Southwest High School - Roundup Yearbook (St Louis, MO)

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Mommy, what's wrong? Joan asked, frightened by the look on her mother's face. Only one whistle, Joan. You didn't hear two, did you? UNO, there was only one. Why? That means there has been an accident at the mines. Oh Johnny! Her voice choked. Joan, go find your grandfather. Mrs. Martin sank slowly into the swing, her eyes wide with fear, her hands trembling. She looked up anxiously and spoke hurriedly as Mr. Andrews came on the porch, Dad, take me out there! Mr. Andrews, his face serious, trying to conceal his fear, replied, I think you had best stay here, Lucille. You would only be in the way out there. I'll phone you as soon as I lind out how everything is. And with this he got into the car and drove away before his daughter had time to protest. With brimming eyes Joan clung tightly to her mother's hand. Mommy, what's wrong? Why doesn't Daddy come home? Mrs. Martin sat down in the swing with Joan on her lap and bravely tried to comfort her daughter, even while fear clutched her own heart so that she could hardly breathe. He'll be home soon, dear. We'll sit here and wait for him. Joan sighed heavily and leaned back in her mother's arms. It seemed that hours passed before the telephone Hnally rang. When she heard her father's voice, Mrs. Martin breathed a silent prayer for her husband's safety. Dad, howl? I don't know yet, Lucille. There has been a gas explosion. The men are trapped and they haven't been able to get to them. There isn't any danger though so you mustn't worry. Twenty-seven

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EXPLOSION AT NUMBER 7 By J ANETTE LANE It was late afternoon in a little mining town in southern Kentucky. The August heat had driven most of the people inside, and the streets were prac- tically deserted. I Mrs. Martin, a tall, slim young woman, and her live-year-old daughter, Joan, were sitting on the porch of their small cottage on Elm Street, waiting for Mr. Martin, who worked at No. 7. It was almost four o'clock and all work at the mines halted at four. Mrs. Martin looked up the street anxiously. I wish John would hurry. I'm afraid supper will get cold. .Ioan squirmed thoughtfully in her seat and a few minutes later, with a serious look in her big black eyes, asked, Why does Daddy work in the mines, Mommy? Doesn't he get scared down there in the dark? Why, I don't know, dear. I don't suppose Daddy is afraid but he isn't going to work there long anyway. Just until we get the house paid for. He makes more money in the mines than he did as a bookkeeperf' Both had been silent for a few minutes when suddenly a shrill whistle broke the lazy afternoon silence. Mrs. Martin's face went white when no second whistle followed. She jumped from the swing and looked in the direction of the mines. Twenty-six

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Mrs. Martin spoke with a trembling voice. Dad, I want to come out there. I can't stand just sitting here. No, you mustn't, Mr. Andrews said quickly. He knew only too well that his daughter could never bear up under the pitiful sight that had met his eyes: wives, mothers, children, all crowded around the cage. Some were crying hysterically, while others stood silently, their faces tense and white, waiting, waiting. Why don't you go over to Mary's? No, I don't want to talk to anyone. Promise me you'l1 let me know as soon as they find him? Of course, dear. Goodbye. Mrs. Martin turned slowly from the telephone, the words her father had spoken drumming through her brain. Gas! Men trapped! Haven't found them yet! When she reached the porch. Joan was curled up in the swing asleep. She's so young. How can I help her if anything happens to John? Brushing a curl from Joan's forehead, she settled back in the fast dimming twilight to wait. Hours passed. Why didn't they phone? Joan moved slightly, and then sat up rubbing her eyes. Hasn't Daddy come home yet? No, dear, but he will be here soon. Are you hungry? Yes, but I want to wait till Daddy comes. All right, Joany. We'll wait. At eight o'clock Mr. Andrews telephoned again. He said the men were still working to remove the rocks that were blocking the passage. At nine Mrs. Martin put Joan to bed. Twice the telephone rang, but both times it was only friends calling to see if John had been found yet. Finally Mr. Andrews came home. Twenty-eight