Santa Rosa High School - Echo Yearbook (Santa Rosa, CA)

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6 THE ECHO. tone of voice. Amid the explanations of sympathy, surprise and wonder, Ralph betook himself once more to the dining room. As he opened the door, a draught of cold air swept across the room, and he crossed to close the win- dow. For a moment he stopped to gaze at the twinkling lights high among the massive beams of the skeleton hotel. Slowly his gaze centered on a little knot of workers gathered together at the junction of four huge beams, directly under a light. Something in their actions arrested his attention and as he looked, something struck the window-sill beside him. It was the large, bare, well-picked drum-stick of a turkey. So those were the “spooks,” were they? Those men climbing by the window to work. The maid out fixing the dressing, and the beam so close to the window-sill. As Ralph’s mind grasped the details, one by one, a laugh came from the group above. It broke the strain, and his grim face relaxed to a grin, while the grin broadened to a smile, as he chuckled to himself, “Poor Tom, he would get married.” —A. S. ’12. A Hero OWDY, Mr. Cooke! I been atryin’ to make my way in here ‘bout an hour, ‘cause I heard you might consider carryin’ a passenger. Be you thinkin’ “bout it? That so? Then, maybe you'd take me along. I’m adyin’ to go, an’ my wife Mirandy, she sez she'd hate like anything to have me go, but she’s right when she sez, ‘Folks have to do something to show how brave they are, and make people realize that you're somebody.’ Now, ain’t that right?” Si, from under his broad, summer, hat, gazed earn- estly into the face of Mr. Cooke. There was a smile playing about Mr. Cooke’s mouth, as he looked at Si, for the latter was a typical backwoodsman. He was very tall and angular, had a short, pointed beard, a long mustache, and a head covered with straw- colored hair. “Well, 1 am prepared to carry a passenger, but, as he has disappointed me at the last minute, I could take you,” returned Mr. Cooke; then added, “but you know it is cold up in the air, so unless you can bundle up, better not attempt a flight this time.” Si’s face was beaming, as he replied, “Oh, I can manage fine. How long before you're goin’ to start? Ten minutes? All right; I'll just go and get ready.’ And Si departed. Making his way through the group about the aviator, Si hurried across the track, through the entrance, and, upon turning down the road, screamed out in delight, “I’m a-goin’, Mirandy! I’m agoin’!” By this time the happy excited man had arrived at the side of an old spring wagon, in which sat Mirandy and several children. All were staring at the hero with open mouths; then Mirandy explained: “But Si, you ain’t got no overcoat, and say, Si, wh—what—if anything should happen to the machine, an’ you—you’d be hurt? Wh—why—S-Si, I-I-I’d just die!’

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THE ECHO. 5 see his right foot descend with a mighty thud, while a grey carpet slipper, several sizes too large, flew from its moorings and went skidding across the room. Tom felt, in the moments that followed, just as he did six years be- fore, when, as a Freshman, he had served his turn at the faucet. The minutes sped quickly by, but the players around the table, busy with their cards, were in total ignorance of the fact. Sophia exclaimed, more to herself than anyone else, “Oh, dear, what’s more aggravating than a poor hand.” “Shoes,” suggested Dick, winking across the table at Tom. When the laugh had died down, Ralph looked up from his hand and said, “Say, old man, bet you the treats tomorrow noon, | can tell you what we're going to have for dinner tonight.” “Fire away,’ Tom responded. “Well,” Ralph began, “it goes something like this: roast turkey, dressing, baked potatoes, thick brown gravy, bread and butter, cranberry sauce”— “Confound that maid,” Tom broke in, “has she been talking again!” “And I'll take a chance on the desert,’ Ralph added. “Furthermore, old boy,” this from Dick, “it’s all to be on the table at once,—no courses, everybody helps himself,—a genuine square meal.” Tom was dumfounded, but before he could speak, the door across the room flew open, and a terrified maid, in white cap and apron, rushed in. As well as her terror would allow, she gasped excitedly, “Oh, Mr. Kinley, Mis’ Kinley, come ,quick! quick! Burglars! Robbers! Looks of consternation and amazement passed from one to another as they followed the frightened girl to the dining room. They stopped in wonder on the threshold, while the maid told her story. She had set the table, she said, with everything, turkey and all. Then she had gone to the kitchen to prepare some forgotten dressing,—the things would keep hot,—and had been gone only ten minutes, but when she returned everything was as it was now. Such a sight—the big. g, tiful, white table linen fringed with a border of thick, brown gravy, while empty platter where the turkey had been, an overturned dish, the beau- the opposite side was stained bright crimson by the cranberry sauce. Even the potatoes were gone. The girls were white as sheets as Sophia laid her shaking hand on Tom’s arm and said, “Oh, Tom, go get the janitor, maybe he can help us.” She hadn’t the least idea what good the janitor could pos- sibly do, but Tom went. As he left, Dick turned from the group, muttering something to himself. When Tom returned to the awe-stricken group with Mr. Jenkins, the burly janitor, Sophia said quickly, “Oh, Mr. Jenkins, what do you suppose went with it?” The janitor was plainly puzzled, but answered, “Dunno Mis’, must be spooks.” Somewhere in the darkened hall without a door squeaked on its hinges. Ruth Madge gave a terrified scream and sank to the floor, unconscious. Ten- derly they carried her to the lounge and sprinkled ice-cold water on her face, but it was several minutes before she opened her eyes again—just as the in- mates of the adjoining apartments came rushing in, attracted by the scream. Explanations were in order, and Tom gave them in anything but a pleasant

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THE ECHO. 7 “Now, Mirandy, don’t you start a-cryin’, ‘cause Mr. Cooke, he’s all right, an’ even if anything does happen, remember your Si’s a hero. I ain’t got no overcoat, but Samanthy Ann, you give me that buggy robe, and I'll be as warm as can be. Now, Pete, remember you’re a man, an’ if anything hap- pens to your dad, be good to your ma and the kids. Goodbye, Reuben; bye- bye Sally and Mandy. Mirandy, I’m a-goin’, and if I don’t come back, you— why, Mirandy! you always wanted me to be a hero, so you musn’t cry that way. Mr. Cooke’s waitin’, so—so long.” With this, Si departed, a large red bandana before his eyes, and an old buggy robe over his arm. From the wagon came a mingled sound of crying and calling. Between the sobbing of Si’s children, came Mirandy’s pitiful calls, “Oh, Si, you ain't leavin’ us for good, be you? Si, goodbye; Si, you are a hero sure; but I want you, oh, so bad; Si. I can’t stand it any longer, come back, come back.” But Si was already seated in the biplane, trembling and shaking, with a robe wrapped about him, and Mirandy’s shawl about his head. As the biplane left the ground, a loud and mighty scream was mingled with the roar of the machine, for Si was afraid. As they rose higher and higher, he entreated Mr. Cooke to let him off, but the latter was either too absorbed in his work, or did not hear him. Meanwhile, on the ground, more eyes were centered upon the pitiful group in the wagon than upon the airship. Mirandy, almost hysterical, breathlessly gazed heavenward. “They’re goin’ too high,” she moaned. “Now, where are they? I can’t see “em. So high, you say, Pete? Ain’t they comin’ down now? Oh, oh; they are both on their last journey, for they’re sinking; they’re falling! Oh, Lord! have mercy on Si. Save my Si! And now they’re gone; they have fallen over there, and my husband is gone; he'll never talk to us'any more. Oh, how can I bear it!” By this.time Mirandy was in a sad condition, hysterical and wild with grief. People gathered about, trying to reason and comfort her, but of no avail; for indeed, many thought something had happened, as the airship had swooped suddenly downwards, then seemed to fall on the side of Taylor mountain. Suddenly a mighty shout arose, and, as Mirandy raised her head, she beheld in the distance, over the mountain, a speck, which steadily grew larger and larger. Was it really her Si coming back to her; or was she dreaming? No, it was her Si, for everyone said so. She was thankful; so, after giving thanks for so much good fortune, she again watched eagerly. “Why, he’s comin’ lower and lower. Surely he ain’t goin’ to land on top of us! No, they’re goin’ up again. See, Samanthy Ann, your father is a real hero!” Mr. Cooke guided the graceful machine over the track, circled over Santa Rosa, and continued to circle about, until Mirandy forgot her fears in the enthusiasm over the flight, wondering how Si was’enjoying himself. Si, high up in the air, was not enjoying it. Besides being cold, he had a strange feeling whenever he opened his eyes, so he kept them shut. Grad- ually the shawl about his head became looser and looser. He thought to himself, “What if that shawl should come loose and get torn in the ma- chinery, then Mirandy would fix me even if I am a hero; but I dare not lift my hand to fix it!” Finally Si did lift his hand to hold the headgear; and