Corona High School - Coronal Yearbook (Corona, CA)

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it? Of course, he could. He would do it. He looked about him for his pencil and paper and for the first time noticed the hay-mow had become quite dark. He knew where there were a few old candles, but candles were dangerous in crisp dry hay. So he picked up the little box of writing materials which he had kpnt, hidden there, and went down to the old harness room. There, with a candle on a little shelf above his head. Dale sat down on a box and scribbled furiously until the cocks had begun to crow and the sun was just peeping over the eastern horizon. Then, tired and sleepy, he climbed up the ancient stairway and lay down in the soft, warm hay to sleep the few remaining hours of the night. The next day in the old brick school-house first prize was given to a poem by Dale Brown — a poem written straight from the heart of the lad, and entitled “Thou Shalt Not Steal.” RUTH HOX WORTH SMILES Why be so very dry and blue When in this short life there’s so much to do? Some are afraid to smile. They say, “Is it worth while?” Is it? One thing that is sure Is the “Laughing cure.” This is easy to take, causes never an ache. Just smile and laugh, spread a word of cheer. And watch truubles and wrinkles all disappear. This takes no time, it is only play. A smile an hour keeps the frowns away. HELEN BRUNSON HARVEY BEETS “The Fool Doth Think He Is Wise, But the Wise Man Knows Himself to Be a Fool’’ Harold B rown sat in his bedroom with a deep grin on his face. His clothes were just where he had left them, which was all over because he had been packing. Tomorrow he was going to start to college. On the bed lay a pamphlet entitled “College Hints.” He picked it up again for about the eleventh time and scanned the pages. “All college students should know at least one quotation from Shakespeare and be able to Tzventv-Seven

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hidden while he was writing it. But now a great black shadow came between Dale and his musing. What if his step-father should take the money away from him? He feared this father, feared him as only a small boy can fear a man who does not understand him, who thinks the punishment for any offense should be a sound beating. But Dale was a natural little optimist; so he banished the great black shadow clear out of the barn, as he thought to himself, and went on with his pleasant musing. Let’s see; what should he buy with the money? He didn’t want clothes or anything to eat. Oh, wait! He did want some candy. He’d go right down town and buy a dollar’s worth of candy and eat it all himself! He wanted a bicycle too. Yes, he would get a — His thoughts were interrupted by a low, mocking voice. “What you got there, little one?” Dale, looking up into the face of his detested older step-brother, said sullenly, “Nothin’,” putting the poem behind his back as he did so. The older boy gave a meaning little laugh, snatched the poem out of Dale’s hands, and ran out of the barn shouting as he went, “Thanks for the poem. Now I won’t have to write one.” Then, fiercely — “If you dare squeal on me, I’ll tell Dad what you did yesterday.” For a moment Dale sat completely stunned; then he jumped to his feet with the idea of going after his tormentor. But what was the use? Harry could run faster and was larger than Dale. He had always teased and bullied the smaller boy and would probably give him a most unmerciful thrashing for even attempting to catch him. But oh, the misery when he thought of having to see that hated enemy win the twenty-five dollars on his poem! He sank down on his knees in the soft, cool hay, buried his face face in his hands, and moaned again and again, “It isn’t fair! It isn’t fair. Oh why, why, why, should it be like this?” He raised his head, his little fists clinched ; and looking up toward the great rafters in the old barn, he shouted, “0 God, if there is a God up there, listen to me just a minute.” There his voice failed him and two great ears rolled down his face. He bit his lip and went on, “0 God, please, God, don’t let Harry win the pi’ize on my poem!” After this hysterical outburst, Dale sobbed on. But he felt better; for he had told someone, someone greater than himself, someone who he believed could help him. Soon he ceased his crying altogether; his mind became more settled, and he began to think. What was he going to do? Suddenly a most wonderful thought came rushing down upon him, and his face lighted up like a sunbeam. Then it fell. Could he do Twenty-six

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quote it at any time when they have the opportunity” met his gaze. He had never seen this before. He immediately jumped up and began to hunt for a Shakespearian play, but he could not find one. He finally gave up in despair, and started to pack up again. He soon forgot all about the quotation. At last he was on the train. His mind was well occupied with thoughts of college. It was not long until a young man with dark rimmed glasses came and sat down beside Harold. He pulled out a little book and began to read. Harold became very curious because the person at his side seemed very, very much interested in what he was reading. Therefore Harold leaned over to take a peek. This was what he saw : “Thou speakest wiser than what thou art ’ware of.” Ah ! this was to be his quotation. Just then the train stopped, and the young man and he got off the train. A reception committee stood on the platform ready to greet the freshmen — one of whom, of course, was Harold. A group of fellows came up to him. One stepped forward and said, “You’re a freshy, aren’t you?” “Yes,” replied Harold. “We thought you were because you seem so green — ” Harold didn’t give them time to finish, but said, “Thou speakest wiser than thou art ’ware of,” and walked off, leaving them standing with their mouths open. Oh, his quotation had surprised them! Much pleased with himself, he walked into the room labeled “Office.” The Dean looked at him and said, “Do you wish any information?” “Er, yes, could you tell me, is this Kingstone College?” asked Har- old — just because he couldn’t think of anything else. The Dean looked up with a startled, “I must be a fool if . . . .” Harold stopped to hear no more, but said, “Thou speakest wiser than thou art ’ware of.” The Dean’s face flushed scarlet. Turning to Harold, he said, “Young man, ‘The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.’ We need no wise fool like you in this college.” Harold meekly walked out and to the station. When he got home, he burned the pamphlet named “College Hints.” RUTH CUNNINGHAM Twenty-eight