Central High School - Mirror Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

Page 30 text:

 CLIO LITERARY SOCIETY

Page 29 text:

the pony's bridle under his arm and rode down the steep side of the mountain. It had hurt Little Chief Tom Tom to sell his pony, but it hurt him worse to hear the caller announce, “Tepee, Indian pony, has been entered in the race.” As he led his horse out on the track he called himself a fool for having sold the pony as a good runner. Tepee took the lead at the very beginning and toward the end of the race was a dozen yards ahead of her nearest opponent. A cheer rang out as the little pony rounded the last curve and stretched out down the long course for home. She could hear behind her the thundering hoofs of the big Arabian. Her keen ears heard the pleading voice of her own rider urging her to make a last desperate sprint. With beautiful ardor she sought in vain to respond. Tepee was tired, tired, tired. Her breath came with alarming irregularity and her worn lungs expanded with stabs of pain. Tepee was slowly failing under the terrific pace, and to make it worse she could sec the shadow of the great Arabian creeping upon her. Little Chief Tom Tom rose higher in his stirrups and gave his steed the cue tor the final burst of speed. The Indian was leaning over his horse's neck, his teeth gleaming white against his copper skin and a smile of triumph on his lips. 'Phe little stand of the judges seemed to be flying toward him. Then in its place lie could see the prize money—two thousand dollars. He knew that waiting for him was a tired looking man with a dust-covered horse, lie had seen him just as the race began walking up and down and jingling a metallic something from his hand. But Little Chief Tom Tom did not care. He would flaunt the prize money in the sheriff’s face and dare the law to do its worst. Then freedom, happiness perhaps, at least not the hangman’s gallows. A cheer went up from the followers of Number Nine as the Indian slowly forged ahead. Little Chief Tom Tom turned in his stirrups to view again his beloved pony in action and his smile faded on his lips. He saw the tired, patient eyes of his pony, he heard the pitiful gasps for breath. His pony, his own unbeaten steed, whose pride was as his own. was going down with gallant courage in the first defeat of her life. The big Arabian appeared to falter, just for a moment, but long enough. Tepee went by like a whirlwind and Little Chief Tom Tom rode up to the man with the big hat and the dust covered pony and smilingly extended his hands. Wit, 1.1 AM El.l IMTT. '21. Pane Twenty-seven

Page 31 text:

A WOMAN SCORNED Tis sweet to be young in the spring-time. some person who is widely known in literary circles, remarked. Then, in a sprightly manner, he proceeded to repeat the entire verse, three consecutive times, substituting the words summer—autumn—and winter—in the place of springtime each time, until what is called a joyous poem was completed. Perhaps he was right. I suppose he was, in a way. but for tear that the meaning be misconstrued. I will endeavor to make it so plain that all mistakes will be avoided. He meant. It is sweet for some one else, if you are young in the springtime.” I know; yea, verily! And this is how I obtained my information. I am, by nature, more dignified than my friends. Ever since childhood I have possessed an aloofness becoming to one who is in all ways superior. I do not mean to be conceited, but I have always maintained that the traits one acquires in his youth will follow' him through life; and what more than dignity can be desirable for the president of these United States, or some other high officials? Looking back upon all that has happened, I can see that if I had had the wisdom that is acquired along with the seventeenth birthday, it would probably never have happened. But the chasm between sixteen and seventeen is so deep that it cannot be bridged, so, of course, I could not have known. I remember distinctly that the beginning of my—er—mistake came on the day after school closed. I was feeling rather good, and all that, because of what the coming three months promised. Besides, I had left my studies buoyed up by the most miraculous of all miracles—that is, summer school would know me not this time, as it had previously. So it was that I strolled out of the front door, with my hands in my pockets, and a whistling tune on my lips. But before progressing very far. I stopped, arrested by a peculiar procedure going on beneath the trees. Right here 1 might as well say that I have a little sister. Little sisters, just like the rest of your relations, cannot be helped, and Patricia is no exception to the rule. She is long drawn out for a child of her years; that is. she is inclined to be awkward—a source of extreme embarassment to me. At present she was engaged in bowing profoundly to a fellow female in imitation. as 1 could readily see. of a member oi one of our best families. But the object that attracted ray attention was the person receiving this magnificent courtesy. She had lived around the corner from me the entire ten years of her life, and her name was Cynthia. 1 reflected on what a shameful waste it was to give that beautiful name to such an ungainly bearer. For certainly she was a most ludicrous sight, now more so than usual. A battered doll was thrust under one arm. while with the other she held a borrowed lorgnette, gazing through it at some point over Patricia's head. Her skirt—too short tor even a little girl of her age—seemed to hang unevenly. Page Twenty-nine