Westport High School - Herald Yearbook (Kansas City, MO)

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28 THE wEsTPoRT HIGH SCHOOL HERALD- me and bore me away to his l1OUSC, Wllefe he insisted that I should stay. XVhen we arrived, dinner was already pre- pared. VVe went to the dining room forth- with. The table was set for two and he motioned me into one of the chairs, saying, My son will not return for dinner tonight. You will hll his place this eveningf' VVhe11 WC .were seated and he had the knife in a fillet of beef, he asked me to render him -an ac- count of myself for the years of my absence. I accommodated him and ate the delicious roast and drank freely of his old wine. I gradually grew to esteem myself as a hero and diligently set forth my reasons for this conclusion. The wine lent great impetus and fire to my tales. The kind applause of my friend urged me into a sort of oratorical fury that grew as I became more and more aware of my powers. I fumed for Tombreau like a spirited war horse. I roared like a cannon, with my fist I pounded the table as cannons pound the field. Time fled and Tombreau finally suggested that we adjourn to another room where we could smoke. As a farewell to the field on which I had just fought so eloquently, I bawled a toast to the Emperor. Tombreau clicked glasses with me and we both raised the wine to our lips. I did not drink, though. My eyes fell on a mirror just then, which hung on the side wall. It reflected the door by which we had entered, and, glowering from the gloom of the passage, I beheld a face. Inky eyebrows lowered in a black frown above long, narrow, tilted eyes. Full lips were bent into a sneer- ing smile that displayed sharp white teeth. The smooth oval cheeks were pale, and the candle light caused the face to stand out lividly from the darkness into which the black hair faded, losing the deflnite contour of the head. Those long glittering eyes saw my emotion, for I felt strangely embarrassed when I met them in the mirror. The sneer yielded to 3 fascinating smile and almost immediately a soft, musical voice sounded from behind I have come home earlier than I thought I could, fatherf' it said. A tall young man came forward into the light of the candles. He was well turned and gr3CefUl HS 3 Cat- HG looked a smiling question from me to Tom- breau while he drew the gloves from his long fingers. and flung his cloak into the hands of a servant. This, Brant, is Captain Nesbit, of whom I have often spoken. He has been kind enough to promise us his company during his stay in this cityf' I . The young man and I exchanged bows, and after he had tossed off a glass of wine we three adjourned to another room, where we lighted pipe and sat down to an evening of conversation. This Brant had a fund of anecdotes which he told with much dramatic vigor. He proved to be a most charming man. Yes, charming is the word, for one could not disobey those long dark eyes and white teeth. When they said laugh, it was a command that one must obey, yet a command that one often obeyed against onefs will. Those eyes of his were as effective in the ghoulish stories, o-f which he told a score, as in the mirthful tales. One of these was about a little sheathed poniard that lay on a table close by. Brant said he had bought it of a man condemned to die for a murder which had been committed with it. I-Ie had been induced to buy the dagger, he said, because of the superstition connected with it. The murderer, so went the story, had had it from a man convicted of murder, and he, in turn, had purchased it from an assassin who was doomed to die, and so on back through many years of crime. It had come to be thought that the stiletto was possessed of a supernatural power. Wfhen- ever the blade was unsheathed, the legend ran, it must kill. There was no hand that could resist this strange magic, Brant leaned over on hnishing his story, and with a laugh plucked the bright little blade from its jeweled scabbard. I wotildift have done it for worlds. Phi he hissed you have indeed fallen low, my little dagj ger, to b could lla There he flash Instincti turned 'E superstif Nou , . 4 7 Nor 'Enoi lt is lz another 0jmQ1'l 2111 he must yt-L1 yOl SO tl' minute: able for half wz son, W upon r sec his face of again shining dicted to bed I remf sion t gently medial I w: fused and gi were the st passer heard then slami voice: to tht ning They peopl VVI

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1, he re- active in Washing- igth even thousand to a thou- istinetive of Inde- ansferred .ier hands . but they ples that uctive of hat have But it is e in the een years hose that s-firmly ices, but f free and s almost 1. There an All- zt to give 'ull share, one man, i to Sam- .p all his it he de- IS, 'll. 1110c'lee1'y. away, ylzt Lose stars, irrii, 'l2. THE WESTPORT HIGH SCHOGL HERALD. 27 Brant IFTER twenty years of absence I re- turned to my native city. I came not as a friend to revisit the place of my birth, but, as you remember, in the ranks of the royal army which was ordered hither by the Emperor to frighten certain re- bellious subjects. So I was not everjoyed at the prospect of return, because I feared that some of my old friends might be engaged in the conspiracy against the Emperor. Wlhat qualms I had, however, were all dis- pelled when we arrived. The gates were fiung wide. Crowds thronged the roofs, filled the win- dows and fiowed over into the streets. Every mouth was filled with acclamations for his majesty. Every balcony was hung with the im- perial banners. As we passed along the street the din of voices was deafening. lt drowned our drums, it silenced our bugles, Napoleon l . Napoleon lf K'I,ong live 1 1 the Emperor !' burst from every mouth. I recognized many a lusty voice and saw many faces that I had known in my childhood. My breast was filled with pride as I rode my white horse at the head of my battalion. As we passed, il, noted with great pleasure every familiar window, every door and each pointed roof. Everything was beautiful in my eyes. THE FACE There was nothing that had not a score of pleasant memories hanging about it. It was late afternoon when we entered, and the evening found the troops encamped on the square. The officers were quartered in the lodging houses. To one of these I betook myself. Un knocking I was admitted to the smoky bar, where I encountered a man who was on the point of leaving. As I did not see him at first and as I blocked his exit, he was constrained to ask me to let him pass. . Pardon me, sirf, he said, 'twill you kindly let me go? The voice was some- how familiar. It caused me to start and to look intently upon my 265-0- tzis. If the voice was familiar, the face was doubly sog yet for a mo- ment I could not re- member it. Then a cry of recognition broke simultaneously from our lips. '4It is you, Nesbitfl he cried. 2-Xnd you, Tombreauf' H It was indeed my boyhood companion, Pierre Tombreau, whom I had neither seen nor heard of for many long years. Vtfe fairly embraced in our gladness, and after a full five minutes of handshaking and many ques- tions that poured from our lips and got no answers, nor needed any, my friend captured

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ian I thought .l young man ' the candles. as a cat. He me to Tom- froin his long the hands of Jit, of whom i kind enough ig his stay in 'ed' bows, and of wine we n, where we n evening of icdotes which . He proved es, charming iisobey those VVhen they hat one must often obeyed f his were as of which he les. ttle sheathed e by. Brant ondemned to en committed to buy the superstition- , so went the convicted of purchased it d to die, and af crime. It 1 stiletto was ver. VVhen- , the legend .o hand that ig his story, bright little I '.vouldn't he hissed, y little dag- THE WESTPORT HIGH SCHOGI.. HERALD. 29 ger, to be serving as a cutter of pages you could have filled with murderous tales. There was a strange look in his eyes while he flashed the light from its shiny steel. instinctively l felt for my sword when he turned to me and said, UDo you believe in superstition ? No,'y I said. Nor do I, and he sheathed the knife. Enough of your stories, cried his father. It is late. Let us say good night to one another. Iilll too sleepy to hold my eyes open and Brant there seems so excited that he must be tired. Come, Nesbit, I'll show you your room. Good night, Brant. :lo the evening was ended and in a few minutes I found myself in a great comfort- able four-posted bed. In a sort of dozing half wakefulness I thought of Tombreau's son, who had made a strange impression upon me. Cn the verge of sleep I would sec his long, tilted eyes sparkling from the face of a wolf with wide opened jaws, or again I would see Brant playing with the shining poniard. I am not, however, ad- dicted to lying awake long after I have gone to bed. I turned over, therefore, and slept. I remember waking later, with the impres- sion that I had heard a door close, very gently, somewhere. But I fell asleep im- niediately. A I was again awakened by a sound of con- fused voices. They seemed to be distant and gradually became louder as though they were coming rapidly closer-perhaps along the street that ran to the square and which passed beneath my window. Suddenly I heard the steps of someone running and then the door below was flung open and slammed shut. A great noise of angry voices burst out close .at hand. I rushed io the window to see several soldiers run- ning down the street toward the house. They were followed by a number of towns- people who were making the clamor. XYhen the crowd came beneath the win- dow I hailed the soldiers and asked them what the disturbance was about. An assassin has murdered the General, came from below, has anyone passed here? It seemed that he took this directionf, I replied that I had thought I heard foot- steps, and they set out immediately on their mad chase. I called after them when they had gone some distance. I had been so shocked by the terrible news that I had forgotten to ask more about the murder.. A confused cry from the rapidly fleeing crowd was the only answer I got. From the jumbled words, however, I pieced out that there had been a rebel plot for the murder of the General and his staff, but that several of the assassins had been siezed before they could carry out their plan, and only one, who had stabbed the General, had escaped with nothing more than a rapier wound in the shoulder. VVhile I was buckling on my sword and pistols, preparatory to going forth for further knowledge of the affair, I heard Tombreau on the stairs calling to me to know what had happened. He did not, however, pause for an answer, but hurried on down and I heard him open the door below to look out. I followed shortly in his tracks and was on the stairs when I heard a cry from the dark below and a hoarse whisper. For God's sake, father,', came the whis- per, Don't make a noise or that damned captain of yours will give me over to the hounds. The caution was unnecessary, however, for I had already half descended. There in the flickering light from a horn lamp overhead, I saw Tombreau standing, and leaning against the wall stood his son-his breast heaving, his head hung down and his right hand clutching his left shoulder which was wet with blood. When he heard my steps, he looked up and started forward, reeled and fell face down on the floor. Something dropped from his left hand. It clattered on the boards and lay beside the