Western High School - Westward Ho Yearbook (Baltimore, MD)

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Under False COlO1'S IC. lic DXVLING, '26, lfllf March wind blew lustily. Its keen, sharp blast penetrated even through the heavy fur wrap of S1 young girl who had just alighted from a street car, and who was now walking, with some difficulty the wind, northward on Connecti- cut Avenue. She shivered as the knife-keen cold pierced her, and drawing her luxurious coat still closer about her, hurried to the entrance of a nearby apartment house. Inside there was warmth and subdued light from soft-toned lamps glow- ing in the lobby, and with a sigh of relief the girl threw back her coat and -entered the elevator. Ten ffoors up she stepped from the elevator and in a few minutes she was standing in the cozy living room of her own little apartment. Carrie Marsden was tired, very tired, and she still felt, every now and then, a cold shiver as the howling wind blustered around the corner of the house, but the steam radiators in the apart- ment were hissing cheerfully, and the green and yellow love birds in their ornate cage in the Q ! E E ! i i in the face of sunniest window were singing blithely, and as she went to hang up her coat Carrie espied a and all letter and a package on the hall table, her weariness and cold vanished entirely. Today was her birthday. It seemed very queer to be away from home on her birthday. And Carrie. as she snuggled down in a nest of pillows on her soft couch, looked a trifle wistful, even though she had almost hated her home. lilagerly she opened her letter. The package she left for last, even as she had always left unopened long- est the bulkiest and most mysterious of Christ- mas bundles, hto have the fun of looking for- ward to them. The letter. just as she had thought, was a birthday letter from her hard- working mother at home in the little town, no, not town, community of Dalton. The beginning was full of tender messages and birthdav greet- ings, but the anxieties weighing upon the mind of the writer had evidently been too many and serious to allow the letter to be continued in such a tenor. lt set forth a situation which im- mediately changed Carrie's attitude of comfort and happiness. V 'fThings are not looking so good at home, wrote Carries mother. Your Ifncle -lacob's rheumatism is much worse, and he has gone to his sister's twhere he should have gone ages ago, muttered Carriej and left me without a mite of help on the farm. I'm mighty sorry vou couldn't send me any money, Carrie, but it does 8 seem like I can't go on another day without some. And the ,lersey is dead. I used to be able to make a little money on her milk, but now thats all gone, and honest, Carrie, things are awful. We can't get any coal. I only keep one stove going and old Trusty and I sit by it every night thinking of you, Carrie, darling, and wishing- but theres no use wishing that, I guess. Carrie dropped the letter and slowly opened the package. lt contained a gay, fancy pillow in the shape of a butterfiy. Carrie had a hobby of collecting strange pillows. On the couch where she now reclined was a plump, rose taffeta heart, edged with lacy ruiiles, and a cushion fashioned like the head of a Colonial lady, with powdered hair, patches and roguish blue eyes. Mother must have made the butterfly herself. That cre- tonne certainly savored of the Dalton country store! Carrie felt that she hated herself for that last thought. There was a smooth, rectangular package inside of the large one, and wondering, Carrie opened it. lfrom Uncle lake! The old man was considered quite an artist by his fellow countrymen who knew nothing whatever about art, and his work was rather good, albeit a little rough. ll'is old hand frequently trembled in ap- plying his brush, and his strokes lacked firmness and decisiveness, but his love and use of color always seemed to make up for his defects in technique. lle had done his best with the little sketch he had sent his niece for her birthday. liefore Carrie, in a poor frame, was a replica of her old home, low and brown and rambling. surrounded by a wid-e porch. There were cherry trees in the front yard and wistaria vines climb- ing over the porch, but Uncle .lake had not let his ideas of beauty eliminate sordid realism. There was also a broom on the front porch, a disreputable pump on the side, and a front gate hanging drunkenly by one hinge. f'At least he had sense enough to paint the old hut in summer and not in winter, muttered Carrie. The picture slid down to the fioor, but Car- rie did not heed it, She was thinking of home, home in the winter time. Ifghl It was awful. The Marsdens had alwavs arisen at dawn, cracked the ice that had formed in the wash basin, and dressed in the cold bleakness without a lamp. Carrie could see herself, attired in an unbecom- ing serge dress, with her hair in a tight braid. eating breakfast in the kitchen. The scene etched itself upon her mind with startling clear- ness. There was the battered old table with its red and white cloth and heavy china: the creak-

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WESTWARD I-IO 7 But you are 21 little dubious as to whether the . 'lfhere is another long see the proofs and eouse- Week in which to harbor worst is really over Week before you can quently another long' doubts and fears, as to the results of your labors. The sigh of relief which you had ex- pected to have after you left that terrible room with its blinding lights, will not eoine. Instead you turn to the girl beside you, and with a weary smile exelaini resignedly, And they say that Burke 'tests are the severest trials EL Senior must undergo ! llllvlosl, lmporfanl Occasion llmonq Us Sentara. Y' f 2 ,411 is so fm . 'jr' Ti ii X, 4 fl! IM ,I M l, C V gi it , Z , M -f I 57573 I U ,' L , .' lg f argl' V ' 'il . U 5 , wif- I f i rl v 'Y l if 'fi ill ,Wi f V IT, ' 9 , wif ll' ' nl 1 'lt , X ,N 1, N Q i? o A 4' ' - 1 sums! GD ING! GUNETW M -s--4mcigQ,j,3DJz:x--4' IN THE DAISIED HOLLOW Mary Elizabeth Sweeny, '29. ln the daisied hollow, Life again shall be, As the winds that follow The whisper of the sea, A long light from the shadow, A broad ray from the gloom, And then the April meadow Awakes with leagues of bloom. We've wintered with the weather, As light hearts will that go To make believe together That snow is not the snow. And now from shadows turning As turns the year, we leap With joy in bright eyes burning, Forgetting eyes that sleep. So shall the fortress darkened Along the Walks of life Be as a peace that's hearlcened Unto the buglecl strife. And out of sorrow straying, l..ove's clay shall still be sung, On lips of endless Nlaying And harps forever young.

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WESTWARD HO 9 ing rocking chair beside the drum stove that sup- plied heat to the one room in the house that boasted such a luxury, and the old-fashioned range, over which h-er mother, enveloped in a huge apron, was bending. Uncle Jake. bent with age, sat in a corner sharpening knives. and stoop- ing every now and then to bestow a friendly pat upon the broad head of the shaggy black dog lying at his feet. Funny how animals loved Uncle lake. lt was because he loved them, she sup- posed, almost as much as he loved the sunsets. and the violets that ran rampant in the back yard. There was one thing she would always remember about Uncle lake. One day when she had been complaining as usual about the dingy furniture and the dusty walls, and had declared weeping, There's never anything pretty here. never, never, Uncle jake had taken her by the arm and had led her to the window. He had spoken in an unusually quiet tone. '!Carrie, girl, there's nothing under the sun puttier than that. and he had pointed to a cherry tree, a riot of bright pink blossoms against the blue of the sky. But she had wrenched herself angrily away. A tree! The sky! NYhat she wanted were soft draperies and gorgeous flowers in low. colorful bowls. A tree indeed! In a few minutes Carrie knew, as she looked back into the past, that Uncle jake would hobble out to hitch up old Ben to the rickety cart. and drive up to the door with a Hourish. calling out, The kerridge awaits your highnessf' all the time wrinkling up his cracked lips over his almost toothless gums in sardonic humor. She almost hated him then, and during the drive to the school house she would sit grim and silent. while Uncle jake occasionally chuckled to himself, or exclaimed over the picture made by a lonely pine standing out in bold relief against the lowering sky. Carrie had tried to forget the old district school house, heated by stoves and -eternally in an uproar, but she had one memory of her child- hood days that she treasured. That was the memory of the county high school, established and nominally supported by the county, but ac- tually the pet hobby of a philanthropic million- aire whose country home was nearby. and who equipped the school with all modiern conven- iences, and sent out from the city the finest teachers. The County High School was not near Dalton, and few Dalton boys and girls attended. being kept at home for farm work, but Mrs. Marsden, remembering the fine education of her late husband, decided that Carrie must become a pupil at the school. But in a way her education had done her as much harm as good. Never quite content with her lot, and rebellious as a child, she had risen above her homely neighbors and her own family, and had soon become more restless and dissatisfied than ever. Vague ideas of going to the city took possession of her, and at night as she lay in bed she could hear the whistles of the trains on the tracks nearby, going from. VYashington to Tjaltimore, from Baltimore to Vtlashington. Vthen the shrill whistles screamed she would dash to the window, and resting her elbows on the sill, would look at the rushing trains until the last car had swung around the bend. And then, back to bed to dream of the time when she would go with them! Her decision had been formed soon after this. She went to one of the infrequent neighborhood gatherings, which she never enjoyed and at- tended only for a change of atmosphere, and there she met a young girl of her own age who was working in XVashington. Fine job, too, and some cash! You oughtn't to stay buried in this hole, dearie. Snap out of itll' And Carrie had snapped out of it. She had packed her few clothes, said farewell to her weeping and bewilder-ed mother, and after prom- ising to go to her- mother's cousins, whose ad- dress she had, at last rode away from Dalton on a XYashington bound express. Her heart pound- ed happily as the train rushed toward the city where she was to make her fortune. How glad she would be to get away from the dingy, sordid life of the country, the smoking lamps. and the stove that burnt up one's face while onels back froze. She arrived in XVashington, and after various inquiries presented herself at her cousins' home. They did not at all fit in with her dream of city happiness. Their home in the southeast part of the Capital was small, stuffy and almost as bad as the farm. llut the people were hospitality personified, and, strangely enough, it was through them that Carrie received her great opportunity. She had walked the streets looking for a position, but it had seemed that no one wanted to employ a country girl without experience. and Carrie turned sadly away from door after door. She was feeling all her rosy dreams vanishing when Cousin Joe Parker told her of his plan. Cousin ,loe was a typist in the offices of the Clerk of the Supreme Court: he had grown old in the service and was now much respected by all his co-work- ers. He was so happy to think he could do something to help Carrie that his kindly old face beamed as he told her his news. The file clerk in the ofnce had resigned, and another one must be had immediately. Cousin joe had at once recommended Miss Marsden, and since the need of a clerk was so imperative. Miss Marsden was requested to report for duty the following day. Carrie was jubilant. Her ability to work and her interest soon won for her the approval of