McKinley High School - Nugget Yearbook (St Louis, MO)

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THE CARNATION -.sf 27 jig. arrives. As Mrs. Smith didn't say anything, 'Sissy struck in, now that she had the chance. My, won't Petunia be pleased when she finds out that you have a maid. But l bet she'll make her be more perticler about her personal appearance than she was when I seen her this mornin'. My, she was a dirty lookin' sight. She'd been polishin' the stove. At each word Mrs. Smith had looked more surprised, but finally, with a queer smile, she went to the stairway and called: Oh, Pet, come here a minute. There was a moment of breath- less silence and then down the- stairs came a girl in a gingham apron, which showed the remains of stove polish and her wavy brown hair was caught smoothly back in a knot. Cn her pretty and regular featured face there was a smudge of stove polish, which could not hide the delicate refinement of the face. As she came down Mrs. Smith laughed and said: Pet came unex- pectedly at midnight last night. Mr. Hoosengoofer and Miss sWinkle, may I present my daughter? . LUCILLE WALLACE. NIGHT The colder wiiiols of night Across the meadows blow, Ariel .sparks of recl firelight From out the clark-ness glow. The pale moon lights the field Avid views the bliglating frost, And Heaven is By stars th-01'00'Ilf em-bossecl. The forest spruce anal pines Are fnocldiizg to anal fro, While falls the gifts of olimies, Tlre oolrl aiirl glislfni-ng snow. Now olawii reveals the peaks, In stern and grayisli ligl1.l.,- And eloqfaent all speaks Of nalfare's grace aizfl miglll. Tren e Bo-mli.

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-5gj261g.-.- THE GARNATION p about it. He was going to assume a kindly pose and start Wel- come, O famous daughter of Pleasantville. Although the name of 'Dolores Pettingillf is renowned from the sunny coasts of Cali- fornia to the rock-bound coasts of old New England,-nowhere is it so loved and respected as in Pleasantville, for here we know it stands for our dear little friend, Petunia Smith. Sissy Winkle aptly expressed herself in saying that Part of it sounded some- thin' like a patriotic song. Petunia- was to arrive on the noon train Saturday. Saturday morning in Gint's store Sissy related how Mrs. Smith sure was gettin' swell, hirin' a white maid to do the cookin' and polish the stove. - She based her claim on having seen the maid that very morning. I guess, tho' it's 'cause Mrs. Smith had a purty bad stroke Tuesday and didn't feel up to it herself. Having volunteered this she sailed out in triumph under the impression that this peace of news would cause a stir. On her way home Sissy met up with the Mayor, a Mr. l-Ioosengoofer. Oh, how d'ye do this morning, Mr. Hoosen- goofer? Huttered Sissy. Why, good morning, Miss Sissy, re- turned the good man, with the benign manner that caused the people of the town to say that he wasn't one of those stuck-up kind. And how are you this morning? he inquired. Oh, why l'm just feeling grand this morning, snickered Sissy. But, oh, Mr. Hoosengoofer, have you heard the news about Mrs. Smith? , Why, no, I hadn't heard anything about her, why? Noth- ing serious I hope! that gentleman exclaimed with an intended look of anxiety on his face. Oh, no, simpered the young lady coyly, just that sheis got a white maid thet's been workin' around the house all morning, and we can't jest exactly get hep to what it means, unless Mrs. Smith is feelin' worse again. She had quite a stroke Tuesday. .Poor woman, she'll have a hard time of it when Petunia gets home, becuz I heard as how she needs a maid all her own to help dress her. Now kin you imagine that? ended up Miss Sissy in a disgusted tone. Well, now, Miss Sissy, if you have no more marketing to do, suppose I accompany you home and we stop in Mrs. Smith's a moment. l've been meaning to ask her to ride down to the sta- tion with me in my machine, proposed Mr. Hoosengoofer pomp- ously. ' All right, giggled Sissy nervously as they started down the street. They were truly a queer looking couple, Mr. Hoosen- goofer and Sissy Winkle. Mr. Hoosengoofer was short, fat and pompous. He was baldheaded, red-faced and had a wart on his nose, but was single and therefore considered a very good matri- monial subject by most of the ladies in town. His small beady eyes glowed with self-importance, while even his long, thick, black mustache bristled aggressively. As he waddled along that morning in his tall black hat, frock coat, yellow vest, gray trou- sers, yellow spats and patent pumps, by the side of the robust Sissy, he was, indeed, a figure. Sissy was a tall, plump girl of buxom appearance. I-Ier fat, rosy cheeks bespoke a good appe- tite while her small, blue eyes were rather coquettish at times. She wore her hair in as many puffs, rolls and curls as she could gather it into. So you can readily see that she, too, made a very pleasing figure. When they finally arrived at the Smith home, Mrs. Smith answered the door, looking somewhat surprised. She was a small, gray-haired lady, with sweet, mild blue eyes and ever-smiling lips. Why, good morning, Mr. Hoosengoofer and Sissy! she ex- claimed, ucome right in. Once seated, Mr. I-loosengoofer cleared his throat portentously and prepared to speak while Sissy yearned to ask about the maid. Mrs. Smith, the mayor began, I was just wondering whether or not you could make use of my car to go down to the' station and meet your daughter when she

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...gy 2813s THE CARNATION I THE LOST VIOLIN AWRENCE Carholm, an office boy at Dunlap Publishing Company, read the headlines in the morning paper with much delight, for there, across the page was written, Malcolm I-Iarridge in New York. Returns After Five Years Abroad vt o Lawrence, called Larry for convenience, had long idolized Malcolm Harridge. The subject of his idolatry was a now famous violinist, who had left New York five years ago, alone, except for his best friend, his violin. After studying a number of years, he played at a Paris theatre as a substitute, and from that time forth his career was one of success. He had become famous overnight, now he was returning to his native land, while all Europe held him in admiration. Needless to say, perhaps, Larry was a musician. His father had played the violin and no one could play like he! Larry had inherited much of his father's talent. After the death of his father, Larry's only consolation was his violin, which he played for hours at a time. The money which Larry and his mother possessed began to slowly dwindle away, until his violin had to be sold with the rest of their property. The death of Larry's mother left him alone except for his warm-hearted land lady, Mrs. Schmidt. Malcolm Harridge was in New York. There was no doubt about that. He had landed the day before and was to give a recital that very night. Oh, thought Larry. If I could only hear him play. But tickets cost money, and to be sure, Larry had none too much after paying his rent. However, he decided that he would wait outside the theatre and perhaps get a glimpse of the idolized musician. That evening Larry hurried to the hall, but the crowd was so large he could not get close enough to see the artist as he hurried into the building. The concert crowd gradually dispersed, but Larry stayed until the concert was over and the crowd poured from the theatre. Long after everyone had gone, Larry waited for the appearance of the violinist. When he did not appear, Larry cautiously approached the edifice. Growing bolder, he entered. As he saw no one he concluded all had gone. His sur- mise was confirmed when the lights of the auditorium were turned off. Turning to leave he saw a violin case standing in a corner. It must be Mr. Harridge's, he said aloud and his heart gave a thump. I'II take it home and return it tomorrow. With that, he picked up the violin and quickly hurried home. The next morning, when he opened the case, he could not resist the temptation to play the violin. So he began to play slowly at first, but the music grew faster and faster. No one will know I found it, he said. 'Tm going to keep it. Placing it under his bed, he went to work. As the day advanced, the yearning to play again on the won- derful violin grew stronger and stronger, until he thought he could not wait for evening. When the whistle blew, for the closing of the office, he fairly ran through the corridors and streets to his home-and the violin. Y He played and played, and had no thought of stopping, when he heard someone knock at the door. A sudden dread seized him. Was it the police? Quickly hiding the violin, he opened the door. Instead of the blue-coated figure he had expected there stood his landlady with a covered dish in her hand. You didn't get no supper, and I dink maybe you vas sick. Iss you all right? she asked anxiously, handing him the dish. Why, I forgot all about supper! Thanks, Mrs. Schmidt for bringing it up. Dat's all right, Larry. I guess you vere so busy playin' you didn't get hungry. Did you buy dat fiddle? Larry started and said, Oh-er-why-ah-no. It was-it is myli I