Muncie Central High School - Magician Yearbook (Muncie, IN)

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The Master Touch HE last gleam of the set- ting sun shone through if the old cathedral win- f's'Es'i-' d Y - d f ll th A1 ,-awk' OW dn C UPON C silver hair of the old man. Beside him and be- fore the great organ a young man sat with an impatient frown on his brow. The young man turned half expect- ing a stern, unyielding look upon his father's face, but the old professor was not regarding his son. His eyes seemed to have pierced the thin veil into that land of tender memories. Harold sat silent a moment gazing at the face of his father, then turning his hands softly slipped over the keys of the organ. The melody was less mechanical now, but it possessed none of the soft undul- ations the professor's touch called forth. Scenes like this were frequent in the Hammond family. The whole desire of the ,professor's life was that his son, the only remaining one of the family, might become the greatest organist the world had yet produced, and thus ful- fill his vanquished ambition. Unques- tionably the boy had talent, but it was as yet unawakened. Let us stop now, ladf' he said wl1e11 the music ended. That will do for tonight. Tomorrow 'twill be better. But Harold said nothing. Wliat was there to say to the kind gentle face of his father? It had been this way ever since he could remember. Every day he firmly resolved never to touch the old organ again, but the next day he always came again to play upon that instrument which he had almost come to hate, for he could not meet the sor- row in his father's loving face. Play he could, wonderful harmonies, but in each there was a failure to feel, to love, and to express, there was the sadness ol unhappiness and discontent. The professor silently slipped to the old organ bench and began to play the only melody that had ever aroused any feeling in the boy. It was a soft, sweet harmony that flowed out from the soul of the old organ into the boy's own, and filled him with strange hopes and vague longings. He listened in silence, his head slipping down till it rested on the back of the old choir chair. As the last sweet sound died away the old man turned and laid his hand upon the silent head beside him. Finally he spoke: Harold, ever since you were old enough to know one key from another, I have tried, oh how I have tried, to make you love the organ ever as I have loved it, to strive for the mas- ter's touch 5 that touch which makes music live and throb in every heart which hears it, but you do not love it. I will not say you cannot-I still. hope, Harold, but-. Now I am going away. How much I shall miss you Harold, in the next few weeks you will never know, but it is for the best. You won't be lonely will you? You will have your organ though. Lad, never cease striv- ing for the master touch and although it seems now unattainable, the awak- ening will come. The awakening Will come. The young man repeated his father's words softly to himself. He had been gone a month. Harold had missed his father and his long talks with Shim, and most

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THE MUNSONIAN. 23 E hope the time will come When we shall l1ave our own printing press for The Munsonian. A press could easily be installed and a new de- partment in Manual Training be opened for the students. This would assist us in two ways: First, We would get the training for that Workg second, we could publish our paper at less expense and reduce the price of the paper. lk lk Bk . IIE students are not regretting that they must abandon this old building. They are only too glad that they do not have to climb the rickety old stairs any more, breathe impure air, study without the proper light, or walk in danger of falling plaster. llo you blame them? 5k Hi Bk IIE Mid-summer Night 's Dream was the best play of home talent ever pulled off in Muncie. The act- ing, although very ditticult, was of su- perior quality. Each person knew, and acted his part well. There is one thing which might have helped it out, and that is a Iligh School Orchestra. Why didn 't we have one? Ilave we not the material T? AVE you decided what you are going to do through summer va- cation? If you intend to Work it might be well to suggest that laborers will be needed to wreck the old M. H. S. 41 lk Bk ID you ever stop to think that if it were 11ot for the advertisers that a school paper Would be impos- sible? The advertisers in this issue are meeting 60 per cent of the cost of put- ting this number betore the public. Donlt forget them when you are doing your shopping. bk bk E wonder if you have forgotten to place those large electric lights around your imaginary high school that we are to have. It would not be an ideal high school building without them. In addition to these, it might be well to suggest that elevators could be made very useful HJ SY 11 lk If you appreciate The Munsonian boost it next year. -J

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THE MUNSONIAN. 25 of all the music. He could play but his soul longed for the tender feeling in his father's melody. The servants, Why were they so good and yet so silent. The low spoken words. Ilis father's letter today had said he would come soon. What was the matter as he felt so sad when he really should be happy. That evening he started toward the old cathedral. 'l'l'he awakening will come, he re- peated. Father does not understand, he said, talking to a little bird that was balancing itself lightly on a little hush by the walk. He passed some little tenement chil- dren, dirty and poorly dressed, playing in the park. Ile felt a vague longing to be a child once more and play with the same care free light-heartedness that these children did. llis attention was then attracted by two little girls in the charge of a nurse. Ile noticed their wistful faces as they watched these children playing in the sand. He won- dered if they also were unhappy. Other people he passed all seemed to have a note of sadness about them. Ile entered the dim choir of the old cathedral. lle slipped to the old organ bench. Ile had been playing for quite a while when a noise at his side caused him to look up. The old family ser- vant with a grave pitying face, said: 'LMaster lllarold, your father passed away this afternoon. 'l The boy's head sank to the keys. Father, my father dead, he Whis- pered. The cathedral chimes tolled the Au- gelus. llow long he lay there he never knew. Presently in the dim light he raised his head, his fingers slipped over the keys in that familiar melody his father had played that last evening, but the music lived, it sighed, it throbbed with the ache of a human heart. As the last echoes died away with a beautiful light dawning in his face and a joyful sob he 1l1llI'Illl1l't'll as if to someone beside him, Dear father, it has come at last, the master touch. Ruth Williams, 1912. CAST OF A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.