Reading Memorial High School - Pioneer Yearbook (Reading, MA)

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TlIE PIONEER. ia edthe young hopeful. “Do you s’pose, pa, thet you could buy me one out er thet ten-dollars- an’-fifteen-cents ?” “I dunno but I could, I reckon tliey wouldn’t come higher ’n live dollars.” So the spirits of young Artemus rose high, and he had plenty to think of from that time on. Suddenly the conductor opened the door and called out, “Paterson, Paterson—change cars for New York. Do not leave any articles in the car.” Obeying this last command of the conductor, Mr. Butterfield grasped his carpet-bag and blue umbrella, a family heirloom, used by Mr. Butterfield ordy on special occasions. As soon as the cars stopped, he rose stiffly and passed with a dignified air out of the car, with Arte- mus close at his heels. He stepped up to a fashionably dressed young man who was leaning against a pillar, smoking a cigarette, and said. “Kinyeou tell me which car’ll take me ter Ne’ York?” The young man answered shortly, “New York trains on main track,” and turned away. “Well, I mayn’t know so much about it, but I do know as I wont git ter N’ York on a Maine track,” soliloquized Mr. Butterfield as he started off again. 11 is next victim was a woman with three- children in her wake, and one on each side, while she clasped several bundles in her arms. Mr. 1 hitterfield put to her the same inquiry. “O dear me, sir,” replied the woman, so startled that she dropped several bundles. “Tom¬ my, pick up those bundles — no, I’m sure I don’t know — stop pulling the gentleman’s coat, Peter I’m looking for it myself — Annabel, take your hands from the gentleman’s umbrella, this instant— ), I’m so confused, and such trouble¬ some children — I — ” and she darted off leaving Mr. Butterfield to separate one of the children from Artemus, with whom he was having an encounter in hair pulling. When he had disentangled the youthful pu¬ gilists, he lai l hold of a newspaper lad who was making free use of his lungs near by, and asked him the usual question, receiving the audacious reply, “Hey, old hayseed, three tracks t’ yer right, four t’ yer left, down th’ centre an’ th’ rest o’ th’ way on yer face, ef yer umbreller won’t take yer,” and off went the lad, crying “New York Journals an’ Heralds, all about th’ robbery.” It now occurred to Mr. Butterfield that it would be somewhat wiser to ask an official, and finally, with the aid of one, he found himself on the New York train. To be perfectly sure, after he was seated, he inquired of the people in front and in back of him if that was the train for New York. Artemus had seen so many strange things that when the train drew up in the great depot of New York, his mind was in a perfect whirl and his father had fairly to pull him by the hand. Mr. Butterfield, with his carpet-bag clutched tightly in one hand, and his large blue family umbrella under his arm, said pompously, “I reckon yer can’t lose me in Ne’ York. I wuss down here once afore, thirty years ago. We’ll go right across the street to Peter Jones’ green grocery. IIow glad Peter will be ter see me!” It was with great difficulty that Butterfield and son found their way through the station, which was so crowded that Mr. Butterfield decided there must be a cattle fair, round some¬ where. At last, finding themselves in a great thorough¬ fare, crowded with people and vehicles, Mr. Butterfield was startled to find in place of the old green grocery, a great stone building of a dozen stories. He was so thunderstruck that he relaxed his hold on Master Artemus, and that young gentleman, making the most of the opportunity, slipped away to hear the music of an old hand organ, whose crank was being turned by an Italian woman. Artemus had always been accustomed to wan¬ dering about by himself, so it did not disconcert him at all to be alone. After he had tired of the sing-song music of the organ, lie wan-

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THE PIONEER. this readjustment, George Eliot was the most vividly human. Progress was breathlessly rapid during that half-century, but her work is as im¬ portant in its social as in its religious aspect. It marks the transition between a period pre¬ occupied with life and evolution to the next period, in which we are living. The intense social consciousness of her characters is possi¬ ble only in an age which has outlived revolution in history and is facing evolution in thought. George Eliot is the first to show us an enlarged recognition of social responsibility. Her works mark the climax of the social feeling in fiction previous to 1880. They show the social con¬ science fairly awake and waiting its summons. Taken as a whole, fiction from 1840 to 1880 testified to the quickening of interest in social types; to the gradual awakening of social un¬ rest ; to a vague and helpless quest of wider freedom and instinct, new and as yet baffled, hopeful only because of its own intensity. All these various authors knew not just what they were seeking, and to us it seems only an epoch of beginnings. Although we are starting in on anew century, ideals are still being formed, but we seem no nearer the height of idealism than in the eighteenth century; the track which the early poets and novelists started upon, is not yet followed to the end, but appears, at least, to open toward a light that brightens as we proceed. Etiikj.yn A. Smith, Class of ’00. MR. BUTTERFIELD’S SECOND VISIT TO NEW YORK. Mr. Butterfield was leaning back in his seat with a luxurious air, as the train drew rapidly out of the Beantown station towards New York. The only things which marred his perfect tran¬ quillity were first, the idea of changing cars at Patterson and secondly, his great carpet bag of ancient pattern, lie had placed it under the seat and twisted his leg around it, so that his foot rested uncomfortably but squarely upon it, for it had occurred to him that he must take precautions against train robbers, and he was sure that those gentlemen would be particularly anxious to get possession of such a valuable carpet bag. He whispered confidentially to his son, “Your great grandfather Butterfield brought thet there carpet-bag up from Pumpkin Centre fifty years ago, and today there ain’t one cent less in it than ten dollars an’ fifteen cents.” Master Artemus opened his eyes to their fullest extent and whispered back, “Ten-dollars- an’-fifteen cents ! Say, dad, will yer buy me a stick of maple candy when we get to Ne’ York?” Mr. Butterfield indulgently promised that he would invest a cent in one of the New York stores for the desired candy, so Artemus sighed contentedly and turned his attention to the window. lie was a very small boy of nine years and very stout into the bargain. His cheeks were so fat that his eyes were very narrow in consequence. When he had departed from Beantown, his mother had placed squarely on his head a primi¬ tive straw hat with red ribbons, giving him strict injunctions not to remove it on any account, as there would be plenty of people glad to relieve him of the burden, so he had kept careful watch of it ever since. 11 is irintr- ham blouse of old fashioned cut was set off by an alarming tie of green plaid silk. Ilis pants were very roomy, reaching to a distance of about six inches below the knee, and revealing some cheerful looking stockings of red and white. It may be said that Master Artemus had a consciousness of being very much dressed up, as indeed he was. He became intensely interested in what he saw from his window. Once he glanced up quickly and called his father’s attention, “() see that man on that bicycle, ain’t it funny? It’s coasting up hill. It’s something like Simon Piper’s velocipede, aint it, pa?” “That must be a - a - steam tricycle, my son,” answered Mr. Butterfield, “One o’ them things I wuss readin’ about in the ‘Inventors’ Yearly.’ My, but I’d like to have Almiror Jane see thet durned thing whiz up hill.” “Well, anyhow, I’d like ter hev one,” respond-

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14 THE PIONEER. lcre l along, looking in the shop windows and enjoying himself generally. Suddenly his eye fell upon a strange looking wagon which was passing along the street. Its body, which looked like a great barrel, rested on four stout wheels, while from the rear there was a wide protuberance which was bored with numerous round holes. Artemus felt very curious to examine this queer arrangement, so when it had passed by, he stepped up behind and stood looking at it with his hands in his pockets. lie had just bent over and was trying to poke his fingers in the holes, when all of a sudden there spurted out from all the openings at once, a heavy shower of cold water which completely drenched poor Artemus to the skin. He set up aloud outcry which brought from the crowd a gentleman carrying a carpet-bag and blue umbrella, who cried excitedly, “At last I have found my son,” and catching him by the hand, he drew the boy on to the sidewalk. Artemus presented a pitiable appearance indeed. Over his woeful face, little red rivulets were making their way from the red cotton streamers of his hatband. The once stiffly starched gingham waist was now limp and life¬ less, and the colors of his green plaid necktie, the pride of his heart, were blended in a wonderful manner. Master Butterfield was still wailing loudly and looking regretfully at his ruined splendor. They stopped at a clothier’s and Mr. Butter¬ field ordered a new suit for Artemus, afterward inquiring the price. “Ten-dollars,” answered the clerk carelessly, and proceeded to do up the parcel. Mr. Butterfield rose on his tiptoes, saying under his breath, “Fifteen-cents left to get home with.” But pride ruled his purse, so he paid the price and commanded Artemus to stop making a noise. He gained permission to change Artemus’ clothes in a little back room of the store, and soon that young man was arrayed in such a fine new suit that he would have been glad that lie had met with the disaster, if it had not been for the reprimand which he expected from his father, when he should leave the store. But his fears were dispelled when his father commenced on an entirely different subject. “How are we to get home with fifteen cents?” “Ef I hed anythin’ valu’ble, 1 might sell it,” lie said, “I don’t ’spose anybody’d want ter buy th’ luncheon Almirer Jane put up fer us, though there be a nice slice o’ joint an’ a ras’b’ry turn¬ over.” All at once, Mr. Butterfield thought of his blue umbrella, and though he was loth to part with the ancient article, he asked several people if they would like to buy it. He could not find anyone who wanted it, but one old lady suggested, “Why don’t you take it to the pawnbroker’s? There’s one right down the street here.” Thanking her for the suggestion, he acted upon it at once. He found the shop without any trouble, but the shrewd old pawnbroker shook his head and said, “Zat ees of no use to me, not von beet.” “Waal now,” exclaimed Mr. Butterfield some¬ what taken aback, “Yer don’ know what a chance yer losin’. There aint a person in Beantown that wouldn’t jump at th’ chance o’ buyin’ thet umbreller,” and he was plunging into its history when the man interrupted, “I haf no use for zat, but ze bag, I vill see ze bag.” For a moment, Mr. Butterfield was speechless with rage at the thought of the proposed desecration, but the stern realities of his position came back to him, together with the soothing remembrance that he could return immediately and redeem it, so he answered, “Mebhe I’ll sell it. But it ought ter bring a good lump o’ money.” “I gif you no more’n sefenty-fife cent,” ans¬ wered the man, with a hideous grin. “Seventy-five cents!” cried Mr. Butterfield indignantly, “Why thet bag’s worth more’n ten dollars, Gran’ther Butterfield paid fifteen dollars fer thet there carpet-bag.” “Veil, veil, as you pices,” and the pawn¬ broker turned away as if the transaction were ended.