St Peters Academy - Veritas Yearbook (Saratoga Springs, NY)

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llRAllEullPalliCIlf CIlRDllllllBullbllB$ PATRICIA TOTTEN The sun beamed through the neatly curtained window and found its destination on the tousled head of an eight year old boy. Bunky Farrell turned over in bed and drew the blanket closer about him. The September morning had just enough tang in it to make a blanket a thing of luxury, and Bunky had the comfortable awareness that it was Saturday morning and he didn't have to go to school. An agitating sound, however, drifted up from the back yard, flustering his comfort. He pushed the cover from around his freckled ears and listened. Someone was hammering on the boards of his rabbit hutch. Why did things always have to happen to keep a fellow from sleeping on Satur- day mornings. Hadnlt he earned the right to sleep after slaving over a school desk all week The hammering on the fence continued incessantly and at last Bunky crept down to the foot of the bed and peered out of the window. It was that old N111 Davis from next door nailing up the planks where they had ripped IQOse between the hutch and his garden. Bunky,s prize white rabbits, Amos and Andy ,at least thatls what he called them, had broken into the neighbors, garden several times Each time, Bunky had patched up the fence a little, not taking time to repair it thoroughly. Hl thought the o d fence would surely hold till I could get the rabbits out to the fair today, mused Bunky, as he ducked back under the cover. He was a firm believer in the saving of enelgy and had seen no necessity in fixing the fence when he intended conveying the rabbits out to the fairgrounds that very morning. The joy of his nap, however, had been spoiled. For a time he lay there staring goggle-eyed at the ceiling, having made up his mind to stay in bed late even if he couldnlt possibly sleep. He must have his rabbits ready, though, to take out to the fairgrounds by eleven o,clock. His Uncle Jerry was to have some poultry on display, and was coming in his jalopy to take Bunky and his rab- bits out. He had planned to spend the rest of the day in the delightful occupation of watching the carnival shows unload and put up their tents. The privilege of getting into the fair grounds when preparations were being made was one to which he had looked forward for several weeks. Bunky was wide-awake now, his mind busy with dreams of what he Would do with the prize money Amos and Andy were sure to win. ' The hammering had finally ceased. From the kitchen drifted the delightful fragrance of fryn ing bacon. He was out of bed at a bound. If there was one thing he craved better on a chilly morning than a cozy bed, it was a hearty breakfast. Bunky slipped casually into a pair of wrinkled dungarees, put on his shoes, and' took but a momentto greet the friendly croaking frog, in a box, under his bed. HWhat would lMom say if she knew, he chuckled. HNIorning Mom, whats on the menu today, he said as his father often did. uGood morning, Bunky, she chanted, uAnymore fugitives from menageries under your bed this morning. lAw gee Mom, how'd you find out, whimpered Hunky. liCanit I keep him lVIom, huh, lVIomfl I'm sorry Bunky, we're not operating a zoo. Bunky surrendered willingly. It was too nice a day to sulk, and besides he had to take care of his rabbits. He made sure that his neighbor had gone to work before he ventured out to the rabbit hutch. As he hastened through the back yard, over ti ncans and stray papers, his heart produced a queer thump, for there was 'no joyous squealing to greet his approach. Evidently, Mr. Davis had fright- ened them with his incessant pounding so that they were in hiding. Bunky had salvaged a fine bunch of turnips for their last meal before going to the fair. He had an uneasy feeling within him that he wasn't always too faithful about feeding them though he couldnlt bear the thought of any- thing going hungry. Opening the wire gate he thrust in his turnips, but there came no answering squeal of joy. The rabbits failed to account for themselves. Bunkysighed bitterly as he perceived the loose plank at the hack of the hutch. The fence on Mr. Daviss side had been neatly patched, but a plank was

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Steve was back in the corner a.gain taking a swig of water. Mac rubbed his shoulders, grumbling all the time. He was surprised at Steve's showing and he was making no bones about it. You got the first, Kid. Keep him going like you did and he won,t know where he,s at. Mac could see the timing and rhythm in Steve's footwork. He could see the short light taps he was landing'on Saundersl ribs e steady and challenging. I knew that his artistls sensitivity was paying off; several times he could anticipate a blow by watching his opponentls sallow face. But one thing neither of us knew-how long he could hold up under pressure. The gym hummed with voices. The crowd didn't quite know what to make of it. They had expected to see Saunders put on his usual free-swinging show but he was obviously confused. SteVe wasn't toying with him either. He was going after him carefully, with dogged concentration. I felt like yelling it out so that everyone could hear: uSure he's careful. Right now his future is all laced up in a pair of leather gloves. But I didn't say a word. ' As the gong opened the second round a group on the far side of the gym started heckling Sauna ders. I recognized the harsh voice of Cardacyls sidekick telling him to lean out and fight, Al. You afraid of a piana player? The boys near the ring laughed and turned around to see who it was. In the ring Steve was dancing away from Saundersl angry left. A sudden blow laid Saundersy defense wide open and Steve landed a blow that stung him, momentarily pushing him back against the ropes. He came back mad. Steve kept him OH for a while but he was breathing heavier now and the strain was beginning to tell. He got careless with a' left, throwing it a little wide. Saunders had been waiting for an opening. The blow shook Steve and he leaned heavily on Al in the clinch, trying to clear his head. The ref separated them and the bell stopped Saunders before he could follow up his advantage. r Steve sat on the stool and stretched out his legs. His shoulders were glistening wet under the hot lights and he was still shaking his head a little. By this time Mac was calling him by his first name. He mopped his face with the towel and checked the gloves almost tenderly. Something made me look out into the faces near the ring. For the first time since the beginning of the fight the noise in the room had changed from a droning undertone to the sweeping lifting rushes of sound that tell a fighter the crowd is behind him. Comments were coming from all sides - prais- ing, encouraging and advising. I slowly began to realize what must have happened. The scoHing crack about a piano player had unwittingly started a vollev of questions about Steve and the purpose of the fight. His story had spread to all the on-lookers. They were for him now but there were still three more minutes to go. I heard a voice say God let him win! and realized with a jolt that it was my own. I wasn't swearing. It was the most fervent prayer I ever offered. .For what seemed like an eternity they traded jabs, looking for a hole to send one home. Saun- ders finally threw a right for Stevels chin but he saw it in time to knock it of? his glove. It grazed his forehead, however, and a thin jagged cut blossomed over one eye. After that they weren't box:- ing any more, just punching savagely wherever they could. The noise from the ringside was deafening now; the crowd surged to its feet, stamping in pro- test. Steve was partly- blinded by the blood from the cut. The referee interfered too late - Saunders connected. Steve dropped to the canvas and lay still. Th locker room was crowded by the time we reached the door. They were all saying the same thing. i It was tough luck, getting that cut, Steve. Yould have had him sure. The corridor was empty when we left except for the warmth and the smell of leather. Outside, the fresh air felt clean and good. As we walked along, it began to rain. t THE END

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loose between the hutch and the vacant lot behind. Frantically, Bunky squeezed through the gate. One glance through the door of the little house indicated that it was empty. Without hesitating a moment he tore away the loose plank and struggled through to the vacant lot. The nibbled peaks of grass showed that they had strolled through there, but now they weren't anywhere in sight. After ten minutes of tiresome searching for tracks, he sat down dejectedly on an old mossy tree stump. How many steps had he taken to feed those rabbits? Now they had decided to play a trick on him at the last minute. He had always pulled against work and argued that it didn't pay, and now he was sure of it. He propped his elbows on his boney knee and cupped his chin in his hands, gazing with utter discouragement before him. Then he started suddenly, for his glance had fallen on a rabbit track imprinted neatly in the muddy road. A heavy rain having fallen the night before, Bunky had no difhculty now in tracing the tracks down the bumpy, marshmallowy road. The tracks revealed that the rabbits had skillfully turned otlj into Farmer Rowlandls corn field. Seating himself again he gloomily watched a number of crows filling their stomachs with the far- merls prize crop of corn. He couldnit bother to frighten them away. The old farmer ought to have gathered his corn long ago if he hadn't wanted it eaten! Then suddenly a thought came to Bunky that gave him an uncomfortable pang. What was the difference in his neglecting his fence and the farmerls leaving his corn there for the crows to eat? For the first time he began to realize that the rabbits were not to blame for their escape but that it was all his own fault. 'Gradually, Bunky saw things from the rabbits, point of view. Then he became still more thoughtful; if he had escaped where would he desire to go? Standing up he surveyed the surrounding plot of the farmerls field. Back of him was the town; in front and to the right of him was Mr. Rowlandls farm, and to the left, the woods and the creek. It was only then that he remembered that he had failed to give the rabbits any fresh water the day before. Naturally theyld be thirsty and head for the creek. Hastening down the rows of rustling, brown corn to the creek he searched in the soft oozing mud for tracks that might indicate their whereabouts. Before his eyes he found some tiny prints that led for some distance down the creek, then back across the field toward the farmefs garden. Bunky didnlt stop for tracks now, but ran on toward the garden. One sickening glance within showed him xthe rrabbits, feasting with gluttony on Farmer Rowland,s fall lettuce. He succeeded in finding the hole through which they had most likely entered, and stopped it up with wadded newspaper before he attempted catching them. He had just seized one by its big, floppy ears when suddenly a loud, angry voice hailed him from the garden gate. . llHey, what you doing there, you young upstart? yelled Farmer Rowland, brandishing a hoe threateningly at the frightened boy. i In his sudden fright Bunky let the rabbit escape. Cat catching my rabbits! They got out on me! The farmer peered over the gate, hunting out the destruction the rabbits had done be- fore he replied. IlWell, you needn,t bother to catch 'em, he said, coming into the garden. 1,11 catch em and eat Iem to pay for ruining my good lettuce. Bunky turned suddenly sick at heart. Would the farmer be so cruel as to take his prize rab- bits to pay -for the old lettuce? Was all his labor over them to be in vain? Stunned, he stood on the edge of the lettuce row while with loud yells and a waving hoe lVIr. Rowland frightened the ra Hhits to a far end of the garden and into a secluded,shady corner. ler. Rowland, please don't take my rabbits, pleaded Bunky when the old man came grum- bling back to look at the destruction. uI was going to put them in the fair e I'm sure theyld get a prize. They slipped out through a loose plank at the back of the hutch. HBut where do I come in ?'1 growled the farmer, his voice a little moderated, however. lVIy let- tuce is ruined, and I was intending to take it tomarket next week. uBut I couldnlt help - I meaneerf floundered Bunky, as he suddenly recalled that he could have prevented it had he mended the fence. uI'll tell you what 111 .do, bargained the farmer. Ill'll let you keep your rabbits if youlll re- plant the row they ruined. Itls too late for newlettuce now, but you can put in turnips insteadfl Glad of anything that would save his rabbit s, Bunky said, H0k sir - itls a bargain!