Taunton High School - Journal Yearbook (Taunton, MA)

Page 66 text:

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 '

Page 65 text:

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

Page 67 text:

1' . 5.592 tef- THE JOURNAL f stride, and splashed through the shallow pond that was his dooryard. Once in the sodden field beyond, he stepped more carefully, but his deter- mination did not lessen. The drenching rain soaked the brim of his hat, and it flapped sloppily about his ears, sending rivulets of water inside the unbuttoned neck of his coat. His feet sank into the half liquid earth of the field, and the mud oozed into the tops of his shoes, but he paid not the slightest attention. Cautiously he neared the orchard. In the darkness and downpour nothing was visible far ahead save the shifting outlines of the trees. Morley stopped, and looked about him, thrusting his head for- ward to determine his position. The fool comes down to that tree in the lower corner, he thought. I'll get him there, sure. He crept toward the vague gray shape of the tree, and circling slowly, reached the outermost tips of its low branches. He listened. There was no sound but the monotonous swish of the rain. Stooping,-he advanced step by step beneath the boughs and gazed upward. Between himself and the dusk of the sky loomed a dim outline, only a blacker blot among the dripping branches. The figure seemed not to have perceived him. He crouched lower, and slid a step farther. Then with a spring he threw himself upward, his mighty arms closed about the figure, and without a cry both fell back into the mud. The clinging stuff hindered Morley's movements, it soaked his flap- ping coatg it plastered his hair and face and held him down: but with a colossal effort he struggled to his feet, still with his clutching hands about the neck of his enemy. I've got you, he rasped, hoarsely. A'Thought 'twas her comin' to feed yuh chocolate cake maybe, didn't yuh! I knew well enough where you'd be roostin' tonight. But you won't roost on my porch again. You've done it for the last time. D'ye hear? The last time! With a swift movement Morley whipped the knife from his pocket. One horrible cry shivered above the pelting of the rain, and Morley leaned panting against the tree trunk, gazing fascinated at the dreadful Figure struggling in the slimy mud. But even as he gazed the soft splash of a footstep sounded behind him. A hand appeared out of the darkness and thrust something quickly toward him. Jed, quavered the voice of his wife, Here's the pail and a kettle of hot water. You pick him. Don't seem's ifI could. He was the handsomest rooster we ever owned. 65 iii?