San Diego State University - Del Sudoeste Yearbook (San Diego, CA)

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IO WHITEAND GOLD The Mission of J erry Mitchell . While walking along the shore near a small fishing village in southern Mame I espied, sitting on the sands in one of those caves half hidden by the overhanging cliffs, a sailor whose bronzed face and well knit frame sug- gested buffeting gales and tempestuous seas, and by his side a child as fair as he was tanned, and as frail as he was sturdy. That evening a native of the village told me the following pretty story about them. Skipper Cole was known for miles around as one of the most fearless lishermen who ever fought against wind and weather in his little craft, the Nancy Jane. He endeavored by honest means to- make his little home snug and comfortable for his wife and baby girl. Fortune favored him until one winter, with a number of comrades no less brave than himself, he was called out by the signals of a ship in distress. The work of saving the passengers and crew of the doomed vessel was progressing as rapidly as could be ex- pected on such a wild and moonless night, when suddenly there came a ter- rific crash, and a falling mast struck the skipper and broke his legs They now endeavored to pull for the shore, but in vain; the loss of one able bodied man made it impossible in such a sea; and when it became improbable that land would be reached the skipper took from his bosom a locket containing a- curl of his babyls hair, and giving it to a young sailor, an orphlan to Whom he had been kind, bade him take it with his blessing to his wife if he chanced to be washed on shore alive. So it happened. The sailor lad, Jerry Mitchell, was picked up half dead next morning, stlill clinging to a broken spar. He could not perform his mis- sion at once, However, as he was confined at home by a long attack of fever brought on by undue exposure. When at last he was well enough to walk up to the lonely cottage on the hill he found it vacant. Making enquiries con- cerning the late occupants, he was told that the skipperls wife had not out- lived her husband many weeks and that his little girl, Dorothy, was at present with one of the neighbors, who though struggling to raise a large family, yet had room in her heart and home for one more. Mitchell saw the child andI because of his promise to her father, resolved to keep, as he said, an eye on it? He left a small sum of money with her kind foster mother, only enough to take care of her a very short time, but it was all he had. When he came back from his next cruise, a long one lasting several years, tawny and weather- beaten, the girl, who had grown beyond recognition, was at first shty and silent, but attracted by his evident frankness she soon became attached to him, and he to her. Now whenever he returns from a cruise Dorothy is; the first to greet him and the last to say good-bye. During the time his vessel is in port they may be seen walking together over the hills or sitting on the sands, and he tells her of strange lands and people seen on his last voyage, illus- trating his stories with peculiar pieces of wood and bits of coal or moss picked up at some foreign port. So these two lone creatures like Silas Warner and Eppie were drawn together.-A. E. W.

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WHiTEANDGOLD 9 A Mistake in Identity The street was jammed by a motley throng of hurrying people. The rasping whistles of automobiles added to the confusion by their signals of danger. Street car bells jingled discordantly. Men yelled at their horses to move along faster. On one corner a peddler enumerated in, squeaky tones the merits of his wares, and on the other side of the street an auctioneer shouted prices at the top of his voice. The doleful tune of a hand organ floated along with the other sounds in a mournful undertone. From the edge of the crowd a large, angry looking gentleman appeared. He was dragging relentlessly along two little boys. Both children were well dressed but extremely dirty and disheveled in appearance. The face of each urchin as he pulled back was distorted from pain and frighti. One boy tearfully begged to be released, but the other struck viciously at his captor with a clinched list. The portly gentleman, however, paid little hieed to these demonstrations of resistance. His face was red and he was puffing hard from wrath, as he sputtered exasperatedly, , iTl-l just teach you young rascals not to disturb the peace by fighting in the street and splashing mud all over a gentlemanis clothes? Leime go, I say? screamed one youngster, his voice rising to a shriek above the roar of traffic. . HHonest true! Iill never do it again, sir? whined the other. iiWell! Indeed! I most certainly intend to see that you dont! wheezed the reformer, severely, getting redder than ever, and enforcing his words by a vigorous jerk at each coat collar. tiWhat iyer go'en ter do with us ? boldly asked one culprit as he aimed a strenuous kick at the portly gentlemanisi gouty foot. Ouch! you dare do that again, you uncivilized young heathen, and 1 ?! have you sent straight down, to Purgatory? exploded the irate gentleman. limping with the pain. - The boy, having discovered a weak spot in the enemyis line of de- fense, was not slow to follow it up. Kick after kick was leveled at the dis- abled member. The stout gentleman was fairly dancing now with the pain. His silk hat fell off and rolled in the gutter. Instantly a frolicsome pup pounced on it, as the latest fad in playthings. The big man made one frantic leap to recover the chbrished article. In this new crisis he forgot his gout. As for the small sinners-they escaped with astonishing rapidity when that iron grip was once released. By this time the large gentleman was purple with rage. His clothes were splashed with mud, his boots scuffed and his hat battered in. He had an appointment tio meet the big railroad magnate the next hour, but he had forgotten, the fact. Muttering threats to himself he started forward with the fixed intention of having his grievances set to rights by action of the law. At the corner he came face to face with the railroad king. The portly gentleman was just on the point of making his most deferential bow when his two small tormentors rushed up to the great magnate, screaming, iiPapa! Papa! that old fat man tried to kill us. The portly gentleman fearing his chances in life might be ruined if he lingered, hurridly turned away and was soon lost sight of in the busy throng. I asephine Elizabeth C lark.

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WHITEANDGOLD H The Mystery of the Overturned Bed Late one afternoon I was walking in a little village on the outskirts of San Diego, when 1 was greeted by an old acquaintance, Will Ashton. I no- ticed that his face wore a worried expression and so I immediately asked him what the matterwas. Its this way, he answered. HWhich way W said looking first one way and then another; but he was in no mood for pleasamtry and continued: Well, you see, old Mr. Wanren died the other day and I agreed to make the whim? I see, I replied. Ashton is a mighty nice sort of a fellow, but his temperament is the highly nervous type that closely verges upon the super- stltious. II have finished it, but PM have to keep it in my room until tomorrow and I domlt hanker after staying along all night with a coffin for company. Suppose the old gentleman's ghost should feel worried for fear he wouldn't fit comfortably and should come poking around to investigate. It doesnlt make me feel hospitable to think of entertaining him. I laughed and offered to spend the night with him. Ashton has a room over a drug store on- the main street of the village. Across the hall roomed William Forbs, the druggistls clerk. As my friend and I entered the hall on our way to his apartment, Forbes laughingly accost- ed him with the remark, tlI say, Ashton, all you need is a headstone and a dose of poison and youlll be fully prepared to enter the hanks of the clear departed? But Will slammed the door of his room and his neighbor clattered down- stairs. Willis room was large and comfortably furnished; the 10ng black object of sinister aspect was placed as far as possible from the bed. which stood in one corner of the room. The evening passed quickly for we had much of mutual interest to talk of, but at eleven thirty we went to bed for we were both unusually tired, and were soon sound asleep. I do not know how long we had slept, when, horrified by a nightmare of ghosts, my friend threw himself heavily upon me, and with an unearthly squeak the bed sprung skyward! We awoke to find ourselves in two confused heaps on the floor and our bed closed up like a j asck-knife. Simultaneously we accused each other of playing a practical joke upon the other fellow. Then we both professed innomoe and threatened at times to emphasize our asser- tions with blows, so earnest did we become, but all to no purpose. Then Will lit the lamp and we carefully searched every corner of the room and thor- oughly examined the erratic bed, but not the slightest cause for the disaster could we discover. uIt must have been Warrenls ghost, W315 my final verdict. But this idea did not please Ashton and he started a theory of his own. I think it was an earthquake; it must have been an earthquake, nothing else could come in without unlocking the door or breaking a window. Except a ghost? humorously I reminded him, but he was too puzzled to see anything funny in the occurrence.