University of Santa Clara - Redwood Yearbook (Santa Clara, CA)

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The Awakening By Henry Veit. HE spacious room was softly dark and warm, dark save for the flickering light of the waning embers, the large hearth emitted. It was resonant, even to the muffled tread of Jack Selby and his sister Elaine, who had just returned from an evening at the Cort. Jack wasn ' t the show wonderful? Elaine whispered. His reply was cut short by a sh-h from Elaine. Dad is asleep, she said, I ' m go- ing to surprise him. The room had about it an atmosphere of real home, soothing and impressive. Jack began to remove his wraps. He watched with an air of appreciation, the graceful form of Elaine glide noiselessly, with out-stretched arms to- ward the reposing figure. What filial affection and devotion she displayed. So like her ; so like a real grateful child of a hard working parent. Jack admired this devotion in his wonderful sister and he smiled a smile of satisfac- tion and joy as he witnessed her girl- ish prank. Hello, you dear old Daddy, she called, kissing him and encircling him with an affectionate hug. But there was no opening of the closed lips, no response to this warm salutation, no tender paternal kiss, which she had eagerly awaited and which it was his wont to give. She withdrew non-plussed. Then after a few wild moments the awful reality dawned upon her. Jack! He ' s dead, h-he ' s dead, Jack, she moaned pitifully. A con- vulsive sob shook her delicate frame and she dropped to her knees, tugging entreatingly at the insensate form, as if in appeal to the cold icy hand of Death to yield back unto earth, the harvest it had just reaped. But the rift between Life and Death was an interval that human entreaties could not bridge. The venerable old man had wandered across a bourne that knew of no return. Come away, Sis, entreated Jack, lifting the weeping form from the dead body. There were huge tears trickling down both his cheeks and a choking grief possessed him. He is better off in that far-away land, con- tinued Jack consolingly. You ' re all wrought up, girlie. Come now, you

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Entered Dec. 18. 1902, at Santa Clara, Cal., as second-class matter, under Act of Congress of March 3, 1879 VOL. XVIII SANTA CLARA, CAL., NOVEMBER, 1918 NO. 1 3to a l tbmtmb DREAM, O towering spire by Nature wrought, Here, wkile I mark thee pierce the azure sheen ! Dim, silent centuries deigned thee not a thought- This velvet rote unnoted, clustering green, These glistening, jet-black caverns lightning-struck ! Majestic Guardian of a rich domain ! The fangs of furies scar thee still, they pluck Thy nursling brood, thy mossy bed profane — Ages agone, the mighty arms were maimed ! Strangers from lands far-off now christen thee ; They bring their Art and glittering names far-famed ; Thou smilest at the tribute : thou art free ! Free as thine ancient playmates, Air and Sea ! B. J. BARATONO

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THE REDWOOD had better retire to your room; you ' ll need the rest. They were soothing, earnest words ; but her grief was too profound to ad- rait of any muting. She leaned heavily on Jack ' s supporting arm and stag- gered away to her room, in a daze, casting backward glances as she de- parted. Presently Jack sauntered wearily back into the death chamber. It was the first time in his young life that be- reavement had touched his kin. Death always adds years to an existence; even in a period of a few days or hours, when intimacy with this stern leveler of all men is first experienced; years of character development, those mould- ings and outgrowths that differentiate a mere youth from a grown-up man. Such sudden changes, now passed through Jack ' s being. He was enter- ing the eve of his twenty-first birth- day. How differently he had thought and felt just a few minutes previous. Life had meant so much to him then. But now the future opened to his mind like a book and he saw, ever so clearly the responsibility, the pressing require- ments brought on by this sad experi- ence, — his first intimate acquaintance with death With heavy heart he switched on the lights. The body looked so natural, so very much alive, albeit the king of terrors unmistakably inhabited that shattered house of clay. It was enshrouded in such peaceful composure, Jack could not but feel the end had come with no suffering, nor confronting apprehen- sion of death. An ominous silence filled the room, enhanced to awesoraeness by the presence of a dead body. On the verge of derangement, he sank into a chair, to think. Thinking was well nigh impossible for, ever was his gaze and with it his mind drawn to that inert form. But what was that, which the limp right hand clutched in its encircling fingers? It brought Jack back to composure. The grasp released a paper, yellowed with age. On the floor beneath lay the envelope. The one, written in a feeble feminine hand, stared at him with the words: For Jack Miller. To be read on his twenty-first birthday. Eagerly he sought out the contents of the other. It read: July 1897. My Darling Boy : To-day you are twenty-one, a man, and I know you are all that I had ever hoped you to be. I will die content, knowing full well, that every care, attention and blessing will be given you by your guardian, Mr. Selby, as if you were his own son. He befriended me when all had turned me down, gave me shelter that I might bring you into existence. But in doing so I must die. Gladly do I sacrifice my life. My dear boy love that venerable old man as you have never loved him be- fore. Make his declining years bright and happy as best you can. Your Father was a villain. He de- serted me in the hour of our greatest