Mineola High School - Signet Yearbook (Mineola, NY)

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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

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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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was; for the fate of the small inven- tion meant not only comforts for his mother, but freedom for himself— freedom to dream once more of a dark-eyed girl. Not that he hand’t dreamed of her all these months! In fact, Bob was a bit ashamed of the persistency of those dreams; for even if things went well he coulld hardly aspire to a girl ilke the Princess Pat, who probably never gave him a thought, since he had to all appearances, ‘‘dropped” her. These thoughts made him wretched; and hers was the one name George didn’t mention. George’s call had been the forerunner of others, and Bob had never liked his friend so well as in those days of his own adversity. That he didn’t confide in George about the invention was because he knew he should feel ashamed if the thing failed. But a week later he left the office of the machine shop (where he had been summoned to sign certain im- portant papers), treading on air. There was a queer little park that he crossed on his way from work. Usually it was deserted save, for a few urchins. Today, having a half- hour to spare, he sat down on a bench near an unused fountain. Being a young man of fastidious habits, Bob had never sat in a place like that. He smiled at the memory that a year ago he would have thought it a plebeian thing to do. These months as a laborer had taught him something more than the value of money. He found himself judging people and their habits by new stand- ards. He should never forget the kindness of his fellow workers. Some of them were friends whom he should always keep in touch with, and re- member. Suddenly Bob realized that he was not alone. He had been idly watch- ing a pigeon, which took flight as a pair of small but shabby oxfords came that way. Without raising his eyes, Bob saw that the owner of the oxfords had taken the seat opposite his own. It always amused him to watch people’s feet. He did so now, his observing eyes detecting a cleverly mended dropped stitch in the stocking, and the edge of a blue linen skirt. Poor, but respectable, he thought. A stenographer or bookkeeper, per- haps, on her way home. Doubtless she had a face like a prune. He’d half a mind not to look, because those feet. They reminded him— ‘‘Bob Goodwin! It—It’s not you?” Bob’s head came up with a jerk. His eyes, dazed and unbelieving, met eyes as soft and dark as sealskin— eyes that belonged to no one save Princess Pat, but set in a face that had lost its lovely curves. And the blue vown was faded with murh laun- dering. On the lovely, outstretched hand was a spot of ink. Still dazed, he took the hand in his grimy, toil- worn fists, and held it close, as if he would never let it go. “Patricia — Patsy — what’s hap- pened?” His questions included everything about her; the thin cheeks, the faded gown, and the patched shoes. He for- got his own appearance altogether, and drew her down beside him on the bench. “Happened?” she said tremulously. “Why — nothing — except that it’s strange that we should meet again— just here.” “But, Patricia, you—you—What are you doing?” “I’m going home, that is, to my room,” she explained gently, draw- ing her hand away. “I often stop here hot days like this. It’s sort of cool and pleasant after the office.” “What office?” gasped Bob stupidly. Patricia smiled. “The office where I work. I—” “You—work! “Hush!” warned the girl hurriedly. “Don’t shout so. Of course I work. There are four of us, you know, and we all work except sister Sally who’s married, and—” “But,” Bob interrupted, “you were wearing sealskin—real sealskin. And you dressed—” She laughed—a soft little laugh that chaed away the tired lines around her eyes. “So I did! Well, it seems jut like a dream. I’d been sick, and needed a vacation, and when Mrs. Grahame in- vited me to visit her (their summer hr.mc is in our town, you know), it seemed a—sort of miracle. And then I remembered that I hadn’t the right clothes for such a visit. —I cried— I was so disappointed. If I’d been really strong I wouldn’t have been so silly. And just then sister Sally came in and said of course I must go; so when the girls came home they went through their wardrobes, chose all the best they had and lent me every- thing. “The seal skins were sister Sally’s. Her mother-in-law is terribly rich.