Taunton High School - Journal Yearbook (Taunton, MA)

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A DOMESTIC TRAGEDY ETHEL RICHMOND windless, dreary downpour beat upon the tin roof of the low farm kitchen, filling the room with its depressing rumble. At long intervals a single great drop seeped through the board ceiling and fell square upon the newspaper of the man before the stove, but he gave no sign that he noticed. Although his deep brooding eyes were fixed upon the print, it was plain that he did not read and that he was unconscious of everything about him. His whole attitude was one of gloomy thought. His powerful frame was slouched heavily in the chair, one foot elevated upon the stove hearth, the other stretched along the floor before him. His moody brows were drawn into a straight black line, and his jaw clinched the stem of a begrimed corncob pipe, at which he puffed explosively. The wrinkled edge of his newspaper was clutched in a knotted, hard, brown fist. A woman shuffled back and forth through the acrid haze of smoke from the pipe, but he neither spoke to her nor looked in her direction. He did not even glance up when she stumbled over his feet on her way to the woodbox for fuel. She was a woman nearing forty, still comely, al- though now her face was drawn and her feet dragged with weariness. She was setting a sponge of bread dough for overnight, and as she slow- ly stirred in the Hour, she glanced with a curious apprehension at the moody figure by the stove. Twice she seemed about to speak, but paused doubtfully. At last, as several drops of water splashed upon the man's newspaper, she said, in a cheerful tone which was plainly forced Your paper's gettin' all wet, Jed. I guess I know it, growled the man between his teeth. But he did not move, and the woman with a worried pucker on her forehead turned to her bread again. The only sound was the drumming of the rain on the roof and the scrape and thump of the woman's mixing. Merely to relieve the quiet she rattled her spoon and pan, and, as she finished,clapped the cover on the pan with a resounding clash. She pulled a little table raspingly toward the stove and set the pan with a thump upon it, mean- while attempting to hum a little tune, which died out vaguely in the oppressive silence. Sighing, she picked up a mending basket and settled herself in a chair beside the smoky lamp. 63

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THE JOURNAL any more damage and placed him under the care of Nellie Simmons, the sheriff. The next case was that of Grace Woodward against the Parlow Pencil Company. Grace being an authoress, claimed that she could not write with the pencils furnished her as they spelled all the words wrong. I stepped into a news store to buy a ticket for the next boat across. Vi Rayment was talking to Helen Wiley. I want to get Skeet a book for a birthday present. What bind- ing is most suitable? Calf, I should say, replied Helen. I bought my ticket, and went aboard. About a day out the ship foundered. but as she carried a cargo of soap, we were all washed ashore. The strain was too great for me, however, and I have never fully recovered. The prescription of my physician had failed. All this change of scenery and of environment had availed nothing, nor had my human relationship. Nothing remained for me but pleasant recollections of renewed acquaint- ance with my mates of the class of 1921. May their shadows never grow less! 'if VQCN5 'Far 537 2 i' I 4 C tp L., 62

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THE JO URNAL Suddenly Jed threw down the paper and clumped across the kitchen to the window with his head still bowed in gloomy meditation. He stared into the darkness through the rain-spotted glass and slowly knocked his pipe against the sill. Gradually his sagging hulk of a figure straightened, and the muscles of his jaw knotted. Then, without turning he said, deliberately and calmly, I'll kill him, Mame. I'll kill him tonight. Jed Morley! gasped the woman, swallowing the last syllable with a little choke. Her hands dropped limply to the pile of mending in her lap, and she stared in a kind of daze at her husband. Oh! You--you-Oh, don't! she whispered, faintly. Morley turned upon his heel, and with a sardonic smile and reckless jerk of his shoulders, said, He's grabbing everything I've got on the place. I can't stand it. I won't stand it. It'll be a good thing when he's gone. But, Jed, I don't want you to, trembled the woman. What do I care what you want? snarled Morley, angry now. You could've stopped him from gettin' that corn, but you never stirred your stumps to save it for me. Just let it go the way everything else has gone in the last few weeks! Just let him have it! Jed, don't kill him. I should think you could get along with him some way, said the woman, pleadingly. I always did. lil always kind of liked him. The man turned upon her angrily. Yes. You! Oh, you could get along with him all right. You always kind of liked him. I know well enough yuh did. I.ettin' him set on my porch all day, and you talkin' to him and feedin' him pie and cake. I know yuh kind of liked him, but I told yuh I'd kill him, and I will to- night. He won't sit on my porch again, eatin' my victuals and plannin' what he'll grab next. I know where to find him tonight well enough. I'll slit his throat for him! Mame stared speechlessly as her husband whirled crossed the room, slapped an old felt hat on his head, and hunched himself into a ragged coat. He strode to the mantel and drew from behind the row of kerosene lamps a slender knife. His violent movements unbalanced a glass chim- ney, and it fell with a splintering crash into the sink. At sight of the knife, the wife gave a little cry and sprang toward him. Not that way! O Jed, not that way! It's as good a way as any I know of, he snarled, and pushing her a- side he flung himself through the door, slamming it so that the dingy walls of the old kitchen shook. He stepped from the porch in one great 64 lt.-. a '