Mineola High School - Signet Yearbook (Mineola, NY)

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 “ODD CIRCUMSTANCES” Chapter III T’was Spring; but Bob Goodwin had little time to appreciate the beauties of this lovely season. He worked hard at his studies, and hard at the machine shop, but he was very happy. His expenses were small now, and his savings were growing rapidly. Soon he could repay his sister the money that he had borrowed from her. The wedding of his sister, Grace, and his pal, Bud Nelson, was to be just after graduation, and he was sure that he could reimburse his sister by the end of May. Bob’s work was not a “white collar” job, but is paid well. It was not an easy thing for this boy who had led a care-free life in college, to buckle down to steady hours of hard work after his college classes were done; but Bob did it. Having a mechanical twist somewhere at the back of his brain, the work ceased, in time to be mere drudgery. During odd hourss he worked on an idea that came to him in the shop: a labor and time-saving device that he felt sure would bring in some renumeration should he succeed in perfecting it. Bud Nelson kept his word. He made no further protests over Bob Goodwin’s economies. But he regret- ted that Bob would not make any plans for Class Day for a spread, or even to invite a few friends to spend the day. Bob had said he would in- vite his mother and sister only, but Bud discovered that Bob sent three invitations, not two, and rightly guessed that Patricia Lowell (Princess Pat) received the third. It was Ralph, who roomed with George, next to Bud and Bob, who only a week be- fore the great day, stopped Bob in the middle of the campus to say, “Look here, Goodwin, I understand you’re not giving any spread. George and I would be glad, you know, to have you join with us; and anyone you care to bring will be welcome. If we had known before—.” Ralph’s voice was cordial and the friendly words made Bob vaguely uncomfort- able. With hasty thanks he made his escape. Class Day came and went without even that “glimpse” of Patricia that Bob had dimly counted on. But the day wasn’t altogether a failure. It gave the boy real pleasure to see that his mother and sister wore new gowns; and he knew that to them, the day was an event of a lifetime. But his mother was disappointed when he told her he was not coming home. “You see,” he explained carefully, “I’ve got a job. It pays pretty well and may lead to something better.” This last clause he added for its effect, and his mother brightened. “It’s on a newspaper?” “Well, not exactly,” (Bob groaned at the thought of the machine shop where he would spend his summer). “But there’s no knowing what may come of it. Of course, Mother, I’ll run home whenever I get the chance. “It’s a long time since I’ve seen you, sonny.” Bob squeezed her hand. “You look corking, Mother,” he said boyishly, “I like the gown.” She flushed like a girl. “I couldn’t have had it, dear, if you hadn’t been so careful this last year and repaid that money to Grace, Rob- ert—I’ve been thinking that perhaps you wanted to give some sort of spread. I ought to have suggested it, but it’s so long since I’ve been to anything like this that I had for- gotten.” She looked up anxiously, and he replied, “Now, don’t you worry about that. Mother. It’s been a bully day! I wish you and Grace could stay till you’ve seen the best of it. I’m going to take you to the train.”

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THE COMING SENIOR CLASS Back row (I. to r.)—Harry Cornwell, Joseph Flesch, Fred Nahn, William Ruckh, John Boles, Raymond Rolfe Fred De Brava, Franklin Somonson, James McLaughlin Front row—Margaret Britton, Anna Thomas, Muriel Brink, Margaret Benedict, Lillian Katz, Elwyna VanAlen Elizabeth Thomas, Alice Moore, Frances Backiel, Laura Pribul, Alfreda Hoffman, Yetta Siegel, Mrs. Clendenny

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And he did, despite her protests that he would be missing some of the fun; and after he had kissed his mother and sister good-by and parted from his friend, Bud Nelson, he went back to the “gym” and tried to be- lieve that he was having the “time of his life.” Two weeks later he took the train East for a brief visit to the old home- stead, to see his sister marry his old pal, Bud Nelson. They had a lovely little home ready for their return from their honeymoon. But Bob’s thoughts, during these bright summer days, lingered on memoriess of lovely “Prin- cess Pat.” Back in the mid-western city, Bob worked harder than ever; and as the summer passed, he had the satisfac- tion of a growing bank account, and a substantancial raise in the weekly pay envelope. He spent all his spare time trying to perfect his invention. He did not realize that he was burn- ing the candle at both ends, nor that he was leading an unnatural existence. Sometimes he thought bitterly of how easy it was to be forgotten. His chums had vanished—North, South, East or West, as their paths had led. Ralph, for instance, was traveling around the world; as his last fling before settling down in his father’s bank. Of Patricia Lowell, he had heard nothing since her formally worded regrets that 5 he should not at- tend Class Day. It was, after all. George who sought him out. Bob found him in his shabby hall bed- room, one night in September, when he came home from work. “Where in thunder—?” George laughed, and extended a cor- dial hand; but Bob, glancing at his own grimy fingers, ddrew away. “Hold on, till I wash up. This is mighty good of you, George. I haven’t seen any of the old crowd in a dog’s age.” George sat down on a trunk, while he waited for Bob to cleanse himself. ; When Bob came back to greet his friend, George said, “How long since you’ve occupied this—palace?” Bob laughed. “Methinks I detect scarcasm in your voice. Have you had your supper?” “No. I was going to ask you out to dine.” This was not strictly true, but something in Bob’s gaunt cheek- bones brought the invitation. “You’ll have to wait till I change my clothes. And I’ve only an hour. I’m due at school at seven-thirty.” “What school?” George’s puzzeled look brought another laugh. “You live in the same city and don’t know I am a pedagogue? I teach a night class on B street. “You mean you work all day in a vile machine shop, and teach all even- ing?” Bod nodded. He was tying his scarf befoi’e the cracked mirror. He rather enjoyed the horror in his friend’s voice. “And does your mother know it?” Bos wheeled suddenly. “No, and you’re not to tell. She’d think I was overworking and—” “You are,” cut in George shortly, ‘you have lost fifteen pounds, or I’m a liar. You look like a starved China- nan; and where’s it all getting you? thought you were keen to get onto a paper.” Bob restrained a desire to produce his bank book and point proudly to the balance. Instead, he replied quietly, “How much would I be earn- ing as a cub reporter? How could I pay my debts?” “Well you’d be on the road to some- thing. You can’t mean to spend your life as a day laborer, and what’s the object of an education unless you use it?” “I do,” laughed Bob. “I talk to the Dagoes in their own tongue. You’ve no idea how popular it makes me. Come on, if you want time for more than a bite. As for this horrible place—it’s not so bad when you get used to it; and my time’s not wasted. I’m learning things I couldn’t learn in college. That sounds queer, but there isn’t time to explain now. I’m starved. You can tell me all about the ‘gang’ while we’re eating.” CHAPTER IV Conclusion. Bod didn’t say that one thing he had learned was how quickly money ac- cumulates when one spends absolutely nothing in the pursuit of pleasure. His expenses had not been heavy, and by the next spring, he began to “see light.” His invention was finished, patented, and being tried out at the shop. If they decided to install it. it would mean, not a big thing perhaps, since it was suitable ior but one sort of ma- chine, but at least an income that would make his mother comfortable, and enable him to pay his debt to the last penny. For a week he had slept fitfully, and found it hard to eat. “I’m as nervous as an old woman,” he said indignantly. And in truth, he