Petersburg High School - Missile Yearbook (Petersburg, VA)

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4 THE MISSILE aside. Not a word was uttered — not a movement made. The girl was first to speak. She looked around, and in a pleading tone said, as she looked straight into his face, “Don’t, Mr. Hamilton, don’t — .” She could say no more, but Hamilton understood the rest. The bell rang, and she walked toward the door. She then turned as if to give a final adieu, and disap- peared in the building. Hamilton was thunderstruck — a coward does not move when he recognizes his guilt. He did not think; his mind was a blank. Upon hearing the bell he, too, turned into the school. The period for examination had arrived. Every min- ute seemed an hour, and finally the principal entered with the single sheets. Shaking hands grasped them, while eyes seemed to burst trying to read all with one glance. A sudden hush fell over the room, and all were held in breathless awe. Some immediately began to write, while others hesitated and tried to think. Some faces were bright; others were doubtful. But one hand sluggishly grasped the paper and tried to hide it from his eyes. It seemed as if he would rather die than look at his paper. This student was Arthur Hamilton. Finally he did look at the questions. The first one he could answer, but the second he could not. Now was the time for that blue piece of paper. He .sank back in his seat, and hideous thoughts ran through his brain. “If I fail, I shall be considered a blockhead; the boys won’t recognize me; I’ll lose my place on the nine; I’ll be drop- ped from the magazine staff. I must — I must,” he thought to himself Slowly he extended his handi and quickly he drew it back. “I’m a coward; I’m a cheater; I’m — every- thing,” he said to himself, “but could one be in my place

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THE MISSILE. 3 “Indeed not,” he quickly answered, as he reached her side; “history is an awful study anyway, especially with me. I guess you’ve heard my answers in class.” “Class work may be called a sample,” she hesitatingly replied, “but on exams, you must display your stock.” Thus the conversation was continued, history being the main topic of discussion. As they were near the school and had plenty of time, they did not hurry. From their conversation it may be judged that they had known each other for some time — not long — as may be inferred from their Mr. and Miss. In fact they had been ac- quainted since Mr. Wilson had opened his large grocery store, and Hamilton had been accustomed to trade for his mother. The cashier was none other than the pretty maiden who was now on her way to school. She was ad- mired by all, not because she was intellectual, — for Jane Wilson had never had that reputation, — but because of her modesty. Really, this was her first conversation. In- terest was felt in each other’s speech; and as they neared the gate, they might be said to have been chums. At that moment a fierce wind started. Hats and caps were seen rolling down the street, and the strong wind blew Hamilton’s pad from his arm. By the quick action of his foot he kept it from going faraway and saved himself a good chase. The blue blotter was turned out, and on it were seen several dates and a column of history notes pertaining to the examination. The girl’s eyes were at- tracted by the writing — she realized what it was. Her smiling face grew pale, and she slowly turned her back. He, too, realized what had happened, and his face also grew pale. His hand trembled as he slowly picked the pad up; not daring to look at his companion, he turned

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THE MISSILE. 5 and not cheat?” Did the thought cross his mind that every act weaves the threads of his future character ? Did he think that each evil deed finds its way to the Ruler of Heaven and casts a darker shadow upon his soul for- ever? Did he realize that “in manhood’s morning, when the shadows are still falling toward the west,” is when the foundation of character is laid ? Thoughts of his sin did come to him. If caught, he would be expelled in dis- grace; no one would recognize him; he would be scorned by all; his life would be a living death. He glanced around guiltily and met the drawn face of Jane Wilson, but quickly looked away, not being able to face her. Again he extended his hand toward the blue paper — again he hesitated. Then with a sudden grasp he seized it and drew it nearer. As a miser grasps his long-saved coin, he seized the rough notes and glanced around to see if any one was watching him. It was now too late. Mr, Huff, the teacher of history, was coming to his desk. “What have you in your hand, sir ?” he demanded in a stern voice. All eyes were upon Hamilton, expecting a crisis. He sank back into his seat, the pencil dropped from his hand, he could not answer. “What is that paper?” again demanded the teacher, now growing indignant. Upon seeing that Hamilton would not speak, he tore it from his hand and carefully examined its contents. His face darkened, and shaking his finger in rage, he ex- claimed: — “Is this your paper? Answer me; where did you get it?” €j »»