Oberlin College - Hi-O-Hi Yearbook (Oberlin, OH)

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Through A Glam Darkly. EFFERSON PLAl l had often heaid the story from lame Ephram and from others of the few family daikits, the faithful survivois of rv! , war and disenfranchisement. Moreover, the divided partisanship of , . . , . .' Q . ,, . , ' half the countryside kept the details of the atlzan ahve. lo Jeiier son this old feud, between Lesters and llartcourt-l'latts was an accepted part of life, an inherited possession, like the villa, or the hunting-knife, with its handles carved into a stag 's head, which his father had picked up in the ashes of a ruined home just after a Ku Klux raid thirty-tive years before. In those romantic days before the war, Je1ferson's mother, Sally Harth- court, reigned in the Great House that overlooks once-aristocratic Bellevue, f ' d Anne Lestei visited in Missouri. The winter that her bosom rien , -, Washington and achieved her conquest of the brilliant young congressman, David Platt, it was understood in the exclusive circles of the First Families that Miss Sally had accepted Anne 's brother, Clive. David Platt came west that next fall to visit his fiancee and the whole set was entertained one lavish week at the Great House. Miss Sally, Marse J eff, Ephram used to explain, could'n' no moh hep flirtin'-denn de yaller sun can hep shinin'. Certain it was that she jilted Clive Lester for the N ortherner, who had too speedily capitulated under his hostess 's blandishments. Before the county ceased to talk of this affair or of Anne 's immediate engagement to another lover, David Platt brought Miss Sally down from the Great House that overlooks Bellevue to a rambling, tree-surrounded place a mile up the road. Five happy years here in the Villa, as it was called, ended abruptly in tragedy. David Platt was shot by the brooding, revengeful Clive Lester. Of course a packed jury acquitted l1i1n. Miss Sally, broken with grief, threw her life into the worship of her son, J etferson. While the Great I-louse on the hill decayed with the ruined fortunes of the Hartheourts,,this boy grew up a handsome, dare-devil, selfish fellow, always in trouble. The culminating disgrace of a college expulsion killed Miss Sally, and so her poor story ended in disappointment, loneliness, death. Jefferson mourned his mother in his self-centred way, and sometimes allowed his dreams over his father 's wrongs to rouse him to a vague sense of anger. But then Clive Lester 's son is poh trash, he generally thought, 'inot worth the powdah t' shoot him. The old gentleman had a sight moh whiteness about him. In the summer of 1897, John Lester, the poh trash of Jeiferson's soliloquies, was shot one evening about dusk while hunting in the Platt wo d ile east of the Villa. At the time the tragedy occurred, a farmer o s a m of the neighborhood was filling his supply of buckets at the lake across the road from the woods. He was a little, fat, puffing man with a round face in ' ' h t which black beads of eyes twinkled. Hearing an altercation in t e grove a his back, he had paused, pushing back his torn fishing-hat to mop his fore- head with a big wadded Bandanna. It passed through his mind that one of the voices sounded like a niggah's. 'l ain Quieker'n a cotten tail he heard two As he took up his pai ag , D i . . cries. Some one ejaculated-'fsharp an' pierein' like the whistle on the mid- 11

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SAINT VALENTINE'S EVE. Now busy studente taketh tyme To cultivate the tender ryme. The paineful taske at lengthe is donne, Ile wot that this be sorric foun, Escapcth now a sudden sygh- What if sche think the verses drygh? The midnight chimes begin to toll, He laycth down his fevered poll, Booteth him naught swete slepe to woo, For sehe doth all his court cschiew. Pittic the endc of mad studente, Wlio would make ryme agaynst his bente. I-I. C. Tracy FROM THE STAIR. To F. W. A Triolct. She nodded from the stair, Arch, graceful, smiling, sweet, Bright in her shining hair, She nodded from the stair. Knowing the trick unfair- Since I was at her feet- She nodded from the stair, Arch, graceful, smiling, sweet. R. M. 10

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night flyah -- A knife, you trash ! to which the gutteral voice returned, 'tDrop that gun ! V ' A shot,--a confusion of noises,-silence followed until a negro broke out from the trees. The momentary exposure before he turned and crashed back into the woods, allowed the little fat man to recognize him. For an instant this accidental member of the Dramatis Persona: stood ir- resolute, then, even in his half-paralyzed mental condition obeying the auto- matic impulse toward flight, he ran. His tin pail, elattering clown upon the rocky ground, rolled with a splash into the water. Once out from the grasping shadows of the eedars he swerved around the corner, and now he could see before him at the end of the hilly road the village of Bellevue. The Great House loomed above it, grey, vague, dismal against the pink streaks of the sunset sky. On the other side of the Black River Bridge, the runner stumbled, was up again,'caught his foot and fell. The shock cleared his brain. As he pulled himself to his feet he found that he had tripped before the gatway of the Villa. He could half desery the house far back from the road, partly obscured by trees. A light glim- mered from an upper window. The little fat man turned in at the gate and hurried up the walk, looking fearfully over his shoulder to the dark patch of woods at his right. Through the gathering dusk the glow of a pipe shone from the porch. Toward this the newcomer directed an excited salutation as he panted up the steps, Howdy, J eff Platt. ,Why, howdy, Twang, drawled the smoker, not shifting his position in a chair that balanced on two legs. He was a lounging big fellow, seen in the twilight, with a reckless insolence of manner. He spoke slowly, smoothly, his tone half-sneering in its deliberateness. To a time-saving man his iirst words would carry the psychologic sugges- tion of a thrashing. Still his voice possessed a soft liquidness, mellowing even Twang's harsh name. Only your true Southerner slips over speech with that caressing sweetness. Like his father and mother and playmates he ac- quired its gliding ease from the songs and stories of a darkey mammy. When J efferson Platt entered Boonville Military Academy, a Wiscon- sin boy told him he talked like a nigger. I'd a powerful lot soonah talk lak a niggah, he swore hotly, than lak a damned Yankee! Where's dat lame niggah o' yo' all's, J eff Platt? demanded Twang, dropping down upon the top step in answer to the other's invitation to have a seat. He was turned sideways facing the woods. His host followed his gaze, got up almost immediately and leaned against a pillar looking down into the excited eyes of his visitor. What do you want with that ole worf- less Ephram, Twang? Lost a chicken or a watermilyon'I U Twang was far from facetious. Staring across the fields he did not answer. . ' Well, out with it, ordered Platt abruptly. They's somethin' ovah in yo' alls' woodsf' He pointed. Ephram saw it. He came streakin' out after the shot and skunked back 'fo' I could yell. Jeff Platt, they 's some devilishness up. I More coherently afterwards he told his adventure, the force of his suspicions growing as they were put into words. p 12