I was going to tell him all about the ocean and the darkness, but when I turned my head again, he was gone. I was exasperated for a moment. But then I realized that I was tired too, so I went below to get a cup of joe and hit the sack. + COURAGE What I’ve taken once I’ll take again N o matter... Show moreI was going to tell him all about the ocean and the darkness, but when I turned my head again, he was gone. I was exasperated for a moment. But then I realized that I was tired too, so I went below to get a cup of joe and hit the sack. + COURAGE What I’ve taken once I’ll take again N o matter what the cost. The little things won’t get me down And neither will the big. I’ll fight the fair and kick the foul Until I’ve reached my end. And then I’ll pause and start again. —D0N HEGG + I watched her as she came up the aisle of the bus and sat down behind me. She reeked of sophistication and expensive perfume. Her dark hair was sleekly brushed to the top of her head where it culminated in an intricate arrangement of swirls and curls. She wore black. Her slender figure was encased in a black suit, slim- skirted, exquisitely tailored. I decided she was no doubt very wealthy. Why she had to take such a means of transportation as a bus was a problem. Perhaps her three cars had all developed trouble at the same time. She was going dowu town for a day of shopping. I pictured her in luxurious, thick-carpeted gown salons. In the evening a hand- some, suave young man would escort her on a gay evening of frivolity. A remark which the lady of my day—dreams made to her com- panion, cut into my reverie. Each word was a pin which burst my bubbles of fancy. “I thought I’d go downtown early today and get my shopping done before the children get home from school. I still have my ironing to do too, so I’ve got to hurry home.” PHEBE DALE 40 Show less
gliver at Wght Berry PLOYHAR It was impossible to tell where sky began and river ended, for both were an india ink. The moon was so well hidden I couldn’t even venture a guess as to what spot it might be lurking behind. The few stars which were brave enough to peep out from torn spots in the... Show moregliver at Wght Berry PLOYHAR It was impossible to tell where sky began and river ended, for both were an india ink. The moon was so well hidden I couldn’t even venture a guess as to what spot it might be lurking behind. The few stars which were brave enough to peep out from torn spots in the clouds were everywhere. I saw stars both above me and below. The quiet was broken by the sound of the barge starting slowly on its way after passing through the locks. The bright headlight cut a broad white path through the darkness. Was this the Milky Way in the sky beneath me and the river up above? I felt as though the world were turning around slowly. I looked up and saw stars; I looked down and there were stars there, too. Maybe there was no spot where sky and river met. I reached out for the railing, striving to regain my sense of reality. It felt cold, and its very hardness reassurred me. I strained my eyes and at last saw a faint line. Above the line was sky, below water. Both areas had the broad expanse of light which was the Milky Way. The slushing as the water slapped against the bank was soft, a lullaby to put the river to sleep. The barge disappeared around a curve; the slapping sound grew fainter, and gradually disappeared. The river calmly reflected stars. This was the Mississippi at night. + INTERFERENCE The spider on my notebook, A funny little thing, Brought me back from dreamland, A place where I am king. —DON HEGG 1 l Show less
"Rue du Chat qui pecbe” 5m 4 at. gas 704.. 7:44“ PIERRE BOUTAN The noon sun was shining bright when we stepped into the street from the darkness of the interior of Notre Dame. The sha- dows lay there slanted and dark. It was the right and ideal day for me to take my American friend into the... Show more"Rue du Chat qui pecbe” 5m 4 at. gas 704.. 7:44“ PIERRE BOUTAN The noon sun was shining bright when we stepped into the street from the darkness of the interior of Notre Dame. The sha- dows lay there slanted and dark. It was the right and ideal day for me to take my American friend into the neighboring Latin Quarter with its narrow streets, picturesque buildings, strange inhabitants, and odd names. There was ancient history in these streets and buildings—seldom known history in their odd and peculiar names. As we came to the "Place St. Michel”, we stopped at a cafe, “The Indolent Cow”, for oysters in the half shell. I could see that my observing friend enjoyed the atmosphere of this picturesque part of Paris, atmosphere that you could not find in any other place, in Paris or in the world. Since I had spent much time in this district as a student, I always enjoyed returning and greet- ing my old acquaintances. As I was describing the district to my friend, Henri, the old book seller, spotted me and came over to shake hands. I introduced my friend and as Henri and I were speaking of the old days he became more and more intrigued by the odd names of the district, especially those given to ancient streets. Henri suggested that I take my friend down "Rue de la Hu- chette” and show him the shortest, narrowest street in the world: a street with no door opening into it, and with only one window through which it received its dull light, the street called “Rue du Chat qui peche”. (Street of the Cat Who Fishes). I had heard that there was a story behind that name but I did not remember it. Old Henri did. He knew not only the story but also the old lady with the wooden leg and the big hard cane who was connected with that story. We ordered oysters for Henri who was staring at our empty shells and more for ourselves. I knew that the story would be better. “Rue de la Huchette” is old, how old no one now living knows. Its name, as many others like it, was not on street markers, but 7 Show less
So WWI ROBERT G. KRAUSS It was night on the middle of the ocean. I had been on watch in the radio shack. Tucker relieved me at 0345. After four hours of copying code, my mind was alert and not ready for return to slumber. I walked through the darkened chart room and wheel~ house to the boat deck.... Show moreSo WWI ROBERT G. KRAUSS It was night on the middle of the ocean. I had been on watch in the radio shack. Tucker relieved me at 0345. After four hours of copying code, my mind was alert and not ready for return to slumber. I walked through the darkened chart room and wheel~ house to the boat deck. In the wheelhouse, the quartermaster and helmsman were griping about not being relieved on time. Their voices, through the open hatch and port holes, became indistinct as I reached the rail on deck. It was deep night. There were no stars. The moon shone feebly through a low screen of clouds. There was no horizon. The water was oily, mysterious, black. The swells weren’t very high. They made only a slight swishing noise as they rolled past the bow. A breeze pushed the clean air against my face. The ship was entirely blacked out. Voices from the wheel house were almost inaudible. Occasionally a voice was raised, “Wheel- house to con.” And the answer through the voice tube, "Con aye.” But they were merely voices in the night, brief, impersonal. I looked up. The bridge was indistinguishable from the gloom sur- rounding it. The other ships in the convoy were invisible, black as the night. I was alone. All around was the nothingness of darkness. Ex- cept for the solid quality of the wind and the roll of the ship, it could have been that I didn’t exist at all. I was alone in endless time. The only movement was that of the ocean, and that lacked direction. I felt only the latent power in its lazy, gentle roll. The ocean was more than water. It had solidity, it had strength. It was beautiful and changing and mysterious. It was a highway, a graveyard, a profession. It was a painting, a symphony, a philo- sophy too profound for human conception. And now I was alone in the grip of this vast power. I knew, I had felt the force it was capable of. I might travel forever, in any direction, always mov- ing, always pushing ahead, and still there would be only black night above, and oily, restless water below. I heard a noise and looked around. Riordan, the quartermaster, was standing beside me. He must have been relieved at last. "Sure is dark tonight, isn’t it?” I said. “Yeah,” he said. 39 Show less
Mrs. Fowler ROBERT G. KRAUSS Mrs. Fowler waited until the bus had stopped completely and then stepped studily aboard. She pressed her token firmly into the till. She teetered for a moment as the bus began to move and grasped a shiny' iron post. Deliberater she surveyed the interior of the bus.... Show moreMrs. Fowler ROBERT G. KRAUSS Mrs. Fowler waited until the bus had stopped completely and then stepped studily aboard. She pressed her token firmly into the till. She teetered for a moment as the bus began to move and grasped a shiny' iron post. Deliberater she surveyed the interior of the bus. Then she made her way cautiously to the rear and set- tled in the only empty seat. It was a cold day. Mrs. Fowler fumbled in her brown leather purse and wiped her nose. She snapped the purse shut and ar- ranged it neatly in her lap on the green net shopping bag. She pulled her brown felt hat more securely on her head. She folded her brown cloth coat carefully over her knees. Finally her broad face assumed an expression of satisfaction. She turned her at- tention to the grey feather creation in front of her. At the next corner, the bus stopped and a tall, fine featured girl got on. She came back and sat next to Mrs. Fowler. Mrs. Fowler forgot the hat in front of her and studied the girl. She observed the worn fur coat and the girl’s long untidy hair. Mrs. Fowler was pleased to see that the girl wore no makeup. Not many girls were so sensible these days. But the girl wore no stockings and her slender legs were blue with cold. "My, I should think your legs would freeze in weather like this,” said Mrs. Fowler. The girl turned her pale, expressionless face towards Mrs. Fowler. "It isn’t so bad,” she said slowly. “Well, when you get to be my age you will learn to be sensible,” ’said Mrs. Fowler and displayed her own sturdy cotton stockings. The girl merely smiled slightly. “I don’t know why girls are so foolish these days,’ continued Mrs. Fowler, “They just don’t have any sense.” The girl didn’t say anything. “Oh, I’m not talking about you,” said Mrs. Fowler. "You look like a sensible person. But I just can’t stand those silly girls that paint themselves up with lipstick and mascara. Why, they look like savages, most of them.” The girl’s long face broke into a slight smile. Mrs. Fowler took this as a token of agreement. ’ 27 Show less
these things she couldn’t comprehend, only blind love—suffering. "I’m almost glad he’s dead. I know I’m glad there can’t be an- other. No one understands.” She seemed to look at me now and her face took on its peace and contentment again. “We are happy. We have each other, our music, our love. We... Show morethese things she couldn’t comprehend, only blind love—suffering. "I’m almost glad he’s dead. I know I’m glad there can’t be an- other. No one understands.” She seemed to look at me now and her face took on its peace and contentment again. “We are happy. We have each other, our music, our love. We’re even closer than other couples, we’re really one because we have to be so much for each other. Didn’t the Lord say ‘Forsaking all others, cleave to one another’?” We were silent. I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t ask her to explain. I knew I had seen a great love. Then the doorbell rang—three short rings, a sort of signal. Her face lost every trace of suffering, it was eager and quietly happy. She went out quickly. I heard their soft voices, and then they were in the room. "This is Greg, my husband.” I looked at the man standing beside her. He was tall, his face was finely made, his eyes and hands were those of an artist. His face had the same look as his wife’s. It made them look very much alike, even though he was black. + I peer around dark corners To catch a glimpse of eerie goblins, But the door casings taunt me Evening And the blackness leers boldly. , I listen to the wind Wlth And in it try to hear The magic footsteps Myself Of leprechauns and fairies, But I hear only the wind, Gnawing at the eaves, Grappling with the chimney, I see nothing but shadows, Leering, taunting. I hear only the wind, Gnawing, grappling, Leering, taunting, Gnawing, grappling— Are you listening? —HELEN HAUKENESS 17 Show less
ALL EQUAL? WAYNE WICKOREN As his big eyes looked up at me I wondered why it was that God had chosen to make people of diiferent colors. Why should there be as great a distinction as this between men? I thought that the statement, "All men are created equal,” must be false. How could we all be... Show moreALL EQUAL? WAYNE WICKOREN As his big eyes looked up at me I wondered why it was that God had chosen to make people of diiferent colors. Why should there be as great a distinction as this between men? I thought that the statement, "All men are created equal,” must be false. How could we all be equal and have equal chances in life with his face black and mine white? Suddenly my heart filled with shame because for a moment I had been thinking how glad I was that it was he whom God had chosen to make black. What right had I to place myself abOVe this little black fellow? He seemed happy and content even though his face was black. Then happily I remembered, “Man looketh on the outward ap- pearance but God looketh at the heart.” I raised my head in thanks to a just God. How easy it is to forget that we all have white souls even if we do have faces of different colors. + . AUTUMN MELANCHOLY Now the trees are no longer filled with flaming leaves, but they stand in bleak barrenness, their dark branches penciled against the sky. The clear intense blue of October’s sky has become the dull gray of early November. The laWns are brown and covered with dry leaves. A sad, listless wind moans softly in the trees. Na- ture is in mourning because all life is dead. But perhaps tomorrow, the dark mourning clothes will be ex- changed for the pure, white robe of winter. —PHEBE DALE + NOTICE TO SELF-MADE MEN Remember, as you Stuell your chest, For all your wit and sweat and pluck, There are many men who had that too But didn’t have your LUCK. —ROBERT G. Knauss 23 Show less
(9n filer Inspiration IRENE JOHNSON When I consider how my time is spent, ’Ere half the night, with not a thing to show, And that one theme in comp that irks me so As yet unwritten, though my soul more bent To write therewith my topic and present It to my teacher lest she haply chide. She does... Show more(9n filer Inspiration IRENE JOHNSON When I consider how my time is spent, ’Ere half the night, with not a thing to show, And that one theme in comp that irks me so As yet unwritten, though my soul more bent To write therewith my topic and present It to my teacher lest she haply chide. She does exact day-labor, I decide, And take out pen and paper to prevent Procrastination, though I need An inspiration now to do my best. A thought just does not come, my state Is hopeless, phrases through my memory speed, But none seem fitting, so I calmly rest. They always flunk who only sit and wait. + TO A TROLLEY PHEBE DALE Streetcars, like everything indispensable, are taken for granted. They are also the most abused of all vehicles. Comic strip writers dishonor them, office girls lament their undependability, and a certain author once had the audacity to compare them with men. Yet, what would we do without them? They render so many valuable services and possess such countless attributes. You who have run furiously to catch a streetcar, only to have it zip unconcernedly past just as you reached the corner, will, of course, disagree with me. But think of the countless times the kindly, patient trolley has waited for you. But, you protest, what about the impolite, pushing crowd in- side the streetcar? Surely that isn’t an asset to the car. You must remember, however, that working your way through such a crowd is a wonderful chance to develop your independence. You learn to assert yourself by a few energetic pushes or you end up getting off the car five blocks beyond your stop. 46 Show less
Worn en Some women are a tinny tune, A smaltzy juke box serenade, Brazen brass in painted passion, Or coy and clinging like clarinets With arms as soft as muted reeds. An invitation to romance As cheap as a squealing saxophone, With lips as bright as trumpet bells That kiss all night to a two... Show moreWorn en Some women are a tinny tune, A smaltzy juke box serenade, Brazen brass in painted passion, Or coy and clinging like clarinets With arms as soft as muted reeds. An invitation to romance As cheap as a squealing saxophone, With lips as bright as trumpet bells That kiss all night to a two four beat. False and warm, cold and sweet, Smooth and hard, gay and dry, Forever blank, eternal sham— Next time I’ll try Brahms. —ROBERT G. KRAUSS + vine Always moving Never replacing Ever forward No retracing Limitless and faultless Silent and sublime World wide Centuries deep Is fearless and unconquered Mystery of time. —LYLE SMITH Jmagination My balloon of fancy is engorged With lively, silver thoughts, But it soon pops, Pricked by the pin of common sense. —IRENE M. JOHNSON 34 Show less
on the last word,-——His blue eyes widen in surprise, and he looks at you with respect and awe. You can now be assured that you will have no diflicalty whatsoever in undressing him and getting him into his crib. If, however, your tender nature rebels at such a harsh method, then you had better try... Show moreon the last word,-——His blue eyes widen in surprise, and he looks at you with respect and awe. You can now be assured that you will have no diflicalty whatsoever in undressing him and getting him into his crib. If, however, your tender nature rebels at such a harsh method, then you had better try the diplomatic approach. Select an appropriate story, one about the Sandman or the Land of Dreams, and in a soft, low voice read it to the little lad. When his eyes begin to blink sleepily, and his head nods, you have him in the proper mood. Now it is time for you to say in your most per- suasive tones, “We’ll go to bed now, shall we, honey?” Don’t be alarmed if the little angel responds in a very positive and wide- awake voice, "No! I don’t wanna go to bed!” This is the signal to forsake your diplomacy and resort to force. Lift the youngster with a firm grasp, carry him upstairs to his room, and begin un- dressing him, no matter how hard he resists. Try, if you can, to completely ignore his lusty crying and hard, painful kicks in your shins. When, and if, you succeed in undressing him, place him in his bed and put the covers over him. Then turn off the hall light, and with a firm and resolute step, walk down the stairs. Don’t, however, make the mistake of thinking this is the end of your adventure in child care. Perhaps before you have even had a chance to take three of those firm, resolute steps, you will be- come painfully aware that this is not the end. A frightened cry of, “Turn the light on!” will halt your march to that easy chair and magazine downstairs. Here again you have a choice of responses to the situation. You may answer obstinately, “No, you may not have the light on. Now go to sleep right away.” Or you may make a bargain and say, “Well, if I turn the light on, you have to go to sleep.” I Now you again proceed to the living room and freedom—you think. Perhaps you may even be lulled into a false sense of self- satisfaction by the utter quiet that reigns in the rooms above. But this rarely lasts more than ten or fifteen minutes. Then you hear a youthful voice from above. You aren’t sure, but it sounds as though it comes from the top of the stairs. You jump from your chair, first being careful to turn the magazine face down open at the page you were reading. You run to the foot of the stairs and look up. There stands the object of your care, looking maddenineg innocent. 53 Show less
G The Art of Studying PHEBE DALE Studying is a necessary evil if you intend to graduate from col— lege. It is a disgrace to our advanced educational system and will undoubtedly be eliminated as we make increasing Progress. But in the meantime you are obliged to solve the problem of studying in as... Show moreG The Art of Studying PHEBE DALE Studying is a necessary evil if you intend to graduate from col— lege. It is a disgrace to our advanced educational system and will undoubtedly be eliminated as we make increasing Progress. But in the meantime you are obliged to solve the problem of studying in as efficient a manner as possible. Your grades came out yesterday, and they convinced you effectively that you must study. You arrive home this evening, intent on one purpose. You re- alize, of course, that you should retire to your own room and pur— sue your studies in complete quiet. But your room is frigidly cold, and the sounds proceeding from the living room are too in- teresting to ignore. You gather up your books and transfer them to the dining room table, which, because of its proximity to the living room, is a most happy choice. In the living room the family has gathered for the evening. Sister Mary is practicing her piano lesson with more volume than finess. Mother is reading aloud to Grandmother who is more than slightly deaf. Father and Big Brother David are engaged in a violent argument over Dave’s request for a raise in his allowance. Three—year-old Petie has chosen this particular evening to present a strikingly realistic imitation of a B-29. Not to be outdone by the other members of the family, Danny is listening to the Lone Ranger, and he finds it necessary to turn the radio louder at fre- quent intervals. This is an ideal background for studying. Think what you would have missed by shutting yourself into your room! Now you must make a decision as to which assignment to study first. Your European History is due tomorrow, but the assign- ment is so hopelessly long that you couldn’t possibly finish it to- night anyway. Thus you have eliminated one possibility. English literature summaries are due tomorrow, too, but you left several necessary reference books at school. Bravo! Two down, two to go! You have several chemistry equations to be handed in tomorrow, but you aren’t in the mood to wrestle with atoms tonight—not with atomic energy exploding in the living room! Perhaps you can 50 Show less
The policeman came. So did every shop keeper, hotel man, and worker in the district. They all took the side of the old lady. The policeman called the Court House and the workman withdrew from the scene. Soon the “Comissaire” of Police came and as all the natives of the street sided in with the... Show moreThe policeman came. So did every shop keeper, hotel man, and worker in the district. They all took the side of the old lady. The policeman called the Court House and the workman withdrew from the scene. Soon the “Comissaire” of Police came and as all the natives of the street sided in with the old lady, he decided to give oficially the name that had been used for so long. The sign was put up, the sign that you may read today—“The Street of the Cat Who Fishes.” Here Henri ended the story. We rose and stepped into the nar- row street again. + TRANSITION Twisted Torn Neglected Struggling to survive Hoping Dreaming Praying Forsaking schemes and lies Beaten Worn Complacent Life has passed him by. —DON HEGG + WONDER The moon rides high In a wind-torn sky, Mid ragged clouds asunder— ] gaze at length with moistened eye, At the glorious sight and wonder. —PAUL ARNOLD Show less
Christ a Reality Have you seen Christ? I have. Even today I see. In such a gray and darksome world as this, He comes to me. Before the gloomy morning wakes He speaks to me. A still, small voice that says, Awake! Be of, and brave the world for me. Knowest Thou not, thy hands, thy feet, Thy working... Show moreChrist a Reality Have you seen Christ? I have. Even today I see. In such a gray and darksome world as this, He comes to me. Before the gloomy morning wakes He speaks to me. A still, small voice that says, Awake! Be of, and brave the world for me. Knowest Thou not, thy hands, thy feet, Thy working, speak for me? Have you seen Christ? I have. He lives in me. + J Know the Out of the night of unbelief, Selfishness, worldliness, and grief, I came to find a sweet relief In Christ, my Lord. He saved me for eternal light, Provides my needs, makes each day bright With work and service, what delight To know the Lord! Now in the warmth of His embrace Ready to serve Him in my place Not of myself, but by His grace, I know the Lord. —ELAINE OLSON + I had a little thought today That kept me for its own; It passed aside its usual way And made my heart its home. —-DON HEGG 44 Show less
Picking Potato Bugs KERMI’I' HOVERSTEN During my childhood, I did many different types of jobs and errands. But of all the hateful things I ever did, picking potato bugs was by far the worst. I didn’t like bugs then, I don’t like bugs now, and I never will like bugs. I despise them. Fortunately... Show morePicking Potato Bugs KERMI’I' HOVERSTEN During my childhood, I did many different types of jobs and errands. But of all the hateful things I ever did, picking potato bugs was by far the worst. I didn’t like bugs then, I don’t like bugs now, and I never will like bugs. I despise them. Fortunately the potato bug season was only once a year and our potato patch wasn’t very large. As soon as my father discovered the first potato bug, out to the field went my brother and I with our little gallon pails waiting to be filled with those horrible brown-striped, little insects. Every time I looked at one, chills travelled up and down my spine like lost electrons. Then to intensify the sensation, we had to pick them off the leaves and put them into the pail. We searched every leaf. Above us was the beating, penetrating, hot sun. Consequently it was necessary to lug the water jug out to the field with us. After the first hour, the water was nearly as warm as the sun. We went from row to row marauding the potato bug kingdom. At the end of each row, we would take the bugs out of our pails one by one and put them on a large flat stone. Then we would act as chief executioners. Every decision of death sentence was final. There were no reprieves granted. Indeed it was a spectacular and gory incident to witness. Finally, when the day was over, home we went, stiff from the bending and searching, but inexpressibly happy that the day was over. We could hardly wait to get a nice, fresh, ice cold drink of water. Then we hurried into the house for supper, but alas, we had lost our appetites witnessing those horribly gruesome execu- tions. We were content to simply go to bed uttering a prayer for rain the next day. + WORDS OF LIFE Midst tremulous strain of music swells, Ride words of triumph, words of life— And glorious is the tale it tells, Of victory o’er eternal strife. —PAUL ARNOLD 37 Show less
Myra led the way up the steps to the balcony. Betty was smil- ing. It was so nice to have Myra with her again. "It’s foolish to quarrel over a man. I’m glad we are friends again,” Betty thought. It was so nice of Myra to ask her to go to church with her, parti- cularly to St. Johns, the most... Show moreMyra led the way up the steps to the balcony. Betty was smil- ing. It was so nice to have Myra with her again. "It’s foolish to quarrel over a man. I’m glad we are friends again,” Betty thought. It was so nice of Myra to ask her to go to church with her, parti- cularly to St. Johns, the most beautiful church in town. She hadn’t been there for years. They always attended the little church on the corner. She was anxious to hear the pipe organ and see the inside of the beautiful church once more. It thrilled her to be in the place again. She followed Myra down the aisle to the front of the balcony. Betty was awe-stricken with the beauty of the church. She looked at the ceiling—the sparkling chandeliers, the ornate wood- work. She noticed the huge pillars and the stained glass windows. Windows with Biblical pictures on them. Then she looked ahead. But there was no ahead. Nothing but space. Down—down. There were people there, or was it people? Things became blurred as the old feeling seized her. Betty tried to grip the railing in front of her, but there was no railing. Determined to fight the panic in her heart, she turned away. She would look in the hymnbook with Myra. Then the feeling would surely leave her. She simply wouldn’t look down. That’s all. She wouldn’t look down. She moved closer to Myra to see the song everyone was singing. Myra edged away and pointed down to a rack on the side of the railing with hymn-books in it. Betty reached down to get herself a book. But her eyes went farther to the chasm beneath. There was a buzzing that morning as the congregation of St. Johns in Evansville filed out of church. “I wonder who she was,” they said. “Psychological case, I guess.” “Too bad—Yes, killed instantly.” + MY PRAYER 0 soul of mine I plead with thee To lift my spirit high. 80 cast aside the inborn thoughts You know will do me harm; Take my heart and mold it true I pray to thee, 0 soul of mine. -—-DON HEGG 5'7 Show less
The Road Was Too Bumpy VINCENT HOVERSTEN The sun grinned down at us teasingly. It seemed to whisper, "Why don’t you go swimming? The water will be warm today.” How disgusting! Anyone would know that we couldn’t go swimming in the creek that day. We had to haul alfalfa into the barn. Dad said that... Show moreThe Road Was Too Bumpy VINCENT HOVERSTEN The sun grinned down at us teasingly. It seemed to whisper, "Why don’t you go swimming? The water will be warm today.” How disgusting! Anyone would know that we couldn’t go swimming in the creek that day. We had to haul alfalfa into the barn. Dad said that the hay was dry now and tomorrow we might have rain. No, he couldn’t wait a day longer. The alfalfa must be put up today. We were disgusted. On the nicest day of the whole summer we weren’t allowed to go swimming—that is, un— less we stole down to the creek right after dinner. Hurriedly my three brothers and I shoveled down the potatoes, poured down the plum sauce and drained the milk pitcher. We were planning to leave the table one by one so as not to arouse any suspicion over our recondite plans. However, this wasn’t neces— sary. Pa didn’t come to dinner till we were through. Before we had swallowed the last morsel, we bowed our heads, mumbled a few words and abandoned our chairs. Our time was short; so we wasted none of it in starting. The four of us fol- lowed the ditch out to the driveway. We must have looked like an army detachment coming in for a beach landing, but what was the difference? It was the only method to escape without notice. With our long, blonde locks trailing haphazardly in the wind—— my mother used the bowl haircut method—we ran over the hills and through the ravines to the creek in our neighbor’s pasture. The neighbor kids were already there. In less time than it takes to tell, we had stripped and were splashing in the water. My old— est brother said he could swim, but I’m sure now that he was only crawling on his hands. Suddenly we realized that we had stayed too long. The neigh— bors were already out stacking hay on the flat about half a mile away. We had to leave at once. It usually took us a long time to dress because we always dried off in the sun, but today we used my shirt. It was hot and absorbed the moisture wonderfully. As we scampered up the driveway, praying that Pa hadn’t no- ticed us, our hopes suffered a sudden attack. Shep began barking furiously. He always did when you didn’t want him to. 41 Show less
