Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

seven or eight.  Each of us had taken every other office and for once I was the luckiest.  Up near Hayes’, we found Bill and Day, looking very woebegone.  On our sympathetic inquiry, they said that the fellows made so much fun of them that they had finally left.  They went up to one fellow and asked him the usual question “Wouldn’t you like to buy some tickets and help the senior class out on their play?”  He replied in a very forcible manner “No! But I’d like to collect that $1.75, that Athlete Association owes me!”

While we were thus standing and exchanging tales of woe, a stow-storm came up, and in a few moments the air was full of flying snow whirling in every direction until things were blotted out in the white.  I would have liked to stay out and enjoyed this, but the others saw no fun in standing out in the wild wind, laden with snow, so we went up to the bowling alley and waited for the worst – worst? To pass over.  Here Day + King bowled a game in which King won by one point.  Finally the constant rolling and rumbling became too monotonous for me, so after asking all three of them if they were going to the show, to which they replied “no,” I left.

The storm had now stopped, and as I walked home