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T H E I 6 O R R O T E

A SLIGHTLY LITERARY EXPOSURE

OF OUR ,

PHOTOGRAPHIC HIGHLIGHTS

We're tired of floosey dedications,

Of adjectivaled appellations.

For writing we have few proclivities

But have you noticed our ACTIVITIES!

'Published Semi-Annually by the Stuaents of Wydown School

In Two Issues for the Year 194O-I94I. 25 Cents a Copy

THE IGORROTE=04,

THE STAFFFACULTY ADVISERS

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STAFF ASSISTANTS

FacultyKathryne LyleRuth MillerDingle Martz

StudentsNancy BabcockElinor BinderArthur LanderAlan MariamAndy Mills

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Literary

Business

Photography

Yvonne De Rennaux—Cover Design

Miss QuitoBy Bob Bliss, 10B

In the middle of a gameOf tit-tat-toI saw a littleMISS QUITO.

(She bothered me.)

She came a-flying through the air,A-buzzin' in her flight:I wound up and swung at herWith all my might.

(I missed her.)

While I was eating dinnerShe came flying through the air;I was so darn disgustedI hit her with a chair.

(I stunned her.)

She spiralled through the air,Then landed on the ground:I raised my hand with care—And landed down.

(I killed her!)

Three Little Vitamins and HowThey Fought

orThe Death of the Countess

By Jack Eskilson, 10BQNCE UPON a time there were three little

vitamins, Oscar L., his brother Joe L.,and their baby sister Josie L. They livedhappily together in a head of lettuce out inthe garden with all the other vegetable vita-mins in carrots, parsley, onions, and tomatoes.But just about the time the three L vitaminsthought that no house could be happier .orsafer than theirs, someone picked it up andtook it into a kitchen to make a lettuce andtomato salad.

At first the three vitamin children from thehead of lettuce and those from the tomatoesignored each other while the maid carriedthem into the Countess de Lotta Beef, whowas on a diet. Inside this aristocratic femalebeef-trust, the T's and L's did their best tokeep separated. But it was no use; they gotto wrangling about which had the betterfamily background.

The T's (tomatoes) outnumbered the L's(lettuce) three to one, but Oscar was able toknock one of the T's across the Countess'sinside with very little effort. As the T flewback, Oscar slugged him with his blackjack.Two more T's immediately ganged up on him,but Oscar sidestepped and tripped one ofthem, who fell on his face and had the windknocked out of him. Then he tackled T Num-ber Two and his trusty blackjack came intoplay again. Number One rose and came togrips with Oscar the Mighty; but he, too,went down under the blackjack that Oscarknew how to use so well.

In the meantime Joe and Josie weren'tdoing so bad, either, and with Oscar's helpthey soon put the rest of the enemy to theblackjack.

The Countess, meanwhile, had called adoctor, who came very soon and gave hersome medicine. When Oscar saw it cominghe tried to commit suicide; but no matterhow hard he tried he couldn't die, nor couldhe free himself from all that gooey stuff.

The vitamins lived but the Countess died.And the moral of this story has nothing todo with survival of the fittest. The moral is:never count your vitamins before they'redigested. It doesn't make sense, but who talkssense these days?

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Pa's StoriesBy George Ryan, 9B and 10B

I ONG AGO and down through the ages theonly source of knowledge was by word

of mouth, and tales were related around afire whose dancing light shone on the facesof the people as they told of their experiences.Similarly, but under different conditions, Isit, with the family for the evening meal andlisten to my father. There is a wealth ofknowledge and information stored in the oldboy but it's hard as H— to get it out.

For example, he is right in the middle ofthe story of the flood—the one that was fourfeet deep on the Main Street—and here hepauses to jam half a pork chop in on thebridge work. Just before he has it down Ilead him on by saying, "Gee, Pop, that'sperty deep." Whereupon my kid brotherwill rub him the wrong way with, "Yeah, I'llsay it's getting deep in here." It is easy foryou to understand how hard it is for meever to get a complete story at this rate.

Last winter I led Pop on for three nightsto get a yarn about Pat the fighting mick,and what happens? Why, it's just no good,it just ain't right . . . it's a lie. But wouldhe change it? No! He swore it was true andthat's the way it was so he couldn't saydifferent. Talk about the stubborn krautheaded Dutch—well, I know some Irish thathave really got a gall.

Sometimes a lot depends on the food,whether or not the story is good. And sincemy pen is full and the paper is borrowed Ican explain in detail. When the food is wellcooked and to my father's liking, he is pre-occupied with his eating and I get shortsentences and unconnected thoughts — butmostly the dull and sober truth — betweenmouthfuls of food. But when the food is theproduct of Elco, Heinz, or Campbell's plus acan opener, I get choice stories with explana-tions of some length.

In the future I will use my own devices—and Ma's—to conjure a story of doubtfulauthenticity and quality.

The Skirts Have ItBy Banner Bell, 10BThe men in skirtsKeep on defeatingII Duce. He saysGo on — retreating!

From Ethiope's Darkest FountainBy Perry Sparks, 9B

Ah is jes' a little boyAbout de age of half-past three,And w'en it's real dahkYo' cain't see me.

W'en dere's snow on de groundAh shows up good,Ah likes to play wif knives,An splintah up wood.

Ah likes watahmelon,Ah's crazy about ham;Ah's gonna shine shoesW'en Ah's big as yo' am.

Off to the Thousand IslandsBy Peggy Luckstandl, 9B

gVERYTHING goes back to that KirklandTour. No bad reflections on Kirkland.

That afternoon we were supposed to go ona boat trip to the Thousand Islands. Carswere supposed to pick us up at our hotel. Ilost Mother in the crowd and got myselfplanted in a different car.

We left the hotel at once and reached thepier very soon. Many boats were curtseyinggently to each other. I jumped out of thecar, and knowing that there were quite a num-ber of people on the tour I was sure we wouldneed a large boat. I thought I saw just theone we needed, so I ran upon it to wait forMother. How was I to know that it was aprivate yacht owned by one of the wealthyfamilies who have an estate on one of theIslands!

When I was refused admittance I knewsomething was wrong . . . That's it, I was onthe wrong boat and on the wrong pier! Ialways catch on after a while. I looked forthe car in which I had come. It was nowhereto be seen.

In times like this the other pier is usuallyat least ten miles away. What was I supposedto do? Jump off the pier? I felt like it.Suddenly I saw a little house some distanceaway. Expecting only to find another of theidle rich—drinking tea and munching oncrumpets—I hurried to the house, and thereI saw many cars. Among them was Mother,searching frantically for me.

That night we took a steamer across LakeErie to Toronto . . . More boats. Ugh!

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"Softie"By Judy Goldman, 10B

JULIA, the child I am going to tell youabout, has the most extraordinary disposi-

tion. What? Oh, no, it's neither a He nora She; though I have never bothered toinquire.

Julia is of the very finest lineage, beingderived from a thoroughbred goose and sev-eral pedigreed ducks. When the child firstcame to me, its somewhat chubby body wasdraped in lovely corded silks and ribbedsatins, with an exquisite silk rope sash. Buttimes are harder than they used to be, andnow Julia seems perfectly contented to bedressed in neat and trim white muslins, withlace or embroidery around the hem of theskirt.

As I have already mentioned, Julia has amost extraordinary disposition and cannotalways be relied upon to serve my everywhim. You aee, when I go to bed at night,it is very soothing to me to be able to sinkmy head into the very depths of Julia'sbosom, with certain squashy parts of theloving creature melting my cheeks on bothsides. So it is very annoying when instead ofsoftness I feel only a discomforting ticklingup my nose.

Julia also suffers from violent attacks ofindigestion. And believe me, it isn't verypleasant when I lay my aching head in themiddle of Julia's usually plump lap and findthe poor dear's insides so unevenly dis-tributed, and so inconveniently for my ownpersonal comfort. There is only one cure forthe child in times like these, and that is bygiving it a good shaking; though it does seema cruel way to remedy anybody's illness.

But Julia also has a number of goodqualities and is a known favorite in companyas well as in the privacy of my boudoir. Andthere is nothing the darling enjoys so muchas a bunking party, no matter how roughlythe girls play with it. The more Julia isthrown about from girl to girl, the better thegame. And even though I am sure the littleculprit was the cause of my asthma lastwinter, there are other times when I realizewhat a soft spot there is in the child's heartfor me, and that I might never have gone tosleep without the help of Julia.

Faith, Hope, and DoubtBy Dolores Benson, 10B

I have so many dreams of romance—If only the young swains would give me a

chance.

Ravings From the RadioBy Edward Keath, 9B

COME TIME ago I was asked about mytastes in radio, and not being exactly cer-

tain of what they were, I settled down oneevening to discover them. With pencil andpaper near-by to record my impressions, Isnapped on the gadget and prepared to enjoymyself.

The first voice I was to hear was that ofthe honorable Senator from the State ofCalifornia, Senator Johnson, who was tellingme why my sacred institutions of this andthat were in danger.

Distressed at the thought that there wereso many of these, I flipped the dial, just intime to be informed that my liver neededwaking up and that the quickest waker-upperwas a remedy called Carter's Little LiverPills.

But I preferred to let mine rest and soconsulted the radio log. My eyes fell uponthe name of one Orrin Tucker, who featuredin his orchestra the "shy voice of wee BonnieBaker." As soon as I had reached the re-quired station, my radio began squeaking andthrobbing in seemingly great dismay. Justwhen I was about to call the service man,a gentleman began urging me to smoke the"cigarette that satisfies." Oddly enough, thestrange noises had been Mr. Tucker's musicand the voice ( ? ) of Miss Baker.

I at once came back to the station withwhich I had begun the evening's enjoyment.I was thoroughly disgusted. I had returnedin the middle of an osculation. With littlesighs and gasps the heroine was running herfingers through the blond wig of the hero.

Perhaps I did not hear radio at its best.But for fear that it could be even worse

f Heaven forbid!) I now refrain from tinker-ing with the little dials. The walnut standremains idle and gathers dust in a corner ofmy room as I spend my evenings in the moreworth-while pastime of thumb-twiddling.

EnvyBy Don Manners, 10B

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,Who the heck do you think you are,Up above the world so high?

Come down out of that big black sky.Don't I wish I were a star,And superior as you think you are!

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HeirloomBy Elinor Binder, 9B

IN MY JEWEL-BOX among some veryhumble baubles lies a treasure that could

make me the envy of all France. As I recol-lect the adventures of this precious piece, mythoughts carry me back to my glorious child-hood days. Our family was always a unitedone, so when Qrandpere died Grandmej;ecame to live with us.

Grandmere used to tell me a story everyevening before I went to bed, as we sat infront of the large fireplace together. Oneevening, Grandmere announced sorrowfullythat she had no more stories to tell. As achild I was often over-curious and this timemy curiosity got the better of me. I noticedthat Grandmere had worn throughout the dayon her rich, rather decollete silk gown a huge,expensive-looking, oval brooch at the throat.I asked her about it, and seeing the fascina-tion it held for me, she told me the followingstory:

"This, my child, is a genuine cameo, carvedby a famous artist of Paris in the year 1511.Our ancestors have always been interested inprecious jewels and stones of all kinds—crystal-white diamonds, blue-green emeralds,milk-white pearls, sparkling rubies. Cameos,too, were expensive in the sixteenth century,but our forbears were more fortunate thanwe and could afford the luxury of rich gems.The ancestor who had this precious piececarved, Pierre la Bouche by name, had hisinitials duly inscribed on the back." Grand-mere unfastened the intricate clasp and as Istudied it closely I could discern P. L. everso faintly, and underneath these letters, amore readable M. A.—followed by—Queenof France and Brittany! In smaller figureswas written A. D. 1788.

Naturally, I asked Grandmere about thelater markings on the cameo, and she lookedat me impatiently and answered that theywere a part of her story. Then she continued:

"Two years after his marriage, Pierre wentoff to the wars, and this brooch was his part-ing gift to his wife, Gabrielle. Throughoutthe long months that followed, Gabriellegazed and gazed at the exquisite cameo, think-ing all the while of her dearest Pierre. Timepassed, and Pierre did not return. Thoughhe had left his wife well provided for in hisabsence, Gabrielle finally opened a smallbakery on the banks of the Seine. Herthoughts were always of Pierre and she wore

his precious keepsake every day even on herinexpensive cotton gowns which she herselfmade.

"As the years passed, Gabrielle grew morereconciled to her lost love. She adopted anorphan boy of good family, and when he wasnot busy with his lessons he helped her inthe shop. As the boy Andre grew older,Gabrielle relied on him more and more forthe care of her shop, which had grown tolarger proportions. When Gabrielle died thewhole estate was willed to her adopted son.

"Nothing of importance happened to thecameo until a little less than two centurieslater. It must have stayed in Andre's familyfor a time. But Fate plays a queer hand. Thecameo now belonged to Marie Antoinette.Perhaps one of Andre's descendants foundfavor with the kings and queens of later times,and presented the brooch to one of the Queensof France as a token of appreciation.

"Marie Antoinette had jewel-cases filledwith finer and more costly gems than thecameo. But it was a favorite of hers, so itoften graced her gowns. The Queen, wholoved any sort of display, had the cameore-cast in gold and precious stones and herinitials carved on the back.

"But Fate is also unjust to those in highstations, and when the Revolution came itstripped the whole of royalty of its powerand of many of its possessions. Many a poorwoman must have worn the cameo before itwas restored to the royal family. Anothermonarchy crashed, and the royal family fled,leaving all personal possessions behind them.The angry mobs stormed the Tuileries. Adescendant of Andre la Bouche helped in thepillage, and found the family's lost heirloomin one of the Queen's jewel-cases. Since thenit has stayed in the family and has beenhanded down from generation to generation."

The shadows were darkening and I badeGrandmere goodnight and thanked her forher story—from the very bottom of my heart.

Years later, Grandmere willed me thecameo. Time has not changed its beauty orrichness, even though it has seen the centuriescome and go.

Wit's EndBy Don Manners, 10J5

Christmas time is almost here,Bachelors are stacking up on beer;The little kids are spending their dimes:1 hope these are acceptable rhymes.

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The Gentle Art of Washing a DogBy Polly Messinger, 9B

A CCORDING to a very old saying, "Experi-ence teaches." So I am sure that I am

justified in establishing myself as an experton the very complex and mysterious art ofwashing a dog. I say "complex" becausethere are many angles of approach to the sub-ject; and I say "mysterious" because the artis a dark and veiled mystery to many.

For the benefit of you who would learnthe technique, I will try to outline the bestpoints of attack and defense. Perhaps myboast about being an expert was hasty, butI can at least give you several vital hints.

Probably the first obstacle that one wouldencounter after getting the animal into thetub (and the art of getting him in is a sub-ject for another essay) is how to keep hjinthere. Fido, desiring that you, also, enjoythe delightful experience of taking a bath,invariably seeks to have you change placeswith him or at least share the tub. Patience,indeed, is needed to restrain the dog in hisenergetic gyrations. However, a stern voiceand a firm hand will usually succeed in com-manding the situation.

With Fido finally "established" in thewater, the next thing of importance is toapply the soap liberally. If it can be keptout of his eyes and ears, he may not mindthe soaping, and he will actually enjoy therubbing. But not for long is he contented;the rinsing water seems to cause him newand special annoyance. Although he appar-ently likes to be on top of the water, hemanifests a peculiar horror of its being ontop of him. Therefore, the sprinkling mustbe a slow and gentle one: dogs do notappreciate your watering their eyes.

Thus it goes, rub after rub, rinse afterrinse, until Fido somewhat resembles hisnative coloring. But the fact that he is cleandoes not indicate that your job is at an end.In one of the initial lines of this expositionI said something about attack and defense.It is now time for the defense.

Upon emerging from the tub, Fido beginsto feel like his former self. Hence, in aneffort to complete this feeling, he will in-variably begin to shed the excess water hiscoat has absorbed by a series of shakings,which prove to be very effective in drenchinganyone who happens to be standing nearby.To make your drenching less harmful, I canonly suggest wrapping yourself in severallarge bath towels and removing yourself

entirely from the path of the spray. OnceFido is a few feet beyond the limitations ofthe tub, he cannot be controlled, so the onlything you can do about it is to give him hisliberty again.

Then comes the loathesome task of cleaningthe filthy tub. Back-weary and dripping wet,you will undoubtedly reflect, as I have oftendone, upon the age-old proverb about dogbeing "man's best friend." And you willwonder whether, after all, our fine, four-legged friends really appreciate our well-intended efforts. But, on second thought, noteven man is perfect. Is he?

Aunt La Vahne's Fainting SpellsBy Caroline Keers, 9B

IT'S REALLY too bad that Aunt La Vahnedoesn't like water—but it was more than

water this time. You'll understand what Imean after I have told her story.

When my Aunt and Uncle La Vahne werefirst married, Aunt managed to have a faint-ing spell every night just about the time thatUncle came home from his work. I didn'tknow why she did this then, and it's still amystery to me (though it is perfectly clearto me why she suddenly stopped).

On these unhappy occasions Uncle wouldcarry her to her room, and then perform allsorts of tricks to sooth and baby her. But ifhe left the room to get a wet towel or some-thing she would open one eye, sigh, and smilein satisfaction—for if there's anything AuntLa Vahne does like it's being babied to death.But as soon as Uncle would come back shewould close the eye and remove the smile.

Unfortunately, though, it once happenedthat Mother was visiting her and Aunt waswearing her best dress. Putting on the usualact, she swooned just as Uncle came throughthe door. Mother was a little suspicious, soas they approached Aunt's room Motherentered with a whole pan of water and said,"I'd better just throw this cold water on her."

"Oh, no, you won't; you'll ruin my gooddress!" cried Aunt La Vahne as she sat upquickly in bed.

Then she realized her mistake. Since thenUncle knows better and so does AuntLa Vahne.

Monument to a Fellow-ClassmateBy Kenneth PoslosJcy, 10B

Here lies the body of Harold Brill.He formed the base of this big hill.

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"If at First You Don't Succeed"—By Robert Holsaple, 10B

TRYING to get a table in a crowded restau-rant is like trying to scratch your own nose

while you are inhabiting a strait-jacket. Whenyou enter the place the Head Waiter with thatauthoritative air of his will come up to youand ask in a menacing tone, "A table, or abooth?" (Emphasis on the "booth.") Sinceyou say "Table" he calmly leads you to abooth. You ask him who occupies the elevenempty tables, and he replies softly and un-assuringly that they are "Reserved." As youare very hungry you decide you'd rather takethe booth than argue.

Now comes the great struggle—trying toget into the midget jail cell. There are sev-eral combinations of contortionist squirmsand Houdini-like gyrations by which it ispossible to ooze into a booth. The first wayis to get down 011 your hands and knees andcrawl under the table, stage a back flip, pushwith your legs, and hope. This method,however, must not be attempted by anybodyweighing more than one-hundred-seventy-fivepounds.

Method Number Two was invented espe-cially for the corpulent. The idea is to tiesome balloons to your carcass and float overthe table to your seat.

By far the most complicated proceedure isto squeeze between the side of the booth andthe table. Fat men are again wholly excludedfrom trying it. And not even the lean willdare take a deep breath after sitting down, forfear of uprooting table, dinner, and all.

After devouring with great gusto a largepiece of fried rubber cow, remembering wist-fully and longingly the good hamburgers youhave eaten at the counter of a White Castlejoint, and subsequently removing your pocket-book from its hiding place, you face the greatproblem of getting out of the booth. This iscomparatively simple if you have a logicalmind: just reverse the method of getting in.If it doesn't work, you can always saw yourway out.

Having sawed, the sanest thing to do isrun. Remember the old proverb, "I came,I sawed, I ran." It's never wise to go againsttradition.

Ready to ObligeBy Banner Bell, 10B

My nose is on my face,My feet are on the floor,My shoes are tied with lace.Want to know any more?

DiagnosiphobiaP>y Audrey Cotlar, 1GB

I looked in the mirror,And what did I see?I'm afraid to look again:It might be me.

I Follow Marie AntoinetteBy Virginia Handlan, 10B

"v°u> T°°>can be the LIFE °F THEPARTY. You, too, can learn to play

the flute in TEN EASY LESSONS! No moresitting in the background at parties, watchingyour friends show off. Just mail TEN CENTSwith your name and address to the TOOTTOOT FLUTE COMPANY, and you will re-ceive ten monthly Learn-at-home Lessons."

I, being a rather shy person at the time,decided this was just what I needed. Into themail-box went my ten cents. After a few daysof anxious waiting, I received Lesson NumberOne. After I had read it over and assuredmyself that it would not be too difficult, Irealized that I didn't have a flute. Also, Ifound they had forgotten to mention not fur-nishing this necessary instrument, so I knewI either had to buy a flute or use one at theirstudio. This alternative might have workedout, only their studio was in New York, andI lived in Los Angeles.

The following day found me in a pawnshop buying a very inexpensive flute. WhenI returned home, my playful pup Jasper wasthe first one to express his delight at seeingit. In fact he saw it almost immediately—onthe floor. I tried to get it away from him,but in the scuffle something tragic happenedto it. One little piece that was obviouslynecessary to its musical properties slippedoff, rolled directly into the fireplace, and wentup in smoke.

So did I, and my state of mind was buoyedup considerably more when a man from thepawn shop came to examine the thing andtold me he had just discovered my ex-flutewas an exact duplicate of one which had beenowned by Marie Antoinette. In fact, if itcould be put back into working condition, itwould have a value of three thousand dollars.The man tried to repair it, and I tried to playit, but never a sound came forth again.

A year has passed, and I haven't receivedLesson Number Two. But if anyone wouldlike to invite me to a party without my flute,I shall be extremely happy to sit back in adark corner, twiddle my thumbs, and watchother people show off.

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Brief Items in VerseHe Rest in Pieces

With lead they plucked me by the ton,And now a worm's made a hole in one.

Max Putzel, 10B

Here I lie and so do you,The others cry, but not for you.

Max Putzel. 10B

Here lie the remains of the Perfect Tense,It died from being much too dense.

Virginia Hanalan, 10B

Here lies the body of poor old Sam,He died 'cause he didn't give a damn.

Bill Reinhardt, 10B

Christmas CheerIn our window stands a candle,But on the holder is no handle.

Bill Reinharat, 10B

For Wells or WellesHere lies his body under the stars,He kicked the bucket on his way to Mars.

Shirley Dawiaoff, 10B

I've heard about heaven, it's heard about me,But when my time conies, where will I be?

BoT) Lolir, 10B

My teacher is a funny one,She gives me work that can't be done.

Minor Fitzgerald, 10B

Two Other GuysOh, I know a man named McTavish,But McTavish I never did see;If I've never seen McTavish,Where did we meet—him and me?

Robert Holsaple, 10B

Philosophy's so much better than rhyme(If you can't write poetry when it's time).

Jackie Kratky, 10B

Here lies the body of Margaret Stead,She was very gay, but she died in bed.

Stanton Ramsey, 10B

I see a bird-house in the tree,If a bird doesn't come soon I'll use it for me.

Stanton Ramsey, 10B

I used to thinkThat a rhyme

Had to.Norman Crasilneck, 10B

A genius is born,A genius grows;I wish I knewAll that he knows.

Banner Bell, 10B

Weather ForecastWill it rain?Will it snow?Consult your paper:T don't know.

Banner Bell, 10B

DefeatDorothy Parker wrote some verse,So did I, but mine is worse.

Robert Hoisaple, 10B

Susie was a mermaid, but she isn't any more,For when the tide came in it left her on the

shore.Norman Crasilneck, 10B

Here lies the body of Nimble Norma,She had a nice face, and oh, what a forma!

Aileen Flanagan, 10B

Christmas PartyThe brilliant fireplace is of no earthly use,For in our hurry we forgot the fuse.

Leslie Nachman, 10B

Daddy claimed he caught a fish,Did he shoot us a line!He said the fish was six feet long,I know darn well it was nine!

Jack Bushman, 10B

Here lies the body of Steamboat Max,He kept on going and didn't relax.

Shirley Dawidoff, 10B

The Principal Source of PrecipitationThe cirrus sweeps the blue just so,The dark black nimbus hovers low;The cumulus is missed in fall,The stratus floats above them all.

Banner Bell, 10B

DraftedSo I'm in English class again,

And I'll pay close attention,For if the teacher doesn't pass me,

Then I won't get my old age pension.Norman Crasilneck, 10B

I sat in the dentist's chair,And by mistake he pulled my hair.

Norman Crasilneck, 10B

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Me and My Other HalfBy Alma Smith, 9B

AS I LIE here in this dark closet, a dis-regarded, old and worn pair of shoes, my

only consolation is to think of those betterdays when I used to go places. My memorygoes back to when I was first taken out of mybox and placed on Mr. Brown's feet. Whenhe said, "I'll take them," I felt like a happyorphan on first being adopted.

But to this day I don't know what he sawin me because I was just a plain pair of blackshoes, and I wasn't very comfortable to wear.In those early days when I was being house-broken, I'd catch myself pinching Mr.Brown's toes or gripping his ankle so tightthat he uttered a low cry of agony. The nextfew days Mr. Brown and I got along betterand because of my splendid co-operation Ireceived a shine and new laces.

That evening I really began to go places.Just think! dancing with a high-heeled Pump!With two of them, in fact. I was enjoyingmyself thoroughly until Mr. Brown em-barrassed me by clumsily stepping on one ofthe lovely Pumps. Going home, Mr. Browndidn't even hail a taxi and we had to walk inthe rain. I was saturated with water andwas sure I'd catch pneumonia. The nextmorning, however, I found that Mr. Brownhad carelessly put me on the radiator andinstead of having a bad cold I had a stiff neck.Mr. Brown didn't wear me for several daysafter this.

One evening he brought home a queer four-legged creature with a yiping voice. Thiscreature seemed so lively as to be dangerous,so I tried to make myself as insignificant aspossible. But somehow I happened to be thefirst apple of this creature's eye. He graspedone of me and gave it the shaking of my life.When it was all over I was minus a sole.

One day shortly after, Mr. Brown put meon again and looked into the mirror. To mydismay I realized my age was beginning toshow and wrinkles could be plainly seen.Mr. Brown noticed it too and he put me backin the closet. The next day he was sportinga pair of brown oxfords. These oxfords andI don't get along very well; for it's hard forpeople of a different age and race to getalong.

Now when I hear the supposed-to-be-musicplaying of the organ-grinder a fear piercesmy sole, for some day soon I know Mr.Brown will lose his temper and fling me outthe window directly in the face of a mis-chievous monkey.

Four Puppies I Have KnownBy Bobby Sapin, 9B

/y|AINY TIMES throughout my life I havebeen blessed with a steady companion,

an ever-ready enthusiast and friend—a dog.The first one was a perky little toy bulldog.

Our pet name for her was "Dixie," thoughher title in full read "Lady Beth of Devon-shire." (How such a name happened to havebeen attached to her, I was never able to findout.) All her sternest disapprovals as wellas her greatest satisfactions were vigorouslyand consistently demonstrated by a peppywagging of the tail. If a burglar had evercome into the house, I am sure the only recog-nition "Dixie" would have given him wouldhave been in a fierce wagging as he ap-proached the money box or the silver drawer.

The second pup was quite the opposite. Anibble at your shoe or a bite in the leg wasevidence that you had been courteously recog-nized by "Inky." Inky was a coal-black,hairy little Scottie, whose teeth were justabout as sharp as his bark. His pet hate wascolored people, and this he kept no secret.Perhaps it is true that we dislike in othersthe faults that are the worst in ourselves, evenif the fault be one of complexion.

My next canine love was "Zippy," a perfectgentleman and an indefatigable playmate, agood specimen of the wire-haired terrier race.Zippy quite lived up to his name. He espe-cially approved of playing, eating, and drink-ing cokes. You can see for yourself what asociable creature he was. His attitude towardthese pleasant diversions was always indi-cated by a frisky motion of his little spottedstern.

Last among my pets was "Dutch," a five-week-old "curbstone setter" when we got him,but a real pooch. His favorite parking placewas an old beer mug into which he fittedquite well. At night his only cradle was acomfortably equipped shoe box. His toysconsisted mostly of doll shoes and rubbersomething-or-others, and his dinner servicewas a cup and saucer out of a child's doll set.

Being friendly with dogs has really leftmemorable experiences with me, and I amsure that as long as I live I will never forgetthose joyful days I spent with them.

Healthy FrustrationBy Norman Crasilneck, 10B

The street car makes so darn much noise,Running down the track all day,I cannot hear the teacher talk,(As if I wished to, anyway!)

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My Camera and I — at SevenBy Baker Terry, 9B

I RECEIVED ray first camera on my seventhbirthday. It was a little, black, shiny one

and must have cost all of fifty cents.Soon after that birthday, I left on a vaca-

tion trip. The camera, with a supply of film,went along. During the trip the lens of mycamera saw everything from horses and cowsto Niagara Falls and the Atlantic Ocean.

During those first weeks with me thecamera had many experiences, some of whichmust have been decidedly unpleasant. Itspatience was probably sorely tried when itwas dropped into the water or left lying onthe sands. It didn't even whimper when itslens was scratched and numerous blows wereinflicted, leaving ugly-looking dents andcracks. I am proud to say that through allof these misfortunes my camera held up mostadmirably.

After exposing many rolls of film I re-turned home and immediately took my col-lection to a drugstore to be developed. Ispent many anxious hours (two days, to beexact) awaiting the finished pictures. At lastthey arrived—a measly few. blurred images,some with heads running off the edges, otherswith the Atlantic coming up forty-five-degreeslopes. Such facts as the number of doubleexposures are not for publication.

But in spite of these results which wouldsurely discourage almost anyone, I was reallythrilled and very much pleased to find outthat I could take what I (but probably onlyI) called pictures.

Potato RebellionBy Andy Mills, 9B

DOTATOES in one form or another areusually considered an essential part of a

well-balanced meal. People have been eatingpotatoes with their meals now for many years.Personally, I have no desire to change thislong-standing custom nor do I doubt theurgent necessity for potatoes as a part of ourdiet.

Probably the oldest and most commonmethod of preparing a potato is to boil it.I imagine that the average person upon reach-ing social security age has eaten around200,000 boiled potatoes, although I have nostatistics to prove this.

The fact is that most people take the boiledpotato for granted; they do not even thinkabout it when they eat one. No doubt ifpeople would stop to consider how flat andtasteless a boiled potato is and how uninter-

esting it looks, they would openly rebelagainst it and refuse to eat any more at all.

Frankly, though, I do not seriously believethat this will happen; and I realize that ifsuch an event did occur, it would be acatastrophe; for it would throw many millionpotato growers out of work and would leavemany thousands potato fields uncultivated.However, such an anti-potato outbreak is notan impossible occurrence. Greater Americantraditions than this have seen their downfallin the last decade. Therefore, I say to you,let our battle-cry be, "On to a Utopia wherethere are no boiled potatoes!"

Hunting in the Jemez MountainsBy Jean Ellis, 9B

IT TOOK several days to reach our destina-tion, the Jemez Mountains. We traveled

through a small desert, some sagebrush, anda forest of mesquite; our first sight of theevergreens at the foot of the mountain rangewas breath-taking. As we went up, the treesbecame more dense and a deeper green.

The air was saturated with the fragranceof pine needles and wood. The trees, thetallest I had ever seen, were from one hun-dred to two hundred feet high. On theground lay a thick carpet of pine needles. Tothe left were towering cliffs and to the rightwas a glistening lake. Never had we knownsuch beauty!

It was not long before we found a suitableplace and pitched camp. There seemed to bea million things to do. I made the beds on theground so that we could enjoy thick mat-tresses of pine needles. Those were our bedsfor almost two months.

The first morning in camp we awoke brightand early to see the sunrise. After breakfast,which tasted extra-special in the open air, weall set out in different directions to hunt deer.

For three days we hunted without success.During that time we saw many deer, but werenot able to kill even one. On the fourth dayafter walking just a short distance away fromthe camp, I saw a deer only about twenty-fiverods ahead of me. He sensed my presencealmost immediately and started to run. Iraised my rifle. The bullet hit right behindhis shoulder, and he was dead before I gotto him—a large buck with eight points. Ihad killed my first deer. It seemed that Ihad started the ball rolling, because thatsame day another member of the party killedone.

The head of my deer now occupies aprominent place above our fireplace.

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Resolved That . . .By Stanton Ramsey, 10B

THE BIG CEDAR stood there, ready tobegin the slaughter as I prepared to deco-

rate it. The first thing we did was look forthe ornaments. I went up to the attic andbegan hunting around. I threw some oldboxes out of my way, and was I surprisedwhen I heard an odd crash from within oneof them! I opened it with misgivings andthere were the ornaments in the past tense.I managed to salvage about ten of them andreturned to the living room.

After I had told my sad story to everyonewho would listen, we started to build a newstand for the tree. Here we met with oursecond misfortune. There was no lumberother than what was left of the old stand, sothe new one had to be made out of scraplumber. Although it turned out to be ratherflimsy I thought that if I prayed hard enoughit might hold.

We carried it into the living room, bal-anced the tree on top of it, and began todecorate. I placed a chair next to the treeso I could reach up to the top of it; but thiswas still not high enough so I added a stoolto the chair. Then like a tight-rope walkerI climbed up. The room tipped at a crazyangle. The tree came down on top of me andthe few ornaments we had were strewn overthe room.

With my conscience and a few other thingshurting I picked myself up and started allover again. We replaced the broken lightsas we went — from the bottom up. Wesprinkled the broken ornaments on the cottonunder the tree.

All went well until we started to put theStar on. Well, up went the chair, the stool,and me. Again I reached out. I heard abark, arid over went the room, the tree, andme.

Dazed, I began to hang up the stars thatwere around my head. When I finally cameto, I picked myself up, and in a few profanewords I made my first New Year's resolution.

Day DreamBy Perry Sparks, 9B

I am sitting in the Study HallAnd wondering whyThat's what it's called.

HopefulBy Don Brereton, 10B

I know why I'm going to college—To try to broaden my span of knowledge.

I Take Up PhotographyBy Alfred Kerth, 9B

^NE DAY a few years ago I took inventoryof myself and found that I had no par-

ticular interest in any certain thing; so Ibegan to look around for a hobby. Aftermuch consideration I decided to try photog-raphy, a hobby that, I was almost sure, wouldkeep me both interested and bewildered.

The next step was to get a camera. I visitedmost of the photography shops in the cityand finally chose one of the more compli-cated-looking candid cameras.

I then wrote a letter to "Santa Glaus,"describing, in detail, what I wanted. OnChristmas Day "Santa" pleased me greatlyby bringing me the camera. Then and thereI vowed that I would be a real candid camerafiend and, without further ado, sat down andmade plans for dumping a roll of film intothe thing.

From that time on the members of myfamily have lived in constant terror; for, trueto my vow, I have again and again caughtthem in what are unmistakably known asunglamorous poses. For the first few weeks,however, they were lucky; all I got back fromthe finishers were blank strips of celluloid.

Later, as I grew more experienced, myfilms began . . . Ah! But that's another story.

Last NightA Companion Piece to John Masefield's

TOMORROWBy Stanton Ramsey, 10B

0, last night my Uncle John drank thirstilyand deep,

The policeman came and grabbed him upand put him safe in keep.

They led him from the raided bar before hewent to sleep.

But tomorrow,By the living God, he will be drunk again.

Arid there upon the prison bench my unclesat and said:

"I wish that I were out of here so I couldgo to bed.

I also wish that I could have a drink to soothemy head."

And tomorrow,By the living God, he will be drunk again.

ExplanationBy Bon Brereton, 10B

I had to choose between prose and verse:I chose this — for better or worse.

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Herlock SholmesBy Dorothy DuBard, 9i>

lutY LIFE as a detective began in 1931 andit ended in 1931. On the evening of

June 29th of that year, I was just beginningto think nothing ever happens anymore whenmy phone rang furiously. I took my time inanswering it because just in case it was aclient I wanted him to think I was important.

When I finally answered, and my voicesounded nothing like my own, to my uttersurprise I heard a loud shriek and the thumpof a telephone landing on something hard.I just sat there in a daze and stared in frontof me until it suddenly came to me someonemight have been murdered. I got up quicklyand ran all over the office trying to find myhat and cane. In the excitement I had for-gotten they were right behind me. I nearlyfell down the steps getting to the street.

When I finally reached there (and in onepiece) I remembered I had forgotten toremember to call my wife as was my habit incase I left the office.

"Taaaaxi!"Then it dawned on me that I didn't even

know where I was going. Angry, I wentslowly back to the office, trying to think ofsomething to do. During this time only aboutfive minutes had passed; so, thinking I couldhave the number traced, I dialed Operator.But regardless of the life or death of myclient, and to the dismay of the operator andmyself, I found it couldn't be done.

Finally I called my wife to tell her of thestrange call, and my little daughter answered.As soon as she found out it was I, she toldme to come home quickly—that Mother hadfainted.

A few minutes later I was listening to mydaughter's explanation.

"And, Daddy, that's how it happened.Mummie saw the mouse and stood up on thestool. She lost her balance and dropped thephone; then she screamed and fell over."

RustyBy Richard Hetlage, 9B

QNE MORNING Father joyfully announcedthat we were going to get a dog. This

promised to be a great event in our lives,because we had never owned a dog. Duringthe entire next week we debated the questionof what kind it should be. My father wanteda large dog, my mother a small one. Brotherand I kept quiet.

About eight days later we all piled intothe car and drove out to a farm in Illinois

where Irish Setters are raised. When wecame home that evening, I thought the animalthat we had in our car was a dog; but nowI'm not so sure about it.

We gradually became accustomed to arather hectic existence. Just, picture this:The doorbell rings. Rusty happens to beupstairs. Look out! Here he comes! Rugsfly into big heaps. Chairs shoot out fromtheir places. The peddler at the door soonvanishes. A grocery boy unfortunatelyappears in the kitchen. It is not long beforehis salvation depends on his legs alone. Rustyhas bolted out and the chase is on! Our onlyhope is to catch the animal before there aretoo many complaints.

Summer came. The screen doors were puton, and the others were open most of thetime. As soon as Rusty learned to open thosescreens, we hooked them. But that didn'tstop him. Right through he went, leavingholes almost large enough to accommodatefull-grown elephants.

It wasn't that we were easily disturbed. Webore up patiently during Rusty's childhood.The drinking of cream from the creampitcher, the eating of whole cakes, and thesleeping in the best chairs became events thatwere more expected than despaired of.

Then we moved. From that time on wehad real trouble. Rusty began staying out-side and sleeping in the garage. Then whenhe decided that the seat of our automobilewas an ideal bed, he started the practice ofjumping through the car windows. We closedthem and thought that the problem had beensolved. But Rusty had ingenuity. Out hewent and enjoyed himself by jumping intoother people's cars.

That was the last straw. We had to givehim away. We hated to do it, because asmy mother said, "He has such personality."

Lately we have had several reports fromthe people we gave him to. It seems that anew environment has not had the desiredeffect. He has eaten several cakes anddelights in resting on the davenport in thebay window.

We expect him back C. 0. D.

Slightly RetardedBy Barbara Probe, 10B

I know a girl named Susie GageWho won't for the life of her admit her age.Of course if you were twenty-one last SundayAnd just learning how to read the FunnyYou wouldn't dare tell folks your age;And that's the secret of Susie Gage.

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Surprise AttackBy Jane Brereton, 9B

j WAS wandering through the woods on aday in October of 1700, on the lookout

for Indians. Glancing about and seeing thebeauty of the forest, I wondered how, in thesesurroundings, those red savages could be socruel. I peered around so intently I trippedon a root. I grabbed at an overhanging vine,but the vine broke and I sat down in a poolof water. Feeling sure the Indians wouldjump on me at any moment, I looked warilyaround—still sitting in the pool.

With a start, I jumped up and tore out forhome which was a mile or two away. Outof the corner of my eye I had seen an Indian.The hideous color of war paint on his faceand the bright red feather at the back of hishead showed through the thin foliage of abush. The light tread in the brush behind mecame nearer and nearer, and I ran faster andfaster. All of a sudden everything was quietand that was even worse than the noise. Ipeeped over my shoulder, very careful thistime to pick up my feet, and then I saw himstaring at me. He was a beautiful bronzecolor, and he was about the size of a Cali-fornia redwood.

Certain that death was near, for the crea-ture had started pursuing me again, all thethings I had ever done in the past and all ofthe things I had ever wanted to do flashedthrough my mind. I knew the creature wasgaining because I could hear grunting sounds,and I could almost feel his hot breath on theback of my neck.

Suddenly our house came into sight, and Iran so fast I thought my lungs would burst.I reached the house a few feet ahead of him,rushed in, and slammed the door in his face.I locked the door and fell against it, gaspingfor breath.

Turning around, I was confronted byDaddy. He looked at me very sternly andsaid, "Jane, how many times have I told youto quit acting like a child, running all overthe lawn, and hiding behind trees? Look atyour clothes. They're all torn and muddy!And running away from Lad — you knowyou'll never train him if you don't takebetter care of him. Now go upstairs and getwashed up. We're having company to dinner."

My dream castle crumbling around myhead, I slowly climbed the stairs to my room.

Page

A Tight SqueezeBy Ronald Lasky, 9B

VES, CAMP was over. It was time to gohome. After eating breakfast I decided

to pack my things as quickly as I could sothat there would be some extra time for doinganything that I wanted to before we left forthe station.

First I looked at the gigantic pile of junkon my bed, and next at my two suitcases,which, that day, seemed unusually small.Then and there I declared that it just couldn'tbe done. Although I was sure that I waswasting my time, I struggled for almost anhour, trying to fit things in at various angles.

I became positively frantic. What, was Ito do? I'd have given anything if my motherhad been there with me then. How she everpacked all that stuff in two traveling bags tobegin with is still a wonder to me!

So there I stood—the guy who wanted tofinish packing early—with absolutely nothingdone. Finally in desperation, I took onesuitcase, emptied out about half the thingsthat I had put into it, and pressed the liddown as hard as I could. After a gre^tstruggle, I actually succeeded in getting thatbag closed. But then came the problem ofpacking all the rest of the stuff into the otherbag. Well, everything went in, so to speak;but there were a number of articles thatdidn't seem to fancy being confined withinthe four walls of the suitcase. I saw thatassistance was absolutely necessary. I startedshouting for help; and a few seconds later,three of my fellow-campers appeared. Weall pushed, Art and Gerald on one side andAlan and I on the other. Still the stubbornthing wouldn't close.

As the last resort I called to my councilorfor help. And by employing what looked tome like conjurer's tricks, he did it. Boy!Was I relieved!

Needless to say, I had no extra time forenjoying myself. In fact, the station wagoncame very near leaving without me.

ResignationBy Dolores Benson, 10B

My kid sister's a pain in the neck;

She tags along and she bothers like heck.But to my dismay, she's here to stay,And I gotta put up with her anyway.

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PanoramaBy Max Putzel, 10B

I see flowers everywherein long-rowed vivid garden-beds,budding here, budding there,with blues and yellows, purples, reds—splashing gay and shrieking designof tones intense, yet sweet and fine.

I see shy flowers of the springhiding in niches of age-old trees;I hear the apple blossoms singfragrant with scent that bends on knees(whom beauty touches now and then)the hardest, even, of hardest men.

I see flowers through glass house panesplanted in pots of baked red clayposing erect in neat, straight lanes;some shrieking again in lively play,but others quietly sit and sing,drowned by the hubbubs of their kin.

I see flowers through window glasswithin the walls of dreary rooms,flowers the lowliest of their class,for they are the slaves that break the gloomof places where no soul is stirred—of beauty of their songs, unheard.

II

Nipped in the NailsBy Norma Levy, 10B

BUT ALL YOU have to do is stop bitingyour fingernails and they'll get to be

inches long."So I took the suggestion and instead of

biting my nails when Clark Gable kissedHedy Lamarr I sat on my hands. For threeweeks I persevered and finally I could beginto see a little bit of nail showing just abovethe quick. "Quick," I repeat to myself as Iwrite, thinking that three weeks was a prettylong time if I can judge right.

From the minute I first found that little bitof nail showing, that was all I could think of.Long fingernails like all the glamour girls.Glamour! Before long I was beginning tothink this anti-biting campaign was a prettygood idea.

And then it happened—the tragic day whenrushing through the house at break-neckspeed I didn't break my neck but only hit myleft hand against the living-room door, andoh, my poor, poor fingernail that I hadworked so hard raising!

Take it from me, girls, there's no future init, glamour or no glamour. Sooner or lateryour right hand finds out what your left isdoing and it's all off.

For Peace on EarthBy Marjorie Poecker, 10B

0 World, do you call this Peace?Destruction of our civilization?Let all mankind feastFor our country's own duration.Crumbling from earth to hell,Falling like rain aboveInto a deep, thunderous well,0 World—let there be wisdom and love.

The SkipperBy Janet Auer, 10B

With innocent look he enters my roomAnd sits beside my bed.With a sudden leap he jumps to my sideAnd cushions his small soft head.

He looks at me as if to say,"You don't have to go to school today.This is the day you spend at home,And through the nearby woods we'll roam."

I do not stir, I lie ever so still,Until he is quite perturbed;And I keep it up as long as I can—Until his soft bark I've heard.

I

A Couple o' Strikes andNinety-nine FoulsBy Dolly Michelson, 9B

T'S JUST too foul for me! How somepeople can rave about a baseball game is

more than I can understand. Although yourseats are not in the sun (if you're extravagantenough to have boxes or reserved seats), theheat is sweltering. If a foul ball is struck,you must guard yourself to your best advan-tage or else risk getting a concussion, abroken arm, or at least the wind knocked outof you.

The people who attend these games regu-larly can hardly be called mere baseballenthusiasts. In my opinion they are (I hesi-tate to say it) nuts. For example, take MaryOdd. If you have ever seen a game in hercompany you can easily get my point. To gointo ecstasies over a three-base-two-strikes-and-ninety-nine-fouls-is-an-out game is be-yond my understanding.

Baseball, I will admit, is a little more fun toplay. But I can think of a better way tospend a dollar than to watch a crowd of menrunning around in circles as if they "don'thave them all." No doubt I have already gotsome ardent fan's goat, but after all this isAmerica!

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Small Towns PreferredBy Joyce Rosenberg, 9B

I AM GLAD I have lived in a small town—a town with its Main Street, its bronze

statue inscribed with the town's war heroes;churches, frame houses, the two-block busi-ness section, and a Mississippi Riverfront.What fun it was when I was a child andallowed to go downtown into the activebusiness section, where I knew everyone andhad no fear of getting lost. How could oneget lost, when one knew the policeman, thepostman, and the storekeepers, and when onealways met a neighbor or two?

Our town was proud of its neighbors. Wewere all friends, regardless of religious orpolitical views. In fact, religion and politicsmade up a good part of our front-yard dis-cussions with the neighbors of a hot summerevening,

In a small town one does not have to go farto pick wild flowers. We knew a hillsidewhere the violets grew the thickest. EachApril, with baskets on our arms, we wouldclimb our violet hills and gather lovelypurple flowers to our heart's content. And onSunday afternoons the hikes along the bluffsand cliffs above the Mississippi affordedpleasures seldom equaled.

In winter Nature gave us new thrills andadventures. The many snow-covered hillsfurnished safe places for tobogganing andcoasting. And when we finally grew tiredand cold, home was just over the next hill.

We live in a Democracy, and a Democracyneeds small towns. The people in them takean active part in civic and governmentalaffairs. They own their own homes (not justhouses, but homes) ; they own their own busi-nesses, or their own farms. And what peopleown they are proud of, they love, and whatthey love they fight for. As long as we havesmall towns, we will have citizens who willfight to keep them as they are.

Gone SentimentalBy Perry SparTcs, 9B

Where is the place we all like best,Though we're there but a year or another

half,The place that excels over all the rest,Where we may work or play or laugh?

We may play some, but we cannot shirk,For everyone's anxious about us and our

work.You can plainly see if you're not a foolThat the only place is Wydown School.

The Highwayman(Greatly Revised)

By Don Brereton, 10BDown the slick, clean highway,Down cemented lanes,A well-dressed gent is coming,Or else I'm waiting in vain.

With a big, black car a-shining,In the silvery light of the moon,At last he's come to greet me;I say to myself, "What, so soon?"

The full moon has arisenTo great, magnetic powerAs he ascends my doorstepAt this merry, moonstruck hour.

He taps with his cane on the window,But all is silent as death;He vibrates the chimes in the hallway,While I just hold my breath.

He's my curly-headed hero—What handsome eyes and pate!But, oh, how my Icnees are knocking!Just think—it's my first date!

The Night RaiderBy James Reinnarftt, 9B

IT WAS a dreary night with the wind blow-ing and rain falling, when all of a sudden

I was awakened by a peculiar noise down-stairs. There was the slamming of a door,the rattling of dishes, and a strange mum-bling sound. Then the clock struck twelve.Ought I go and see who it was? I got outof bed and started to put on my slipperswhen crash! a dish fell. I took my slippersoff and jumped into bed. I pulled the coversover my head and shivered.

At twelve-thirty I finally got up enoughcourage to go and make an investigation. Iput on my slippers once more and starteddown the steps very quietly. When I cameto the bottom step, I peeped around thecorner. As I did so I shouted "Halt!" Theprowler was a tall, broad, stout man clad inpajamas. He slammed the icebox door andhe turned around. To my surprise and em-barrassment, the marauder was my father.After laughing awhile, we sat down at thetable to enjoy a midnight lunch.

SatisfactionBy Don Manners, 10B

My couplets and quiplets are now all written,I feel like the dog that has chewed what he's

bitten.

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Ah! For the Life of a Hermit!By Kafliryne Gage, 9B

AFTER much debating over "the reason"which we will not give, but which you

may guess if you like, we are absolutelydefinite about our future. Yet, it's a hermit'slife for us!

Oh, the joy of not having to be told to"pick up your room now" or "practice beforeyou go out." And the glorious feeling ofgetting up when you want to and of nothaving to eat those squooshy lima beans.Just think! The wonders of it all!

There would be a little log cabin with"Smage" and "Unwelcome" on the frontdoor. There would be dogs and pets ofdifferent kinds to guard the house. Catsexcluded!

Living a life of mystery to the outsideworld. No other people to worry about. Noone to interrupt and take us away from ourthoughts. Complete privacy!

These things make up the life of a hermit.And that's the life for us! (Smage, Inc.)

How Tuckett Almost GottitBy Sam HoUzman, 10B

THIS IS THE stpry of World War NumberTwo as related by Beard and Beard whose

beards turned white after the second war wasover. It is one hundred per cent authentic.Any deviations from the original story areloudly unclaimed by the author.

In the early nineteen-thirties a certain manby the name of Iodine Tuckett came to powerin the Land of Pills. He was called Iodinebecause iodine burns and he burned everyoneup. He was called Tuckett because he likedto steal and when anyone missed anythingthe people would say, "Iodine Tuckett."

It wasn't long before Iodine the Pill de-clared war on the peace-loving Vitamins, hisneighbors, because he thought their grasslooked greener than his own. At the outsetof the war millions of Vitamins were killed,and Tuckett was immediately so confident ofvictory that he changed his name to Gottit.The next thing he did was to send out a lotof Pills t,o burn up the Vitamins' munitionsplants.

But after a few years of Pilly successes thetide turned suddenly because no food couldget into the Pilly country: the Vitamins hadlearned to sink the cells which brought foodto the people's veins.

Needless to say, the Vitamins won out inthe end. All of which goes to show thatVitamins can kill any Pill.

Life Begins at ...By Virginia Fitzgerald, 9B

W/HEN YOU reach the age of twelve, youare entering the awkward stage. Beware

of it! If you think yourself abused you willbe within your rights, for you are treated asboth child and adult. That makes life twiceas hard for you. You are expected to payfull fare at movie houses and on the bus, butwith it all, you are forced to eat your carrotsand retire at an unreasonably early hour.Somehow or another your body seems to beall hands and there appears to be no placefor them. Inches are gained and pounds arelost, and your build is ruined. Self-consciousof your awkward proportions, you walk withyour shoulders slumped, and are thereforeconsidered lazy. Oh, you must not feel sorryfor yourself. After all, you have a happyfuture to look forward to. Just think, you'llbe over the awkward stage in about five years!

JunkiesBy George Ryan, 9B and 10B

THERE is something about a junk yard thatfascinates me—row on row of rust-colored

skeletons surrounded by a musty odor of gasand oil that is perfume to my nostrils. Themen that work there—well, you really can'tcall them mere men. They are super-creatures,nimbly dancing to and fro between the wreckswhere no ordinary man would venture; wield-ing their mallets high above their heads,knocking off useful parts without; hesitation,making appraisals with a hasty glance of theeye as they weave among these magnificentstructures of man's ingenuity.

As in any business there are two distinctclasses. For example, in the show businessthere are the actors, writers, producers, andsuch people that live in a world of their own.These are the insiders, and to them the audi-ence is of lower intelligence. So it is in thejunk business; the junkmen come first. Thenthere are scrap buyers, tool salesmen, automechanics, and small garage owners; suchpeople comprise the insiders. But of all these,the junkman is supreme.

You probably have passed a junkman onthe street in the course of your life and nevernoticed him because he is like many dirty,shabbily-dressed working men. But if bychance you ever visit his junk yard, hiskingdom where he is supreme lord over alland reigns in all his glory, you too willmarvel at the way in which he carries on hisbusiness.

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EscapeBy Jack Sprague, 10B

THE RAYS of the sun beamed and shim-mered, stretching across the prairie and

heralding a new day in. A glorious day, anadventurous day, the kind that causes theblood to race through the veins until youknow you will go mad unless somethinghappens to set you free. So it was with meas I flung all worldly cares to the winds,pressing unceasingly on the accelerator, caus-ing the wind to shrill past the car, and thesprings to utter a shrieking protest with everyjolt-

Escape! Yes, escape was within my grasp.Escape at last; mine for the taking—mine fora brief time. Escape from the ever-throbbingpulse of the surging multitudes within thegrimy city. Freedom in the country—freedomfor a single day; my one desire as my carflew down the highway, leaving all unpleasantthings behind. Facing the unknown broughtonly joy to me.

Even nature with her beauty shuns the citywith its dirt and smoke; nature fears beingmarred and defaced and prostrated by thefeet of the city. But there—there in the coun-try, nature spreads her beauty over all things;equally she distributes her wealth.

Yes, life in the country, life; life for oneday. And then back to death—death for alifetime.

My Conference Withthe President

By Dick Smallwood, 10BCEVERAL weeks ago, in the capacity ofJ C. B. F. E. D. W. P. A. (Commissioner ofButchers and Flea Extermination Departmentof the W. P. A.), I was called to Washingtonto confer with the President. The matter tobe discussed was of the utmost importance.The telegram which I received said so.

Upon my arrival at the Capitol I was hur-riedly escorted to the President's quarters.The President, hearing that I had come, im-mediately laid aside such trifling matters asreducing the national debt and keeping thecountry out of war.

Without wasting any time we set sail fora week of fishing in the South Seas (at theGovernment's expense). This was the firsttime I had ever been in the Tropics so all Icould say was, "Such fish! such beautifulcountry! such food! such women!"

When we came back to the States we had abig fish fry in Washington. Boy, was thatfrozen haddock good! At the Capitol I wasintroduced to many important people and agood many more who thought they were. Anumber of social functions—teas, receptions,and balls—were given in my honor, and atthe last one of these parties five more letterswere added to my already elongated title.

My official title now reads: C. B. F. E. D.C. P. C. F. G. W. P. A. (Commissioner ofButchers and Flea Extermination Department,Companion to the President, and Chief Fisherof Girls of the W. P. A.). And the next timeI am called to Washington for a Conferencewith the President I shall of course be readyto oblige.

My "Night Among the Pines"By Mary Louise Frey, 9B

A GROUP of gay-hearted girls trippedwearily but happily into camp quarters,

following their evening mountain walk. Aftera unanimous decision they placed their sleep-ing bags in a circle go that no one wouldbe lonesome.

As I settled down to sleep, I chanced toremember Robert Louis Stevenson's lovelyessay on "A Night Among the Pines." Mythoughts were boldly interrupted by anaggrieved and inconsiderate beetle who hap-pened inside of my mosquito netting, andupon finding no outlet, proceeded to annoyme. Then several mosquitos and other in-definables cautiously entered my cove untilthere were more than enough visitors to havea party. What an enjoyable time they hadat my expense, while I began seriously todoubt Stevenson's sincerity or sanity.

Nature, resentful of my attitude toward herchildren, cooled my resentment somewhatwith gentle drops of rain which rather addedto my discomfort. And as I tried a secondtime to settle down to sleep after ourfatiguing mountain walk, a burst of laughterran through the air and again it seemed thatI was to have no rest that night. But finallythe heavens were lighted by twinkling starswhich soon dispelled the gloom, and I won-dered if a night among the pines wasn't afterall as delightful as Stevenson described it.Thoroughly exhausted, I stretched out andwas calm.

Page Seventeen

THE IGORROTE

Hokku VersesSmoke

The smoke, thick and black,With giant sooty handsSoils the tall white buildings.

Doris Loesch, 9B

StarsStars like diamondsOn a black velvet gownSparkle in the sky.

Hallie Flora, 9B

SnowA blanket of white,Covering the earth like smooth white creamOver chocolate pie.

Sylvia Goldberg, 9B

LibraryBooks arranged on shelvesLike people sitting in even rowsIn a theatre.

Sylvia Goldberg, 9B

Home WorkWork that tonight is confusingBecomes tomorrow's subjectIn class.

Xeal Brown. 9B

AprilMist on the blossomsFrom a cold damp nightElope with the sun.

Florence Zanzie, 9B

LifeThe golden flow of lifeLike a sunlit river streamNever stops for time.

Alvin Knocke, 9B

DeathDeath is a welcome sleepAt the end of a journey—Rest, peace, quiet.

Skippy Binder, 9B

White CloudsQueer shapes and figuresFloating in the deep blue skiesLike wide bulging sails.

Dorothy DuBara, 9B

FogA curtain of mistHangs over the earthSecuring shadowy figures.

Janet Bayliss, 9B

BeggarA fat teddy bearHigh up on the toy shelfBegging for a home.

Dolly Miclielson, 9B

MurderSharp clean blade of steelCuts smoothly through and throughThe roast we had for dinner.

Juaith Speotor, 9B

On Seeing the Sunday Cinemaor

How to Spend a Dollar to Save Three DimesBy Shirley Dawidoff, 10B

A FTER giving the rug a swish with thecarpet-sweeper and letting the potatoes

burn while Mama takes the top layer of dustoff the Grand Piano I rush into the kitchen tojoin the family at "dinner." The charcoal-bedecked food is served buffet style from thekitchen stpve—to save time. Then the raceto see who can be ready first for the Sundaycinema.

To reach the theatre before prices go upanother dime, Papa passes up a few stop-lights and finally pulls over to the curbamidst a chorus of back-seat-drivers' voicesand the cop's motorcycle siren. Then withthe ticket folded neatly in Mama's coinpurseall our eyes scan the gutters for a parkingplace. Eventually I spot one, and just aswe climb out a fire-plug draws up and parksthere. Papa finally parks the car about six-teen blocks from the movie, but after all thatis cheaper than paying a quarter on a lot.

Well. Papa gets the admission tickets oneminute before two o'clock and we dash intothe building only to hear that there will bea forty-five minute standing-wait for seats.Five. ten. fifteen minutes pass; and then, atthe end of thirty, Mama, hot and over-exercised by the long walk, falls into a faint.(Or was it the combination of raw chicken,burnt potatoes, and runny banana creampie?)

Next thing we know Papa and I are un-willingly following the stretcher bearingMama from the movie. The papers said thepictures were two of the best, but I don'tknow; I think I've seen better.

OptimisticBy Don Brereton, 10B

I can drive a car, sail a boat, an airplaneI command—

Golly! Gee Whiz! Geeminee! I must beSuperman!

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"Nothing"By Dick Blocher, 9B

UPON HEARING or reading the title whichI have chosen to write about, you will

most likely say, "But one can't write aboutNothing. There's just nothing to be said onthe subject." You might even say that it isnot even a subject. That, my friends (andI know you are my friends), is where youare sadly mistaken. Nothing is the subjectof a great many poems. For instance:

Old Mother HubbardWent to the cupboardTo get her poor doggy a boneBut when she got there

what did she find? Nothing! I am forcedto admit, however, that the dog might havepreferred a bone, but a dog is a dumb animaland we shall have to make allowances forhim.

No doubt you have heard the comment,"Nothing is more interesting than a goodbook." Now all of us know that a good bookis definitely interesting, and therefore the sub-ject about which I am about to scribble afew decent thoughts is more interesting thana good book. This is not an original idea, ofcourse, but most good ideas are not original.And so much for the merits of Nothing as atopic for a sane person to use in the com-position of a manuscript.

It is Saturday, and Mr. J. Q. Snubgrubblehas promised his darling wife, Mrs. MinnieSnub-whatchamacallit, that he will, withoutfail, fix the alarm clock so that it will ringat eight a. m . when it is set for eight a. m.He has also promised to open the door to theguest room, which is never used anyway.

The moment he is dressed, J. Q. dashesdownstairs to breakfast, then upstairs for thealarm clock, down into the basement to theworkbench, to the hardware store to get someparts for the clock; back to the house, downto the workbench, to the hardware store toget some parts for the clock; back to thehouse, down to the workbench, upstairs toanswer the phone, next door to get the neigh-bor's cat down from a tree; back home again,hurry, faster, get going, step on it, all daylong from early morning until dinner time.

And what does all this rush mean? Whatdoes J. Q. accomplish? Nothing! The onlyrecognizable change in the situation is thatthe alarm clock doesn't ring at all—now. Andthe door to the guest room is in such a hor-

rible condition that it will take at least fivecoats of paint to remedy it; better still, theymight get a new door.

And so—"Much Ado About Nothing."

SupersalesmanBy Charles Rollins, 10B

gUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! kept sounding in myears. I finally opened the door and came

face to face and foot to foot with a small,well-dressed young man carrying a hugeblack suitcase.

"Good morning, Sonny," he began with abroad smile on his face. "Is the lady of thehouse in?" At the sight of Mother his well-prepared speech explaining how he was work-ing his way through college (one to teachbrush salesmen how to end their sales talks,I hoped) began to pour forth. He was alittle man, but oh, what a line he did have!

In a rapid, sing-song manner he proceededto cut loose. "I am showing the newest lineof stock of the Atlas Brush Company. Thebrushes are easy as—as A.B.C. to use. Ha, ha!that's my own slogan and I thought it all outmyself! These brushes make every day aholiday. They lighten your pains and effortsand do a perfect job. Today we are offeringan amazing value to you for a limited timeonly. A bargain like this comes but once ina lifetime. This handy little brush costs butsixty cents—only half a dollar plus a dime.It is a general utility brush that no home iscomplete without; it will fulfill any purposeyou put it to from brushing your teeth tocombing your dog's hair."

Finally Mother managed to get a word inand said she did not care for any brushestoday. But the salesman continued:

"Now, don't tell me you intend to pass upthe greatest opportunity of a lifetime! Youwill never see another brush like this one.The bristles were taken from the wildSiberian hog and the solid bone handle yousee is made from the horn of the rare Uni-corn." I guess he thought I didn't knowthere wasn't any such animal.

Mother, trying to get away, said she wasbusy and had to get back into the house. Asshe started to close the door the salesmanstuck his foot inside so the door wouldn'tshut. The harder she pushed, the faster theman talked on about the wonders of hisproducts. •

With a disgusted, half-defeated attitude hesaid, "I'll leave you to your regrets, then, but

(Continued on next page)

Page Nineteen

THE IGORROTE=»*,

SUPERSALESMAN(Continued from page 19)

I knew Barnum was right when he said, 'Asucker is born every minute.' "

About this time Mother was becoming evenmore disgusted than the salesman, and sup-posing that the only way to get rid of himwas to buy his brush, asked the price again.(I think she decided it was worth sixty centsto get rid of him.)

"Seventy cents," was the reply."Seventy!" Mother exclaimed. "What made

the price go up in the last few minutes?""These brushes, Madame," replied the

salesman, "are in such great demand that theprice goes up a dime every ten minutes—apenny a minute."

RevelationBy Juditn Spector, 9B

VOU KNOW the kind of town it was. Aplace where everybody knows everybody

else. A place where the family business passesfrom generation to generation. A place whereone person's troubles are everybody'stroubles—a typical small American village.

Now in this village there was a church. Itwasn't very large, but it was a nice church—the kind a man could walk into and not losehis soul in the vastness of a huge abbey. Yes,it was a comfortable church. And its onetreasure was a stained glass window in whichthe Holy Virgin was portrayed.

The Virgin's eyes were full of pity. Yousensed they had a message to give. And some-how when you looked into the Virgin's faceyou could see all the suffering of the humanrace for ages past. It wasn't like any otherof the conceptions of the Holy Mother, butlike all holy things it had a meaning all itsown.

In the village there lived a little boy notmuch younger than you or I. A typicalAmerican boy, a fun-loving boy full of im-pulsive mischief and quick repentance. Nowthis little boy, Johnny by name, had a sling-shot of which he was very proud. This pridehe was accustomed to showing, and notalways when he was in the safest places. Butthe target that Johnny wanted most to tacklewas the stained glass window. He had areason, though. Every Sunday he had to sitin that church in the stiff pews and his kneesgrew sore with kneeling. More than that, hewas always bored by the sermons. If he hadlistened to them more closely, he might havelearned that Vengenance was not his, but the

Lord's. But in his little way Revenge was tobreak the stained glass window, and oh, howsweet the thought! But to get up the courageto do it, that was quite another problem.

But on this particular day Johnny hadfinally mustered up just enough courage toenable him to go through with it. The hugemonster-night had already spread its giganticclaws over all the earth when Johnny slunkout of the house armed with his preciousweapon. He made his way slowly toward thechurch, avoiding the light cast out by thestreet lamps. Arriving at the church hesauntered up to the window and gazed uponthe Virgin Mother with all his visionarypowers, taking in every detail of her face.

Suddenly a slow melodious voice spoke tohim out of the darkness. "It is beautiful,isn't it, my Son?"

Johnny spun around to face the speaker.Then he breathed a sigh of relief. It wasonly the priest. But the clergyman went righton speaking without waiting for an answer.

"Sometimes when I get all ruffled andangry at the world I come out here and justlook at her, and somehow the turbulent wavesof my soul are quieted and then I feel thatI have the strength to go back and face an-other day. She's like that, isn't she? Sheseems to know when things have gone wrongand she just sets them right . . ."

The priest went on speaking and his voicedroned on and on in Johnny's ears, butJohnny wasn't listening. He was listeningonly to a subconscious voice inside himselfthat told him he could never really shoot thatwindow—because even if he did he wouldonly shoot a likeness and the real thingwouldn't be harmed at all.

Suddenly the voice became familiar andhe knew he was listening to the priest oncemore.

". . . and so you see, my Son, that religionis a great thing and without it mankind wouldbe in a pitiable state amongst all the warsthat rage around us."

And then as if by divine revelation Johnnyknew the priest was right and that his littlesubconscious voice was the same as thepriest's, for after all religion and consciencecannot be separated.

Johnny looked up into the priest's face andsaid, "Thank you, Father." Then he turnedaway and with his slingshot still underneathhis coat he walked home with a calm spirit.

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THE IGORROTE

Fisherman's LuckBy Robert Kilgen, 9B

IT WAS a warm summer night on MiamiBeach, and Hal, Jack, and I were night-

fishing in the surf. We had been throwingour lines out into the darkness for quite awhile when a soft, silvery glow came out ofthe East, and the misty Miami moon rosegently above the horizon.

Out in the water we saw what we at firstbelieved to be a body floating. The objectcame closer and closer to the shore, then cameout of the water and advanced toward us andup the beach. We turned our flashlights onit and looked upon the moat enormous turtlewe had ever seen. We got around behind itand while Hal took the back flipper and Ithe front, Jack turned her over on her backwith great effort.

Then, having heard of the good prices re-ceived for green sea turtles, we rushed madlyup to our apartment to bring the folks downto see the prize. One look at the turtle and myDad went up to the lighthouse and broughtback with him the fisherman who bought allsorts of sea food. Mrs. Turtle was now lyingon her back trying to punish herself for herfolly, digging her flippers into the sand withsuch vigor that she slapped herself on thehead with some resounding whacks.

When the verdict was pronounced, itproved to be a loggerhead turtle weighingalmost three hundred pounds. The fishermanthen asked us whether we saw the turtle com-ing out of the water or going in. When wetold him she was coming out he said, "Toobad, boys. She was coming up to lay hereggs in the sand and it. is unlawful to takeher unless she was returning to the sea.

A loggerhead may be compared to a greensea turtle as a calf to a bull. The eyes of theloggerhead are about like golf-balls and thebeak resembles a horse's hoof. The meat istoo tough to eat but is good in soup, and theliver, which weighs twenty-five or thirtypounds in a turtle this size, is excellent. Thisis one of the most vicious turtles in the seaand it was lucky for me that I didn't lose mygrip while I was holding its front flipper onlyfour inches from the mouth.

After such an experience I am lookingforward with great enthusiasm to my next tripto Miami, which will be the twentieth of thismonth. I plan to go for a two weeks' fishingtrip in the Gulf Stream—where you neverknow what will be at. the end of the line asyou feel that thrilling tug at your hook.

Fate Plays a TrickBy Virginia Handlan, 10B

QEORGE MONTGOMERY, better known tohis fellow-racketeers as "Monte," had just

hit upon a new idea."Listen, Joe," he yelled to one of his

accomplices, "do you remember AlexanderVon Swoon's secretary?"

"Yeah," drawled Joe O'Grady, who wasjust waking up from a mid-afternoon nap.

"Well, I saw her today and she said thatVon Swoon is putting his three millions intoa little bank in Springfield, Indiana. Afraidof New York banks, I guess. What say wego to this place, get in good with the popula-tion, and one day pull a neat little job andwalk off with the millions?"

"It's 0. K. with me, Boss," answered Joe,still only half-conscious.

"Let me think for a minute, now," saidMonte. "We could take a little more thana thousand with us and use the thousand forcharity donations — some to the Orphans'Home, some to the Churches, and so on. Say,that's about the keenest idea I've had in aboutfive years."

That night saw two men and a thousanddollars or so safely aboard the train toSpringfield, Indiana. They pulled into thestation about seven the next morning. Twolone men got off and prepared to find a hotelthey could stay in where they could sleepuntil noon, the time they usually got up.Monte could hardly believe his eyes when hesaw people stirring, going about their day'sbusiness.

"Well," said Monte, who was very well upon his sayings, "when in Indiana, do as theHoosiers do."

The two men registered at the Royal Hotel,the best in town. At the desk they were metby the smiling face of Dorothy White, thedaughter of the town's leading business man.

"Good morning," she said. "Do you wanta room?" For a full minute Monte, stunnedby her beauty, did not answer. When hecame back to earth he answered, "Yes, a roomfor two."

Monte was an intelligent man and when hehad got settled the first thing he did was tovisit the Orphans' Home and for one wholeday actually stayed and played with the chil-dren. He seemed greatly interested in themand two weeks later the manager was not evensurprised to find a donation from him. It wasfour hundred dollars.

The First Christian Church was the next on(Next Page, Please)

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THE IGORROTE

FATE PLAYS A TRICK(Continued from page 21)

his list. The only reason he could think offor giving them three hundred was that heliked the charity work they were doing. Buthe was nearly scared to death when he learnedthey wanted him to give a speech for them.He got out of it very easily, however, byadopting a sore throat.

Monte felt he was realizing his goal. Thepeople were beginning to think of him as avery good man. But he must still do onething more—he must give his remaining threehundred dollars to some organization. Itwent to the Christian Church's Ladies' AidSociety, for all the good things the womenof the church had said about him.

Monte was now flat broke and ready to getto work. In the middle of making his finalplans for the robbery, a letter came from NewYork. It was from Von Swoon's secretary.

Dear Monte,I am sorry but I made a terrible

mistake about the bank Mr. Von Swoonput his money in. It was in the bankat Springfield, Missouri.

Love,Evie.

As Monte read the letter an expression ofviolence, then of bitterness, then of self-hatredin his face changed at length to one of gloom,then of amusement, and finally real reliefand actual happiness.

"It won't be bad staying around here wherepeople respect me a lot, anyway. I can geta decent job in almost no time, the way-people in this town feel about me. Eh. Jo?"

"Sure, sure. And you can get betteracquainted with Dorothy White, too. Maybeher old man will give you a job."

"Well, the minute he does, we'll try towork you in on something, too."

But Joe was gone—probably to Spring-field, Missouri, to visit the banks.

I Mix My DrinksBy Patricia McCary, 10B

I HAD TWO speeches to make that after-noon, and as I had never spoken in public

before, you can't imagine how I felt.At last my first fatal moment arrived. As

I stood there on the speaker's platform, Ileaned for support on the small table in frontof me and it wobbled exactly as my kneeswere doing. I finally opened my mouth tospeak (I had to, sooner or later), bearing inmind all the preparations I had made for the

occasion. I was going to fake a hoarsethroat. The week before, I had had a terriblecold but was over it now. I had my carparked at the back door, and when I got upon the platform and found that I couldn'tspeak I was going to walk right out, get intomy car, and whiz home. When people startedcalling to inquire about me, they would betold that I had a seriously infected throat andcouldn't make either speech.

So, I opened my mouth to speak. Thewords began to come very naturally! I wasboth surprised and horrified. Here I wasstanding in front of a lot of people I'd neverseen before and never expected to see again,talking as easily as if I had done it all mylife! As I finished speaking, I felt that Ihad accomplished something wonderful.People congratulated me and I felt proud.

On the way to my car I threw away mynotes for that speech and continued on to mysecond appointment. Upon my arrival Iwalked into the building and swaggered up tothe platform, feeling proud and confident. Ilaid my speech before me, took a breath, andbegan. After I had given the first paragraphthe audience seemed to be getting restless. Istarted with the second, and throughout theauditorium I could see looks of surprise,critical looks, smiles, and smirks. I lookedback at my notes, and my eyes rested on thetitle. My face got red. I stood there tremblingfor a moment, then rushed out. I hurriedhome and wouldn't see anyone for two days;I thought I would never live it down.

Just imagine what it would be like, if youcan. to have given the wrong speech to thewrong group! The first audience didn't seemto realize it because I had been allowed tochoose my subject. (Though why a crowdof agriculturists should care to hear a sermonon body culture is more than I can under-stand.) But to the second group I had spokenon how to raise a litter of pigs—and my audi-ence was made up of a group of societydebutantes!

From that day on, I have refused all invita-tions to make speeches. That is, if anybodyever asks me again, I shall refuse.

Brain FagMy mind so often seems to beForty miles away from me;

If I endeavorTo be clever

I lack ingenuity.Jack Sprague, 10B

Page Twenty-Two

THE IGORROTE

At the Dial Sideor

Vicious CircleBy Sally Barrows, 10B

Click . . . "your mother-in-law. Her face willbeam with pleasure when she tastes yourcake made with . . ."

Click . . . "Red Heart Dog Food. Just watchSpot run when it is time to . . ."

Click . . . "clean the rug. A Bissel's Sweeperis the best. It will pick up every bit of ..."

Click . . . "Campbell's Tomato Soup on yourtable tonight. Serve it with . . ."

Click . . . "a Woodbury Facial Cocktail. Haveyou ever wanted your complexion to lookdivinely fair? If so use . . ."

Click . . . "Barton's Dyanshine. Make yourshoes wear longer and look better with..."

Click . . . "Lux Flakes on your stockings. Itprotects them from runs and saves . . ."

Click . . . "your hair. Don't be an old manbefore your time. Instead, use Fitch'sShampoo and keep . . ."

Click . . . "your stomach. Don't wait! Callyour druggist today and order . . ."

Click . . . "a Steinway Piano. Listen to thesilver tone. You never miss a note. It is . . ."

Click . . . "a sure-hit rifle, guaranteed forquality and safety. You can be sure that

you will hit . . ."Click . . . "your mother-in-law. Her face will

beam with pleasure when . . ."Click . . . "a black-out is reported . . ."

Just Another Day OverBy Shirley Daicidoff, 10B

"| JOHN COLLINS, am very proud as I' look back over the last ten years of my

life. Think of all that I have accomplished—Nita and I together. We are the parents oftwo rosy-cheeked, curly-haired children, andI am the proprietor of a chain of grocerystores. Could any man ask for more?

"I recall with a long sigh of relief andgratitude that blessed day of my release fromthe State Prison. How awkward, howwretched, I felt on that day, wearing an ill-fitting suit and having but five dollars and arailroad ticket in my pocket. And not afriend in the world outside the prison walls.

"So I started on the upward climb, humili-ated and disappointed. Some kind man gaveme a job in a grocery store, and in a fewyears I was able to marry Nita, who hadwaited all those years for me. Blessed Nita!

"Tonight is Christmas Eve, also our eighthwedding anniversary. Trimming the Christ-

mas tree has always been my favorite mid-night holiday pastime. The midnight chimesare ringing. I feel as if I am falling fromthe chair I am standing on. Falling, falling,down, down . . ."

John Collins awoke with a start andglanced around. He found himself on thestone floor of his cell. With his hard,roughened hand he brushed away the tears ofrealization — he had only been dreaming.With a heavy sigh John put a straight line onthe wall showing that one more day of histhree-year term had gone.

"Perhaps," he mumbled slowly, "perhapsin another year my dream will come true."

New Orleans, the Old Cityof the Deep South

By Ellen JacoTison, 9BR TRAIN was approaching the railroadyards. I looked out at the tracks, the

luggage, the trains going out and coming in,and the people—swarms of them.

We came to an abrupt stop. "We're here,"I sang gaily.

Getting off the car, I felt the hot air sur-rounding me. It felt very different from thedelightful coolness of the air-conditionedtrain. I suggested that we go to the hotel andfreshen up before doing any sight-seeing.Soon we found ourselves riding swiftlythrough the narrow streets and up to the doorof the Hotel Montelenone, which is situated inthe old French quarters.

Later in the morning when we were walkingthrough that particular section, we saw anold museum, a French perfume shop, the St.Louis Cathedral, the old French market, andthe quite antiquated houses with their beau-tiful balconies of wrought iron—graceful andlace-like.

In the afternoon we visited the parks andenjoyed walking under huge palms and semi-tropical plants. Then toward evening wedrove through an old cemetery. The graveswere above the level of the ground, becausethe city was originally built around a canal.

In the restaurant La Louisiana we wereserved a typical French dinner, includingseafood with Creole sauce. We learned thatthe place had been visited years before byPresident McKinley, Theodore Roosevelt, andby such famous stars as Al Jolson, RudyVallee, and Dolores Del Rio.

So ended our first day in New Orleans—aproud and beautiful old city.

Page Twenty-Three

THE IGORROTE

-P A T R O N S

Mr. and Mrs. 0. E. Babcock"Bee-Knee's"Mrs. W. K. BlissMr. and Mrs. Emil B. BrillByron CadeClayton Camera ShopColby-Witt Shoe CompanyCole Drug CompanyEllis Drug CompanyAnn Eckman Beauty SalonJ. T. Eversole, Inc.Mr. and Mrs. Julius FeickA FriendGlaser Drug CompanyLouis GoldbergMr. and Mrs. Alvan J. GoodbarMr. and Mrs. A. A. HaasMr. and Mrs. H. A. HoffmannHuman Brothers HardwareOscar Kampen Service StationH. B. KeathKlein's Food ShopMr. and Mrs. Tom E. McCary, Jr.Mangrum's GrillMidland Importing CompanyMr. and Mrs. Dale E. NeiswanderOakland Barber ShopMr. and Mrs. John P. Ossenfort, Jr.The ParkmoorMr. and Mrs. P. E. PeltasonPerfection Cleaners and TailorsPrecise Photo, ClaytonWm. H. ReinhardtG. C. Rud, DruggistMr. and Mrs. M. SchneiderMr. and Mrs. Frank SiegelMr. and Mrs. H. W. SparksDr. and Mrs. H. I. SpectorMr. Chas. J. TackeS. Owen TaylorMr. and Mrs. Baker TerryElizabeth Kester Turk and SonMr. and Mrs. Hubert L. Williams

Page Twenty-Four