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

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fi THE CONTRIBUTOR’S CLUB THE SUBSCRIPTION CONTEST Why. hello, Helen. Still busy? I only stopped in for a minute to tell you how things are going. Talk about it! t hose classes are doing some scrambling. The eighth graders are in on it, too. I’ve done some tall scampering since I saw you last. Went to a bunch of alumni and got the biggest batch of subscriptions. Sure, they wanted to take it. It kept me busy writing out receipts. Oh, I do hope our class gets the prize. We need the money for the junior-senior party. We want to have a peach of a one. Those insolent seniors imagine that we have no “pep”. They are already saying that they expect to be fed on soda crackers and lemonade. Huh, I guess we ll show ’em. 1 don’t know how much it will take for eats, etc., but the prize will help out. Where have I been, did you say? Everywhere, absolutely everywhere. I hustled around among the members of the class and got fifteen or twenty. They certainly are handing over their money. Then I went to several business men, and they were delighted to help the High School. One of them said to me: “Miss Smithson, why am I paying taxes if not to support your school and paper in every way possible? I have a boy that will be up there with you some day and I am proud of the example you are setting him. I hope he will be as enthusiastic as the rest of you!” And I know he will be, too. You know him—Gilbert Blank. He's just full of life, and is planning to play foot ball just as soon as he gets out of the eighth grade. I met him the other day, and he said: “Did dad subscribe for the paper?” I said, yes; and he said: Bully! Wait till I get up there, and I’ll be artist.” I told him that we were sadly in need of one, but he dashed my hopes to the ground by saying he couldn’t draw a crooked line. Poor chap! I can beat that. But here I’m wandering away from my subject again. 1 oughtn’t to take so much time, but I thought you’d like to know what we are doing. Can’t you come up and visit Friday morning? It’s Students’ Day, and we are going to have a ’thuse meeting. Goodby; I must hurry back and turn in my subscription money. Ta! Ta! THE TRAINING TABLE Characters—Jacqueminotta Westerville; Archibald Reginald Pope; Bernstein, butler. Time—Present. (Curtain rises at 8:00 P. M., and finds the audience listening and looking.) The Action Begins. Butler (rushing down the dimly lighted 10

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go get a loaf of bread, and fetch in some kindling. Very reluctantly I arose to do her bidding. My poor tired heart seemed very-heavy. “Very well. But it wasn’t “Very well.” How I hated that long walk in the cold and the awful stooping for the chips. What if my ideal should suddenly peek around the corner? Would he die of mortification seeing me at such a menial task, or would he say, softly: “Lizzy Ann, Lizzy Ann, Wilt thou be mine? Thou shalt not fetch kindling. Or yet feed the swine. But sit by my grate fire And read me a book. While lunch in the kitchen’s Prepared by the cook.” But how could these comforting words solace with the cruel north wind whistling around the corner instead of my gallant one? Then another echo would float out on the breeze, “Lizzie Ann, be you euttin' down a tree for that kindling?” No, mother. I was picking up chips.” 1 he next day at school was one, big, continuous mistake; no lessons, but a vast radiance, out of which 1 jumped into the dull present when my name was called by the pedagogue. I don’t know.” And then would come that awful, awful answer: “Live demerits for inattention!” How could she designate such blissful moments as inattention? How could she? 1 he day would slowly drag by. My chum would whisper: “ Lisbeth, John Henry gave me this note for you. He wants to know if he can walk home from school with you this evening.” John Henry, indeed! My indignant young heart swelled with disgust. Why should he break in upon my reveries? But such was life. I am almost ready to conclude this sorrowful tale. My pride has had a fall. One week ago, I was sent to the city for some brown alpaca. My hopes fell when I found my second best dress was to be brown instead of blue serge with red emblems. I boarded the street car, and sat listlessly by the window waiting for my corner. Suddenly I heard a nasal twang in my ear: “ Picket, miss. Phis hain’t no spiritualists’ meeting.” I felt my poor embarrassed cheeks flush with shame. But horrors! there he stood!!! I felt my face go white, and then began a wild leaping around the locality wherein dwells my heart. There he stood, alive and by my side! Who,” did you say? Why, my ideal, my dream man, my own fireside comforter, the man who peeked at me when I was picking up chips. There he was—the smile, the dimples, the eyes, the hair, the shoulders, AND the brass buttons and twang. I handed him a coin, only to hear him say, disgustedly: I don’t want no bread check. Chee, but you’re absent minded, just like my wife.” I rectified my mistake, and he w-as gone, shoulders and all. Oh, girls, isn’t it awful to have your ideal destroyed? 9

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hall savagely talking to himself.) Ring! Ring! Ring! ’Odds! This door bell is one grand bother. Let me get settled with my little old briar and tinkle! tinkle! Ring, confound ye! I’m coming as fast as my poor, tired legs can carry me. Ring again! If I were butler of a Deaf and Dumb Institution, I’d hear ye. Ring, ye impatient rah rah boy! I’ll take my time if I never get there. Good evening, Master Pope; walk right in. Her grace, my young lady, will be down presently. Let me take your coat, your gloves, your walking stick. It’s a handsome lad ye are in yer grand clothes. Oh, it brightens my old eyes to look upon ye. Pope (with a smile)—Ha, my friend! You seem very voluble tonight. Is the master out? Butler—Nay; why do you ask? Pope (in a whisper)—The cellarette, my man; the cellarette! Butler—Never think of it. my lad (pats his pocket with a sly wink;) the key is here, my lad. But hist! the lady Jacque-minotta. Ether, fair lassie; the noble young master awaits you. Jac. (floats in with a whisk of lace and a faint odor of sandlewood)—Out, Bernstein! Your impudence annoys me. (Exit the butler.) Pope (conducts the lady to a seat on a richly carved divan and falls negligently beside her)—Oh, sweetest maiden; fairest my eyes ever beheld! Why are you so lovely when 1 have to leave at ten. so early? My taxi is outside. Jac. (blushing timidly allows him to grasp the tips of her slender fingers)—You must leave at ten, my Archibald? Why must you rush off in such haste? Pope (desperately)—The coach, dearest chuck, the coach demands it. Oh, such are the tribulations of one who serves upon the gridiron! I would—I would—I—. Jac. (lays her fingers on his mouth)— Don’t say it, my Archibald! What would you be without your gridiron life? I shiver when I see your precious head emerge from the scrimmage. But oh, how I do adore.it! The fright sends little rippling shivers down my spine. I pray you, don’t speak rashly. Pope (contritely)—Forgive me, radiant one, light of my life! It is my eternal joy to be in the ranks of the pigskin tossers. I would not annoy you for worlds, for I admire you to the tips of your twinkling toes. Jac. (sweetly)—1 knew you would be reasonable. You are so manly, so grand, so everything that is nice. And I have something for you which I know will please you. Pope—Don’t get it yet, dear girl. I can’t have you leave me, if even for a second. May I smoke? . Jac.—Certainly, Archibald; one minute. Here is your own teeny weeny ash tray. Pope (holding out a limp package)— Don’t think me penurious, Jacqueminotta. These are Fatimas. I got my kid brother’s case by mistake. My dear, I always smoke Pall Malls or Egyptienne Luxuries. Jac. (with a reproving smile)—No. dear; 1 know you are a thoroughbred sport. You have proved that. Are you through so soon? Let me raise the windows. This smoke is awful! But I don’t mind it. Now, let me get you your surprise. I made it myself, and just for you. (She skips out and comes back with a huge plate of fudge. Archibald pulls out his watch hastily and backs off.)