Mineola High School - Signet Yearbook (Mineola, NY)

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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.

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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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She won’t give them a penny, but she makes them expensive presents— usually things they don’t want. She gave Sally the furs when she needed a new suit frightfully. That’s always the way. The rest of the clothes I got from my sisters Bleanor and Janet. “Oh!” breathed Bob Goodwin; then suddenly; “But you never said you worked—you never hinted—” “That was Janet’s fault. She said to forget everything, and pretend I was used to living the way the Gra- hames live. And sister Sally said; ‘That’s right. For goodness sake put that horrid old office out of your 1 mind. Play you’re a princess and perhaps you’ll find a prince’, so— She stopped, suddenly confused, and flushed; but Bob didn’t notice. “Well!” he observed solemnly. | “What odd circumstances.” All these months when I’ve been calling myself an idiot to even dream about a girl like you, there you were working the flesh off your bones—” “You can’t scold me for that,” in- terrupted Patricia gently. “You’re thin as a crow yourself. I—I hardly know you, though George said—” Bob started. “So you’ve seen George ? What did he tell you?” For some reason the Princess Pat blushed hotly. “He—he explained something I hadn’t understood. And he said you lived in this locality. I—I supposed you were writing up ‘the other half’ for some paper. I thought some day I’d meet you. or—or see you go by when I was sitting here, but—but—” “Is that why you came here?” asked Bob breathlessly. He moved nearer, and despite the grime of toil, and the eyes of two in- terested urchins, laid his hand on hers. But she snatched it away. “No!” she denied hotly. “How can you ask? What have I done to—to make you think—” She would have risen, but Bob slipped a firm arm across her shoulders and drew her back. “Please don’t be angry, Patricia. You see, it’s been a rather upsetting day. I don’t know how to tell you everything—why I didn’t go to see you—or invite you to a spread on Class Day— or why I’m dressed like this, or the wonderfully good news that’s come my way today. You weren’t the only one in odd circum- stances! I thing it will take the best part of my life to explain things; but you know, don’t you, that the most wonderful thing of all is find- ing that—that you’re what you are? I believe it went to my head, and I imagined for a minute that you, too—” She raised her eyes, and at some- thing lurking in their depths he made a sudden, astonishing resolve. “Look here, little Princess Pat,” he said abruptly, “is my face clean?” “Your face! gasped Patricia, to this surprising question. “Of course it is. But—but why—” “Because,” answered Bob calmly, “we have no mirror at the shop and sometimes a bit of dirt escaped me; me; and just as soon as those two inquisitive kids have turned the corner, I’m going to kiss you!” And Bod Goodwin was a man of his word. B. P. ’25. Finis. LET US SMILE The thing that goes the farthest to- ward making life worth while, That costs the least and does the most, is just a pleasant smile. The smile that bubbles from the heart that loves its fellow,man Will dive away the clouds of gloom and coax the sun again. It’s full of worth, and goodness, too, with human kindness blent— It’s worth a million dollars, and it doesn’t cost a cent. There is no room for sadness where we see a cherry smile; It always has the same good look— it’s never out of style. It nerves us on to try again when failure makes us blue; The dimples of encouragement are good for me and you. It pays a higher interest, for it is merely lent— It’s worth a million dollars, and it doesn’t cost a cent. A smile comes easily enough, a twinkle in the eye Is natural and does more good than any long-drawn sigh; It touches on the heartstringss till they quiver blithe and long And always leaves an echo that is very like a song; So, smile away! Folks understand what by a smile is meant. It’s worth a million dollars, and it doesn’t cost a cent. —Wilbur D. Nesbit.