Mountain View Union High School - Blue and Gray Yearbook (Mountain View, CA)

Page 28 text:

26 BLUE AXU CRAY She backed away from him, luilf I ' l ' l-ilitciicil, her cheeks flushed, yet her eyes twinkling. Oh I must run an ' tell (ienevieve — something I ' ve learned — of a mistake she made in her last story. ' Tell me, Jane. Possihly 1 can sh(i ' you more nustakes. Hut you ' ve taught me this. See. she jjointed the eastern hori- zon, silvery with the rising moon. I didn ' t know it was thei ' e — till now and I know it isn ' t the moon that makes me feel — Jane! but she had fled. Twas noon in Martinville. Across her dusty, uninviting main thoroughfare torrid heat waves wavered lazily. Save for a horse seamping nervously, switching her tail and flinching her flanks at editor Samuel Martin produced a letter from the pocket and tore the insistent flies that |)estered her with tantalizing buzzing, the street was desolated. In the office of the Martinville News, assistant it open hungi ' ily, forgetting the oppi ' essiveness of tlie heat in his eagerness. He heard the boss enter. Wonder why the deveil he don ' t take time to eat, growled tlie assistant. The editor glanced fui-lously over his nephew ' s shoulder. That ' s Jane ' s handwriting. 1 suppose it ' s another one of those d d manuscripts. No, Uncle, it ' s a letter. Then I suppose it explains this letter addressed, ' The Editors of Martinville News. ' I don ' t see any reference to it. The bloomin ' idiot that wrote thi.s should have his head broken. ' The Editors ' , Oh the fool! As if I ' d take my hopeful nephew into partnership. Hello, it ' s from old Silas Hooper! Well I ' ll be switched! No, I ' ll be worse than switched! Here ' s the mortgage he ' s held against me for the last ten years and congratulations — to my nephew. Hear that Sam? But the assistant was busy reading. Huh! So it ' s a letter from Jane. The embarrassed assistant lighted a cigar. Samuel, I forbid you smoking that cigar. His eyes drifted to the mortgage. However, Samuel, you may try one of these. They ' re Havanas. Hello, here ' s a lettei ' from (Ienevieve. Doesn ' t look as if she had much to say. Brief but sweet it was : Dear Uncle Jake: Jane said you tried to teach me something, liut you didn.t. Arthur taught me. Tt wasn ' t the moon at all. G. C. — Thomas Kleekner, ' 15.

Page 27 text:

BLUE AXD GRAY 25 The young ' assistant jjlacidly liriislicd liis imiiiaciilatcly partcil hair. Miss Jane, he answered. What! ] Iiss Jane! cried the enraged eidtor. Wi ' ll. what in the tlevil ' s wrong with you? ' I donno. Something ' s influeneed me, an 1 (h)n ' t know whal it can lie unless it ' s — the moon. And through the small room echoed the cursings of the editor, hut his assistant had gone. At eight-thirty he and Jliss .lane left the hall room for the cool refresliing air of the deck. Do you know, Mv. ] Iartiii. that 1 ■ ' e lieen di ' eadfully wicked? lie lookecl at her upturned face, flushed rosih- from the dance. ' ' Wicked. Yes. And I ' ve a confession to make if you ll promise to make one to me. Will you ? Go ahead. Confess, jMiss Jane. Ladies first, you know. ' It ' s essential that you confess first. Will you promise? ' I promise. What awful sins must I confess? ' Tell me whether it was actu dly worth your time looking over those stories. ' Martin stammered. She interrupted, and whether it is worth while encouraging the writer? Answer yes or Xo! ' But, Miss Jane, your stories — Answer directly ' yes ' or ' no ' . Well, no, but— Tliat is sufficient. Now one more question hefore I make my confession. Now that you know me, do you think me capable of writing such foolishness? Xo. ans vere(l Martin, decidedly. Well — 1 tlidn ' t write them. What! Her eyes began to twinkle. Genevieve ' s guilty. ThaiikGod, Mingled with the crisji ocean breezes was a tantalizing sweet- ness, not of perfume — but sonu ' thing which she radiated — some- thing which drew him nearer, rnconsciously his hand sought hers. And Jane, when you I ' eceived the letter, what did you think when you were instructed to write of love — romance? Oh I was mean, jealous to think that Genevieve would use my name and then receive such a reward. 1 was just as hateful as I could be, and yet she was innocent. .She didn ' t know it was wrong to use another ' s name. IJut the letter — didn ' t you, until now. Ihiidv that it sounded ( ' !■ — imjirobable ? ' I didn ' t think a thing about it until — Until— Until 1 met you. Then I thought— Jane, you thought — Why, when Genevieve was writiug of love — why. she blushed. I just thought — Jane! Don ' t, Samuel. Xot so close, i)eoph ' — people ai ' c looking. ' But, Jane, if — if we were alone — '

Page 29 text:

27 (Hhr Hauiirrrr nnh t }t mtg ■•jr E L ' iiuic fi ' oni tlu ' (le))tlis of night ' s iliirkness, forlorn, Tfn This Waiulerrr awrsoiiu ' and lonely and lorn, ) Whose face boded evil as now and aj ' ain. lie paused to voAV venyeanee on his fellow-men. As he paused in the greyness, he viewed to his right, A .structure whose outlines were lost in the night. Majestic before him a chapel did loom. While scattered i)rofusely and bi-eaking the gloom, Long windows beheld with light shining through, All crimson and golden and darkest of blue. The Wanderer (laused, then turned to pass on. When deep in the chapel, he heard soft and long. So mystic and i[uiet as if ' twere a dream, ' Che o] ening chord of the organist ' s theme. The notes followed slowly, each dreamy and soft, Sustained till faint echoes returned fi ' om aloft. . ]] then from the depths of the chap(d anon. The sounds of the organ wert ' blended with .song. Though rising or falling, it seemed that eacli note, In cadences outward on air waves did float. The Chorister ' s voice and the ( ' hoii ' ' s i-efi ' ain, ' i ' he tones of the organ, the dejjths of its strain. In harmony mingled melodiously rare. As in rhythm it fell on the still wintry air. As the prelude was ended, the last tones wei ' e still; The Wanderei ' turned from his place by the sill; His face was transformed ;nid no longei ' it bore, The look of fierce hatred it recently woi ' e. The lii -e of all ] eauty that dormant hatl lain, ' N ' ealli e il and crime had awakened again. And though it lay liiildeu. neglected so long, ' Twas stirre l and aroused by the iSeauty of Song. —Alice Toft. ' 14.