw herself at the lady’s feet, “we have been as one. We have wept and laughed together. Will you not confide in me once more? Tell me your trouble, and perforce the two of us may he able to find access to some remedy which will once more gladden your sweet face.” “Sacronessa, it is happiness that I seek. My aims have been high, hut now 1 find them as the air around us. My soul has yearned for joy, and joy has taken its flight.” “Lady, could we not go on a quest for this lost happiness? Could we not mount our horses at the midnight hour and ride forth alone? Dearest lady, you have but to command, and my duty will be to respond to your every wish.” “Ah, Sacronessa, the Princess Clothilde could never mount her snow-white Grisil and ride away so lowly. No; we must take the way of princes and be accompanied by our retinue. You, faithful little follower, shall ride by my side, and we will venture into the gay, bright world for this lost peace of mind. 1 pray Heaven we may be rewarded in due time. Come, I shall make known our plans to the king, my father.” And now they were leaving. The jeweled horses pranced and tossed their glittering heads; the stately riders sat mute. Quention, the jester, ran up to the princess and begged leave to depart with her, but she drew aside with a cold smile to let him back through the swinging gate. The king took her icy hands in his and kissed them tenderly. “Farewell, my beloved daughter! If you quad one draught of this happiness which you seek, come back to your lonely father in his castle.” She smiled, kissed his forehead, and moved on, followed closely by the patient little Sacronessa. They went on and on through the dark forest and past lonely castles perched on frowning cliffs. They passed through quaint scattering villages and received homage from the toiling peasants. They threw bits of gold to grovelling beggars and went on and on. The night came and tents were set up. The royal ladies dismounted, and after eating a frugal repast, retired to couches of velvet and satin. But the princess and maid sat apart from the rest, staring at the blinking stars. One star fell, leaving a trail of sparks, and the lady Clothilde sighed. A pearly tear glistened on Sacronessa’s cheek, but they said never a w'ord. The night lengthened, the camp fire smouldered and 6