Mechanic Arts High School - M Yearbook (St Paul, MN)

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JUNE, 1924 T H E 11 Brotherly Dicipline By AGNES SWANSON, 2456 SECOND PRIZE My sister Alice is the most careless girl in high school. Everybody says so. She leaves her locker open and then complains when some villain steals her lunch: she loses her books and thinks it isn't fair if the teacher calls her down for not knowing her lessons. But, her most careless habits are with money. Of course, if I could coax money from Dad as easily as she does after my allowance has vanished, I might be careless. too. But I never can picture myself sitting on the arm of his chair and telling him how I'll just die if I can't see some young hero at the show. But, as I was saying, she takes twenty-ive or thirty dollars and crumples the bills all up in her pocket or ties them up in a handkerchief or anything. The worst of it is that she's never been frightened into being careful. One evening Mother and Dad and Alice and I were sitting around reading-don't think we often do that but it just happened that it was before eight and too early to go anywhere. Well, we were sitting there and all of a sudden Alice gave a little squeal and said, Oh, Mother! just look at the perfectly adorable sale on at Brown's tomorrow: new spring dresses in the beautiful new shades and in all new materials, twenty-five and up. Mother put down her book resignedly: Father put his paper down in alarm. Well he might: he knew what happened to him when Alice saw an adorable sale. Mother, I don't think I can really afford to miss that sale. You know, we've been saying for ages that I must have a new dress. My old one's just a rag: I've worn it so long. Alice, said Father, NI can't afford to have you go to that sale. Times are hard: business depression and all that, you know. Then Dad surrendered. The less arguing, the more peace, and the sooner he handed over the money, just that much sooner could he read his paper. I always wish that I were a girl when Alice tries that stunt. The next day was Saturday and I saw Alice go off with that money stuffed down in her pocket. She had on one of those blue colored suits and hats, like the ones all the girls are wearing. If she'd only have shown a little individuality in the way she dresses aid combs her hair, I wouldn't be writing I IS. Because I took a brotherly interest in that girl and felt that she needed discipline, I fol- lowed her downtown. I tracked her stealth- ily through Brown's. Once I lost sight of her, but a few minutes later I saw her blue suit and black hair. When she became engrossed in a wonderful bargain, I slipped up, took the money, and sauntered gracefully out of the store. I went home and stuck the money under my mattress. Of course, I intended to hand it back after I had given her a good scare. I went over to Jim's for a while, and we fooled around, and then I came home. I wanted to be around when Alice told Mother. Just as I got inside the door, I heard Alice say, Mother, Marie and I bought it together. Then we went to see a show. It was won- derful, and the dress is a dream. And listen, Mother, I have fifty cents left after buying a dress and all. Isn't that fine? I listened with wonder and then with alarm. If I hadn't taken her money, whose had I taken? Across the street were some girls: they all had blue suits. I looked farther on: there were some more girls with blue suits. I went upstairs. My legs were weak: my knees trembled. I went into my room and shut the door. I was a thief, a robberf My tongue was dry and my hair stood on end. I'd be arrested. And who would be- lieve my story. What could I: what should I do? When Tillie called dinner, I didn't want to eat. I went down because I felt that I must keep up appearances. It seemed to me that a thief has a pretty hard life. I looked at Dad and Mother. Would they stand up for me at the trial? Alice talked incessantly: I wondered why she didn't stop. Then I heard her say, Oh folks, I know the best joke! Marjorie Moch has a blue tweed suit CUo1ztinued on page 703

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JUNE, 1924 T H E UM 13 The D001- By SHELDON STAUBITZ, Q55 THIRD PRIZE The door to the terrace opened, slowly, softly: remained wide for a moment, showing a patch of inky night between the white walls of the bedroom: then it closed again, slowly, softly. So still was everything that the faint click of the latch sounded as loud as the report of a pistol. The woman watched, eyes widening, temples throbbing, a scream Welling in her throat. The door had opened, the door had closed, but no visible hand had touched the knob. Nor could the wind account for it. Outside the cedar trees were as still as statuary. Who-what had opened that door? Who --what had entered? For someone-something-had entered. Her tingling nerves told her that she was no longer alone. There was something-someone here- unseen, intangible, noiseless, but in front of her, beside her, behind her, closing upon her, crushing her, someone-something rendered vicious by hatred. Pshaw! lt was only her imaginationf the funeral had been too 'great a strain. She would go out on the terrace, rid her nostrils of the heavy aroma of cut flowers on the coflin, let the cold night air drive these fevered thoughts from her brain. Yet she could not steel herself to cross the threshold. Something-someone, was barring the way. She would ring for one of the servants to convince her of her foolishness. But she recoiled with a gasp, The bell rope had become a serpent, venomous tongue darting, striking at her. She tried to shriek, but it only racked her breast with pain. Her tonsils had swollen, muflled it. She looked at the bed and staggered with horror. Beneath the gilt canopy, under the old rose coverlet lay a man, an aged man, writhing as if in agony, sallow cheeks purpled, froth on his lips. Above him bent a woman, a tall woman with green earrings -herself-herself! Her face was watchful, relentless, impatient. ln one hand she held a hypodermic needle and the withered skin on the man's shrunken neck showed a bead of blood where it had been punctured. Writhe all you likel Scream all you like! she was hissing tensely. There is no one to hear you. She laughed coldly, tauntingly. 'Af-Xh, you thought you had a line bar- gain, didn't you? Buying me, my youth, my beauty. You thought you made a fine bargain! but I am making a better one! You will be punished, the man gasped between groans, growing fainter and fainter. Yes? By whom? There will be no autopsy. Old men often die of apoplexy. Your other heirs will be too glad to have you dead to press the matter. A great convulsion shook him, a dry rattle sounded in his throat, yellow claws plucked at the rosy coverlet as if picking away obscene insects. You shall be punished, it came very weakly. Nl shall punish you! I shall return! But the woman only laughed again, loudly, coldly. The figure on the bed was rigid now, face frozen in death. And then the picture vanished and the bed was empty! The woman in the room caught at her neck as if to tear something away from it. The thing was pressing closer about her. It began to scratch her cheeks, her breast, her limbs. Don't touch me! she screamed. Don't touch mel Let me go! Overwhelmed with terrilied hysteria she rushed about the room, overturning furni- ture, clutching at tapestries, pulling them down. But there was no escape. At last, past the verge of insanity, she flung herself upon the bed, burrowed into the pillows, bit- ing them. Don't torture mel she moaned. l'll tell everything-everything! The door opened, slowly, softly, remained C0ontinued on page 703 , I