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

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THE CARNATION --e3f.291ga-- Your fadder's? finished Mrs. Schmidt. Vell, dat's nice dat you play him so fine. Cute Nacht. Good night, said Larry mechanically. Here was a com- plication. Surely everyone would have heard him play and know he was a thief. I'll take it back tomorrow, he decided and went to bed, but not to sleep. All sorts of thoughts haunted him. Suppose Mr. I-Iarridge would turn him over to the police? What if they should arrest him before he returned the instrument? Finally he fell into slumber disturbed by dreams of his arrest. Upon awakening he looked at the clock. It was stopped, for he had forgotten to wind it. Dressing hurriedly he went to the door and called, What time is it, Mrs. Schmidt? Just seven-thirty, Larry. Iss you late? A Yes, he answered and rushed into his room again. A few' minutes later he reappeared ready for work. Give me an apple, please, will you, Mrs. Schmidt? I haven't got time for breakfast. Good-hearted Mrs. Schmidt picked the finest apple from her basket and polished it on her gingham apron. Good-bye, she said as Larry left, and in answer received a mumbled, Don't wait for me at supper. 'Byef' The hours dragged along. Wouldn't it ever be five o'clock? At last! Larry hurried out of the building and set off towards home. Arriving there, he snatched up the violin case and left again. This time he got on a trolley car and rode quite a long distance. When he alighted from the car he entered a hotel and inquired if Mr. I-Iarridge was in. The clerk said he was and gave him the number of Mr. I-Iarridge's room. Larry walked up the stairs slowly and once stopped as if to go back. But he kept on, however, and rang the bell of the room. A valet came to the door. Is Mr. I-Iarridge in? Larry asked. Yes, replied the man. Come in. Larry entered visibly embarrassed. I-Ie sat down on the edge of a chair, but soon rose, when a minute later a tall man entered the room. Well, son, he said. What can I do for you? just then his eyes turned towards the violin and he started. My violin! 'Yes, Larry said. I-I found it in the hall and took it home. I--Q So you are the one that caused all this trouble, Harridge interrupted. You see, I told my man, Briggs, to take it, but he put it down for a minute while he attended to some business. When he returned and found it gone, he of course thought I had taken it. Now tell me your story. Well, I was standing around the hall, hoping l'd see you. But when everybody had gone I went in and saw the violin. I took it with the intention of returning it, but when I had played it I felt as though it were mine. But the landlady asked me about the violin and in thinking it over I decided it was plain stealing and made up my mind to return it, and here I am. Harridge had taken the violin out of its case during this re- cital and was tuning it softly. When he had finished he handed it to Larry and said, Play something. Larry seized the violin eagerly, and began to play. All un- knowingly he played the story of the lost violin. As the music ceased the artist said, My lad, I believe you have talent. I'll make you an artist. What? almost shouted Larry. I mean that you live with me and l'll give you the best musical education in my power to bestow. And I know you won't fail. Are you willing to try? Geel said Larry. I sure will, and to think I almost stole your violin. And two big tears swelled up in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. You didn't, though, Larry. And never forget that Honesty is the best policy. I won't, said Larry, thoughtfully. And he didn't. ANITA LEWITZ.

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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

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,gt 30 Eu 6 8 On a cold and frosty mornin ', When the snow is on the ground, And the windoufs creak and rattle, And your sleepin' awful sound, Don't you hate to hear those words, Just the worst that can be found , Time to git up. Oh, I know a little cottage Where I spent my childhood days, Wfhere the breezes fanned my cheek As I played my childish plays, And my heart is softly singing As I wend my lonesome ways. Oh, I 'm comin', I 'm com,in'. Oh, I hear a 'voice a-eallin', And a-beckoning from afar, Like that old, sweet echo THE CARNATION TIME TO GIT UP l 9 When your breath makes icy circles, As it curls above your head, And the floor is freezin' cold, All about your nice, warm bed, Don't you hate to hear those words, Just the worst that can be said 5 Time to git upf, Yet in summer, strange to say, When it's early in the morn' And the birds are singin' sweetly As a fair new day is born, You wait to hear those comin' words, A-nd you treat them without scorn, Time to git up. Rowena Quentin. I'lVl COMIN' BACK AGAIN Oh, I know a yellow meadow, Where the lazy butterflies Come flittin' round my face, To show their golden prize. Still, I feel their gauzy wings, And my so-ul within me cries, Oh, 1'm cominf, I 'm comin'. Floati-n' o'er the past-ure bar. - And I feel so light and airy, As the joyous people are, ?C'ause I 'm cominf, I 'em comin 9 Oh, I see the dainty buttercups, And the silver autumn lea-ues As they rustle, and they hustle To the ground, like buzzin' bees And the singin' and the chatte-r Of my birds up in the trees 3 Still, I 'rn comin', I comi-n'. Oh, I 'm comin' back again, Among the birds and flowers g And I'll never thi-nk of time Or of the passin' hours, 'Cause I 'll dream my cares away In the sunny garden bowers. Oh, I 'mf comin'! comin'! eomin'! Rowe-na Quentin.