Cleveland High School - Beacon Yearbook (St Louis, MO)

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he hummed part of a song, and once he even made up some words to it, for Skilletface had a musical soul. By and by he gave up. Reckon farmin' ain't no good. Guess l's gonna' get back on de boat. When he arrived at the landing the boat was nearly ready to start. The Captain spied him as he was making a rush for the boat. Skilletface, you good-for-nothing nigger! he yelled. Get them flat- feet on this boat and help cast off before l knock your empty head off! l's comin', Cap'm, l's comin', and it's agonna' be a long time 'fore I's leaves this boat again few to go farmin' and such. l's a steamboatin' man, l isln SELMA HONIKER june, '29 MOTORING Bless me, this is pleasant Riding 'round the town, Speeding through the boulevards And bouncing up and down! Mercy, what's the matter? Carburetor broke? What an awful crash it made! And what a dreadful smoke! My, but this is dandy, Passing all the cars, Running like the limited Beneath the autumn stars! Horrors, what's the matter? Tire trouble? What? Why a body would have thought It were a cannon shot! EVELYN PRIESS Twenfy -1-ighl

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. X , G W-S2257 ' i IES! . 1223 I'S A STEAMBOATIN' MAN! Kll.,LETFACE leaned lazily against the rail and gazed out at the broad, green cotton fields on either side of the boat. Things were bothering himg in fact, it had just dawned upon him that he would like to get a job farming. Life on the steamboat was tiresome, to be exact, it was boresome. The landings were far too frequent to suit Skilletface. Toting the cargo on and off was by far too much like work to please such a leisure- loving negro as Skilletface. VF W S jest as soon as this her ole boat lands l's leavin'. Gonna' get me a job farmin'. Farmin' hit ain't nothin' but walkin' behind a ole mule. Don't have got to tote nothin' on and off like a nigger does on this here ole barge. Skilletface went over every phase of farming in his mind until he became bored. Then he went to sleep. When he awoke the boat was nearing a small landing called Staples Point and was making ready to land. Glory bel Cap'm gonna' land here. Guess this am as good a place as they is fer to go farmin'. When the boat had docked and freight was being unloaded, Skilletface left and made straight for the first farm on the levee. As he crossed the field, he met a man on horse-back, to whom he immediately applied for a job. l-le followed his employer for about a half mile to the barns. Here a pick and a shovel was secured and the march back to the field then began. When they finally reached the field, the man showed Skilletface a ridge through which he wanted a ditch dug. lf you hurry, by sundown you'll have paid for your supper, he said. Then he rode away. So this am farmin'? Where's de plow and mule? What's a farmer widout a plow? Skilletface knew very well what a pick-and-shovel job was like. The farming he was getting was not at all what he had expected. He grabbed the pick and began to work. By the middle of the afternoon not a thought was in his mincl. l-le just worked away. When he tired of swinging the pick, he tried the shovel for a while. Sometimes Twenty-seven

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X ,' W 2 3 TWO RINGS Q OUT!-! had long slipped from the old cheeks of Silas Warner. .4 Today was his eightieth birthday and he sat by the glowing fireplace gazing complacently at the dancing flames, musing over the two rings he held fondly in his hands. To him they were dear relics-mementos from other days-fragments of a happy past. Two rings-so simple and unassuming in their form, so uncostly in their value but priceless in their worth to Silas. Within these two little bands two great loves found their abode. The first represented his boyhood sweetheart -Mother! He picked up the clumsy circle, for it was clumsy compared to rings of this day and age, twirled it around his finger and then put it between his teeth as he was wont to do in his boyish bashfulness. He loved this ring, treasured it, and had kept it for almost eighty years. ln his left hand he held the other. This was silver and highly polished. Within the band was engraved To Silas from your loving Wife. Although the length of time that he had cherished this token was not so long as the other, it was no less dear to his heart. It did one good to peep from behind the door and watch this time- worn man cast aside his aged self and become young again in the marvelous land of make-believe, as he let his fancy slowly trail from one event in his life to another whose delightful memories found them- selves within the fold of these two rings. The joy, though intermingled with grief, was far too much for Silas, and then a tear escaped from his eyes and fell on the rings. Grandpa! Grandpa! Where are you? Oh, there you are! Happy Birthday, Grandpa! And Sonny, a little five-year-old bundle of happiness, dashed across the room, leaped into the old man's lap, and before Silas had time tollcatch his breath it was lost again in the tight hug that Sonny gave him. Sonny! Sonny! He pleaded be- tween gasps for the necessary element. Sonny, the rings! Twenty-nine