Newspapers / Lexington High School Student … / Sept. 26, 1947, edition 1 / Page 3
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September 26, 1947 THE LEXHIPEP Page 3 FORTUNE or DEATH —Jim Barger The night was chilly. A cold rain was falling. Harvey Daniels but toned his overcoat as he got out of his old Ford car. He looked at the aark mansion, standing isolated on the outskirts of town. It had re cently belonged to his uncle, Jona than Daniels. Jonathan Daniels was an eccentric but busy old man, right up until his heart gave away. He had aespised lazy people. He had es pecially disliked his only living close relative, Harvey, the lazy type, who wanted somethmg for nothing. Jona than had been aware of a weak heart and had made out a will. A queer will it ws, too. Harvey, being the only relative, was in line to receive everything, and he aid. The day after Jonathans aeath, Harvey received a Visit from his uncle's lawyer. The law yer reaa Jonathan’s will to Harvey, me part wnicn was the most im portant said, "and also to Harvey 1 reave my entire fortune, fifty thou- sanu aorlars. The money is in my private vault in~the basement. There may be a tune bomb in that vault wrrich might be set o£f by unlocking tne aoor. Ana tnen there r^ight not be a bomb. Maybe I just said that to scare Harvey; anyway he has the chance of fortune or death." Harvey had read these lines over and over, 'iney were iresn in his mind as he snapped on his flashlight and pro- ceeaed to the basement door. He had Chosen to come at night, because he dian t want tne townspeople to know of his humiliating position. He opened the old oak door and stepped inside. Ihere was not much dirt or dust be cause old Jonathan had been very particular. Harvey’s light played around the room, falling on the big steel vault. /The vault was large enough for one person to enter. “There may be a bomb in that vault which might be set off by unlocking the door.” That line ran through his mind, haunting, torturing him. He walked slowly toward the vault. He stopped about two feet away from It. Harvey trembled slightly as he removed tne key, which the lawyer had given him, from his pocket. The flashlight found the keyhole. He stood there; his eyes not seeing. His mind wandered. He would have a new car, a new home. Now he could marry Janet. Yes, Janet would marry him now. He had fifty thousand dollars. Fifty thousand dollars! A fortune was awaiting him on the other side oi that door. “There may be a bomb—” no, he wouldnt think of it. Uncle Jonathan was an eccentric old man and that was just one of his eccentric ideas. Harvey took a step forward. He put the key to the keyhole. It clicked as it went into the lock. Suddenly Harvey was gripped by fear. He froze, hardly breathing. Until now Harvey had been afraid but calm. Now he broke out in a cold sweat. An ex pression of uncontrolled fear showed plainly on his face. Fortune or death, it must be done. Harvey gritted his teeth as he slowly turned the key. Fortune or death—fortune or death —his heart sounded hard. The lock clicked hard at first, then easy. Tfie key made a complete turn. Holding the flashlight with one hand, he opened the heavy steel door with the other. He stood there, the door open, the flashlight spotted on the floor. He didnt move. His heart skipped a beat; he hardly breathed. He saw nothing. He only waited. Five, six seconds passed. A cheerless smile crept over Harveys fear-stricken face. He shouted almost hysterically, “I’m rich, there’s no bomb, I’ve got fifty thou—” He never finished that sen tence. No one knew of Jonathan’s strange will except Harvey and the lawyer. The people of the town wondered, as they looked at the remains of the once huge mansion, how and why it could have been destroyed. But the lawyer knew, and maybe Harvey knew too. Yes, Harvey, the man who want ed somethinc for nothing, had taken a chance on fortune or death—and j lost. THE ROSARY —Nancy Ann Sink ''And those that are good shall be happy; ' Tney shall sit in a golden chair—" Miss Tompkins is an elderly lady, bent by the unseen hand of time. Her snowy white hair is proof of her years, iviany wrinkles appear on the face, out there is no looK of pain or weari ness. tohe sits in a chair as ancient as Its occupant. The rockers squeak as if meant lor just such surrounaings. Miss TompKin is one of many in this Catholic institution for the aged, and like the otners, she has a story. She stares unceasmgly at a small photo graph held tightly in her hand. As 111 a dream she Closes her eyes, slowly recalling the past, for the past it ners to cling to. ±ier memory takes her to a dark sticet in Fniiadelpnia. A small gin svaiios ringing tne aoorbell of a ram ming apariinent house, in one hand one ciuccnes a tiny wicker box con taining her few worthless possessions, rill at,,empts lailing, she steps to the oiaewaik ana walks away witn a quick step, she cautiously raises one hand to her tnroat, clutches something and utters a prayer. A lonely look is in ner eyes. Sne looks about her as ii mghiened and mumbles to herself, • Wny? Why?” This is young Mary Tompkins, or phan, underpriviUged American. Mary s parents nad died and the little gin Was searching for an uncle thought to be living in Philadelphia. Alter an unsuccessful search for rel atives, local citizens sent Mary to an orphanage. Evelyn and John Tompkins had left to their only daughter one thing—an inheritance of the belief in the Cath olic Church. Mary’s new home was one organized by a Protestant denomination. The child was not allowed to uphold her belief. They thought it nonsense for one so young to be so steadfast in her faith. Once, in an episode with the ma tron, the Rosary, a beloved posses sion of all Catholics, was taken from her. When Mary finished high school she was dismissed from the home Going immediately to Father O’Tooley, she applied for sisterhood. After many months of strenuous preparation, her dream came true. Years pass—Mary Tompkins is no longer of use to her fellowmen. The time has come for her to go with the other aged to an institution. Let us return now from the land of dreams to the land of reality. Ev erything is quiet'.' The earth is rest ing in the lingering hush of a sum mer’s evening—that hush which pen etrates the very soul of man. The elderly lady in the squeaky old rock ing chair still clutches the picture— the picture clipped from the morning paper under which is printed, “Amer ican Sister is Made Sanit — Saint Mary.” There is a short lapse of time. The scene is a peaceful graveyard near the home. There is a freshly dug grave. A small group of people in the adornment of the Catholic Church stand sorrowfully by a graveside as the cold red dirt falls pitilessly upon a dull grey coffin. At last Mary Tompkins rests. NEW TEACHERS (Continued from page one) from Marshville, but lives at Hege Inn in Lexington. Miss VerneUe Gilliam is a graduate of Appalachian State Teachers Col lege with a B. S. degree. She is the new librarian and while in Lexington she stays at Hege Inn. Miss Gilliam is from Thomasville, N. C. Mr. J. L. Gathing, a new teacher in the Science department, is from Pageland, S. C., and is a graduate of the University of South Carolina with an A. B. degree. He also attended summer school at High Point College. ’Tj’ro is where Mr. Gathing and his wife live, she being a member of the Grimes School faculty. There are two new eighth grade teacher on the facultys. Mrs. Jessie Enrtn, who is the former Jessie Mar tin of Lexington. She received her A. B. degree from Meredith College, ESCAPE —Hewey Clodfelter “We, the jury, find George Sands guilty of muraer in the first degree.” 'i'ne words echped through the court room with the Idsh of a whip. Then the judge arose and said “ueorge sanas, you have heard the vexaict of the jury, with due justice, 1 hereby sentence you to aie in the electric chair one week from today. And may God have mercy on youi soul.” At the prison, the grating of a key awoke George from his sleep. “You're caking things easy for a man who is co aie in the eiectric chair,” saia waraen Beck. “A man in your posi- clon isn’t usually able to sleep much.’ “You’ll never put me in the chair,' snarled George. “I’m too smart. I’ll oe out of here before the execution date.” “You won’t get out of this peniten tiary, George,’ replied the warden •j\o man has ever gotten out of here alive.” “Wait and see,” replied George. ‘There isn’t a jail made to hold me. There isn't a thing that can keep me irom getting out of this place.” “We won’t discuss it,” said the war den. “I just came to tell you that Che execution is tomorrow night. Do you want to see the Father?” “If he comes in here I’ll kill him,” snarled George. “I don’t need to see anyone.” “All right, George, it’s up to you,” replied the warden. “I’ll be leaving now. Sorry to have bothered you.” Three hours later a storm broke and thunder and lightning crashed over the prison. Then a door opened and a figure dashed through it into the prison yard. George Sands dashed to the ladder that led to the guard’s booth on the wall. Reaching the booth, he shot the, guard who made an attempt to stop him. He then ran along the wall until he reached the steel pipe that carried the refuse from the prison to the stream that ran along the base of the prison wall. He pushed the gun into his pocket and reached for the steel pipe. As his hands touched it, a flash of lightning flung itself from the sky and with a blinding light smashed into the steel pipe. A scream of death echoed through the night, and the lifeless body of George Sands fell from the wall into the prison yard below. With in five minutes the warden and a group of guards were surrounding his body. “He tricked the guard at his cell,” said the warden, “into coming close enough for Sands to grab him. Then Sands took the guard’s keys and gun after choking him into unconscious ness.” One of the guards called from the prison wall, “Joe’s been shot! Sands must have done it.” “Well, that’s three men he’s killed,” said the warden. “He said we wouldn’t put him in the chair, but he died of electrocution just the same. He said nothing could keep him from escap ing, but he forgot one thing. You may escape from men, but you cannot escape from God.” and has previously taught in the Lex- .ington City schools for three years. The other eighth grade teacher is Miss Arriwona Shoaf, also from Lex ington. Her home is on Fifth Avenue. Woman’s College is where she re ceived her A. B. degree. Miss Shoaf has previously taught in high schools in Thomasville and Ruffin. She also taught at Lexington High last year, substituting for Mrs. William Wright. MY LAST LOVE Hilda Phillips, Class of ’47 I do not think it strange, my dear, That you stopped wanting me; f don't suppose that any love fjasts through Eeternity. And though it’s quite a common thing to drift apart, ’tis true. Here is the tragedy, my dear: I keep on loving and wanting you. Perhaps you’ll find another Who soon will take my place; xhe world’s so full of lovely things, i'o bring you happiness. Now I race a thousand lonely nights mat stretch my whole life through, you still mean everything to me ihat I once, dear meant to you. MY PIE —Lynlel Beck Me, myself, and I Went out to bake a pie. An hour had passed— I thought ’twas the last, f ran for the water— I ran for the mop— I’ve come to the conclusion iVIy pie was a flop! More Truth Than Poetry A WILL FINDS THE WAY —Jean Rollins “Where there’s a will there’s a way” is illustrated by the lives of many poor boys who have become famous. This is best shown by perhaps the greatest American of all times, Abraham Lin coln. He studied in no schools such as we have today, yet he rose to the highest position this nation can offer. Then, too, there are examples present ed in other races as well. George Washington Carver, the son of a Negro slave, who by means of his practical applications of simple ma terials such as the peanut has be come one of the leading scientists of the South and of the world. Without a doubt the handicap of being poor can be overcome if there is a strong will to find the way. SILENCE IS GOLDEN —Evelyn Fulbrlght “Silence is golden” is sometimes a worth-while proverb to remember. It has been said that the tongue is the keyboard of the soul, but it makes a world of difference who plays on it. For example, we often speak when we should hold our peace. At these times, the old saying, “when angry, count ten before you speak; if very angry, a hundred,” is very useful to remember. It is also better not to speak at all than to say injurious words or to scoff at people, Although they give us occasions to do this. Next it is better not to relate news if we do not know whether it is cor rect, or to speak when we should be listening. Therefore, “Silence is golden” and it can be said that a word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in baskets of silver. A HOUSE OR A HOME? —Eva Mae Sink It is quite evident that most people think of a house and a home as having great difference. A house is only a structure for human habitation, more or less a shelter. On the other hand, a home is what you make it. It should be a place in which one’s af fections are centered. It Is not just a place to eat, sleep and stay around when there is no other place to go. As a result, security, happiness, and a meaning of devotion is found in a home. Some of your happier hours should be spent there. So why not consider the place in which you live? Are you making it a house or a home?
Lexington High School Student Newspaper
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Sept. 26, 1947, edition 1
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