Spencer High School - Spencerian Yearbook (Spencer, IN)

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-- V .--.,...,n5... .W A FAILURE IN COURTSHIP-Continued. Dad she would bring them in. Suddenly, my feet grew light! I did not wait! I rushed from the house into the open air, the very tonic I needed. I Walked 'homeward with bowed head, as Napoleon from Waterloo, but unlike the Man of Destinyv my rising glory had been crushed in my first attempt. I needed no one to tell me, however, that the beau was not in my field of action, and down deep in my heart I even congratulated myself that I had escaped before things had come to a more dreadful crisis. One Thing at a Time. RUBY HICKAM, '13. One of the most amusing incidents of my life occurred when I lived on a farm about seven miles south of town. When I say amusing, I mean to other people, for to me it was anything but humorous. It happened on a lovely day in June, when nature combined all her charms to lure one out of doors. I was no exception to the ordinary mortal, who prefers the open to the narrow gloomy house. So selecting a book from the row on the table, and going outside, I sat down on a bench beneath a big elm. I had become absorbed in my story, which chanced to be Mrs Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch, when one of our horses came grazing about the lawn. He finally walked directly up to me and knocked the book from my hand with his nose, then he looked at me as if he thought he had done a good deed and deserved a reward. Suddenly the thought came to me that I might read while sitting upon the horse's back, so I immediately jumped on and resumed my story. Billy grazed about snatching a bite here and there where the grass seemed greenest and tenderest, while I paid little attention to him. Evidently he saw a particularly green patch some few feet away and on the opposite side of a clothes-line which bisected the back yard. He immediately started to get it, and wasted no time, for my sake, in going around such minor things as clothes-lines. The first intimation that I had of Biliy's desire, was when I felt a sudden shock in the vicinity of my neck, and found myself sailing off into space. After what seemed ages, I hit the ground, which in that particular spot was very hard. I sat perfectly still for a little while. Then I stood up. Billy, munching his grass, turned around and stared at me, with an expression that plainly said, What an idiot! Finally, looking about, I found my book in the fork of a plum tree. I limped into the house vowing never again to ride horseback, and read at the same time. 18

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A Failure in Courtship VVALTER CLARK, '13. ' V It seems that my life is not filled with a great store of humorous happenings, or else, being both by nature and by choice, rather melancholy, I have overlooked little touches of humor that have been dealt out to me here and there. Nevertheless, I recall one instance which may be con- sidered amusingg though at the time it was certainly otherwise. This was my first attempt and my last, for that matter, in the art of courtship, or, in the old rural dialect, Hsparkingf' The incident happened in this way. Across the neighboring fields there lived a country maiden, who had completely captured me. I was charmed by her subtle power, and made no effort to free myself from her peculiar magnetism. It was the one aim of my life to pay her my respects g and so I determined one Saturday -I never shall forget the day-to call the following Sunday evening. Sunday came at last and I arose early, after a sleepless night, to begin my much-neglected toilet. After working faithfully for half the day, fitting to my neck the only collar in my possession, one much too high, and adjusting myself to my Sunday coat of two summers before, and much too short, I struck out across the fields at a brisk pace, with my head full of castles in Spain that were doomed to fall in a miserable heap. The smoking ruins of burning Troy were small compared with the tremen- dous pile of air-castles that fell that day with the setting of the sun. While I was in the midst of pleasant reveries, the cozy farm-house appeared in view, and in the doorway stood Mollie looking for me, no doubt, for, as I well knew, she expected my arrival. She was not the tall and slender creature of romance, nor had she the transparent com- plexion of which poets make so much, but she was rather short and thick, with sunburned face, and hands that betrayed the milk-maid. I strode up to the door, bold as any knight that ever wore armor, and after a warm greeting was led across the threshold into the parlor. At that instant my courage sank within me. Never before had I realized that it took courage to be alone in the parlor with one's lady-love, and that that type of courage was the one thing of all others that I lacked. The very house seemed rocking on its foundations. Struggling for self-control, I staggered to the seat she offered, but attempting to sit, missed the chair. I arose quickly, however, and seating myself cautiously before that ca- pacious fireplace, looked for comfort in those inspiring flames. But without avail! My feet were,much too large, my hands looked big and red, and were terribly in my way. I sat and tried to think of something nice to say, but like Aeneas, my voice stuck in my throat, and I remained as dumb as stone. She talked interestingly, I suppose, for half an hour, endeavoring to soothe 'my disturbed mind and nerve-wracked system, but finally, tired of her monologue, she arose with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, and whisked out of the room, saying that if I had come to see her Ma and 17

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-v---'v-s--- .7-W - --Hg... W My Bout With Death. HERBERT WHITE, '13, One day in the Christmas vacation, I invited my friend, Jesse Cure of Martinsville, to visit me. When I 'phoned him, he made me promise him a good time before he would consent. This I did readilyg he came on the night train. My, but I was glad to see the rascal! He had not been here long before a duck-hunt was suggested for the morrow. When we found that we could secure a boat without much expense, we were over- joyed. After preparing the necessary outfit, we went to bed, but sleep came only in fitful spurts, for black mallards and teals flew through our dreams. We were up bright and early' next morning, and by day-break had every thing ready for the boat. After gobbling down a scanty breakfast, we started for the river and were soon packed in our long red skiff. As we rounded the eddy, a long curve in White River, the town clock solemnly struck seven. Jesse, who had never heard our clock, asked humorously whose funeral those bells were tolling. We floated on down the river, laughing and joking at each other's luck in the art of rowing and paddling. On our way there were bits of excitementg once Jesse was sure that some old snags, roots of an ancient sycamore, were ducks. Of course we both peppered away at the feathered U5 creatures, but imagine our chagrin when we found out the truth! Again an old king-fisher gave us some mighty fine shots, but neither of us winged him. By this time we had floated down to the first ripple, where I had camped the summer before. Here we began to ply our paddles and were soon shooting down the river at a rapid rate. Then came the dykes-huge piles of stones which were formerly used to keep the river within bounds. Just below the dykes We struck the narrows, where a little creek empties its waters into the river. Here the current was very strong, and swept the boat along like a feather. All at once I was startled to hear Jesse shout, Pull to the right! Quick! for God's sake! I pulled with all my might, but alas! it was too late. The boat struck heavily against a hidden snag, and was upsetting before I could have counted three. At the first shock Jesse was thrown far out into the river, and was instantly swept down by the current. I was left alone in a capsizing boat, unable to help myself. I remember running to the far end and jumping out into the stream with my shot-gun in my hands. - But instead of being swept away, I was caught by my sweater on the roots of the old snag, and there I hung, the current swaying me frantically under the water and out again. With a mighty effort I tore myself loose, and then went down! O, it was horrible! I could not breathe! I could not see! I remember thinking of my mother and my girl, and of their pain if I were drowned. Then my brain cleared! Letting my gun go, I fought for the surface. After years of battling for my breath, I finally reached the top. My lungs were aflame, and the air was life. I had a fight to stay on top, for hunting- ing-boots and shells weighed me down in the icy water. Then I turned on 19