Petaluma High School - Trojans Yearbook (Petaluma, CA)

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UJlmt (gmk Mnts $»mk “Won’t you give us one more year to pay the mortgage, Mr. Dennis?” The question was asked by a young girl, not more than nineteen, of a stern old lawyer. “No; not one year nor one day longer. You took the mortgage for three years and the time is up Friday. I’d be poor soon enough if I went on extending the time one year after another.” “But it will be impossible for us to raise the money in so short a time. If we had one more year we could do it, for we have a good grain crop and our fruit trees are bearing heavily. We would be willing to pay a higher per cent of interest.” “That sounds well enough now, but when the year is up it will be the same old story. Tve dealt with women before and I know them. I get paid the $500 on Friday or I take the place. See?” Malina did not see. How could she see five hundred dollars in less than a week? She did see that it would be useless to talk any longer, so she rose and stepped to the door, but before opening it turned to see whether Mr. Dennis’ face had changed its expression. No, it was the same stern, hard face. As the door closed behind her, Mr. Dennis turned on his stool. On his face there was a smile that indicated the absolute satisfaction of having made some one less fortu¬ nate than himself miserable. The smile broadened to a grin and then to a laugh. “Ha, ha! I have’m in a pinch now. Never wait too long for a good thing! I have waited for this for three long years. I knew when they mortgaged the place that they could never pay it. That mite of a girl raise five hundred dollars in a week! She’s as proud as she is poor, though.” This last statement made him feel a bit uncomfortable. Malina, on the other hand, was downcast and worried. On the way to the office she had been so happy. She was sure Mr. Dennis would allow them another year. She had been so sure that she had actually counted the bushels of grain and pounds of fruit the place would yield. Now she was equally sure that Mr. Dennis was a hard old lawyer and that she would have a bitter struggle to raise the money. Before she realized it she had reached the crossroads about one mile from her home. One road led directly to her home, the other to a little wood. She stopped for a moment to decide which one to take. Would she go home? No. It would not be worth while to face her own thoughts. She decided on the one that led to the wood. Many times when a child she had run there to settle her little troubles and talk over to herself her little heartaches. Perhaps it held the same comfort for her today as it had then; she would try. The day was perfect. It was warm, but there was just enough breeze to make one feel comfortable. Ma¬ lina walked on, heedless of the trees that swayed in the gentle breeze; of the birds who sang their very newest and brightest songs; of the little rabbit that crossed the road in front of her; of the petals of the wild cherry trees that fell like flakes of snow at her feet and of the grasses and flowers that nodded and bowed as she passed over them. Any other day she would have noticed these things, but today she saw nothing but the scene at Mr. 14

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man whom he considered a weakling. It was easy, one shot, a story of the sand storm which had separated him from his companion, to tell the miners at the nearest stop, and all would be over. No one would doubt his word. Tragedies were common on the desert. His hand was on the gun and starting to draw it out. He thrust it back again, telling himself that he must wait until the mountain could be seen plainly. He remem¬ bered what conquerors of the desert had told him, that a man alone on the desert went crazy in a short time. He would wait. The sand and sun would remove traces of the shooting near the mountains as well as here. He looked at his companion, saw his back was turned, then took a long swallow of water from the canteen. This was not the first time he had done this. It was happening every few hours. An hour dragged slowly by. The pleadings of Dave for water became worse. He shook the canteen. It could not be more than half full. Dave turned, he had heard the splash of the water and began to beg for just one drop. Jim put his right hand in his shirt, looked at the distant mountains, then withdrew his hand. He was taking a big risk in losing his partner now. He looked at the face of the man before him. “The water will last,” he thought and poured a few drops down the throat of Dave. He still begged for more, but the canteen was closed and they staggered on. Another hour passed, his legs had lost all feeling, being forced foreward at each step like those of a drunken man. Still he kept up his courage, thinking of the gold that would be his when he reached civilization. He raised his eyes to the east. What he saw made him start. He rubbed his eyes with his rough hands and looked again. It was still before him. There was no mistake—a low ridge of rocks, which gradually grew higher farther away, lay before them. He looked more closely. Was it a water fall he saw? There could be no doubt of it; the sun made the water glisten as it fell and he thought he could hear the splash. A puff of smoke and Dave fell forward, shivered and then lay still. Jim stepped up and leaned over him, put¬ ting his hand to Dave ' s heart. Yes, it was a good shot, but now for the mountains and wealth. He rose and turned. A cry of despair escaped him. The mountains had vanished. A. PENN, T4.

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Dennis’ office and heard nothing but his threat to turn them out On reaching a familiar spot she sat down. Where would she get five hundred dollars? “If father had lived we would not be in this fix.” Her father had died five years ago. He had been a good business man and at his death had left his wife and child a prosperous business, a home, one or two small ranches and a good sized bank account, but his wife had a poor head for business and in the course of a year or so had squandered all except the home and had run heavily into debt. Three years ago they had mortgaged the home for five hundred dollars to pay the debts and now the time was up. “Did Mr. Dennis really mean to turn them out?” Malina was now talking half aloud. “Well, he may mean to all right, but he won’t if Malina Mellberg can prevent it.” Turned out! What a meaning those two words held. “Friday, five hundred dollars, Mr. Dennis, mortgage, turned out,” made a sad jumble in Malina’s poor brain. “How much easier it would be if I could tell mother all and not have her give up so easily, and make everything doubly hard for me. Where will I get five hundred dollars in a week? Not here, that’s certain.” That much settled, she rose, shook the wrinkles from her dress, pinned on her hat and started homeward. Her home was a little shingled bungalow, set back from the road in the midst of blooming fruit trees and as it came in view Malina loved it more than she had ever be¬ fore. The violets that bordered the walk from the gate to the front door filled the air with their perfume, and the clover lawns had a sweeter fragrance than ever. She even loved the big bees that buzzed over the clover blos¬ soms gathering honey. Mrs. Mellberg stood at the gate waiting for Malina. In her every action, as she stood there, dependence and help¬ lessness were written. She was a decided contrast to the daughter who was approaching. She had a firm expres¬ sion about the eyes and mouth; she was her fathers child. Malina greeted her mother, slipped her arm through her’s and walked to the house. They sat down on the porch and some minutes passed before either of them spoke. Malina was trying to mould words to tell her mcther of her experience and her mother was wating for her to speak. Mrs. Mellberg broke the silence. “Did you see Mr. Dennis?” “Yes.” “What did he say?” The conversation of the morning was repeated. “And now, mother,” added Malina, “you must help me think of a way to get the money.” The sentence was barely com¬ pleted when Mrs. Mellberg, as Malina had anticipated, broke down. She walked the floor and wrung her hands. “Brace up, mother; we won’t get anything accom¬ plished if you carry on like this.” “I can’t help it. Oh, what shall we do?” After pacing up and down the length of the porch sev¬ eral times she fell in a swoon. Malina had another prob¬ lem at hand now, besides the mortgage. She ran to her mother’s side, bathed her face with cold water to revive her, helped her to her room and laid her on the bed, where she comforted her as best she could until she fell asleep. While Malina had been attending her mother an oft- repeated request made by an aunt before she had died kept coming up before her. “Be careful of my trunk and don’t do away with anything that is in it.” 15