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Page 27 text:
OUR OLD RED FORD Poor Romeo is ten years old, But he is worth his weight in gold. They say the gas tank leaks and yet, Whenever we want to go we get In our old red Ford. The sun was shining bright one day, My friends and I were feeling gay Enough to take a bouncing trip. Yes, even if the gears did strip In our old red Ford. We now were started on our way, The car was running smooth that day. We passed the Cadillacs and Stars, And every single form of cars, In our old red Ford. A sign which stood beside the road Did show in automobile code A boulevard stop in letters red, My friends and I went right ahead In our old red Ford. And still another one we saw To make us keep within the law. " Detour " it said in letters black, But we were over without a slack, In our old red Ford. And here ' s another of those things. But Romeo was made with wings. So fifteen miles on curves is slow For this gay crowd to try to go In our old red Ford. There was one thing that made us stop. Perhaps you know of him — the cop. For ever since this c ar first ran, We ditch the cop whene ' er we can. In our old red Ford. So if you see us going along. You ' re sure to hear a happy song. And Romeo will be our friend, As we travel on to the very end. In our old red Ford. — Betty King, L8.
Page 26 text:
BEHIND A FACE During the middle ages all art took the form of religion. Among the immortal masters, Leonardo da Vinci was one of the greatest. His most renowned work is the inimitable " Last Supper " . So ignorant were the people of his age, and so great was their lack of appreciation of the beautiful and unusual, that the wall upon which this masterpiece was created was soon turned into the side of a stable. It was not until several centuries later that this wonderful painting was discovered. The picture was covered by the remains of many coats of whitewash, and it was by the merest chance that this masterpiece is in evidence at all. The colors were faded and the original brilliance and clearness obliterated by the hand of time and neglect. The figures were dim, the outlines misty, and the features of those biblical characters hardly distinguishable. Yet, with all these defects, there was beauty there which perhaps will never find an equal. Not only is the painting itself extraordinary, but there is a romance about this masterpiece which increases its value to all beauty lovers. Leonardo da Vinci was searching with utmost diligence through the towns of Italy for a model to serve as the Master. He felt that not only was a man essential with a correctly proportioned figure, but that to reproduce the Master ' s character it was necessary for the model to possess a certain degree of spirituality. After much labor he secured a model who was entirely satisfactory. The model was a yovmg man recently freed from a monastary where he had been completing his limited education under the tutelage of monks. It was not many months before this young man ' s task as model was completed. The artist, com- pletely absorbed in his life ' s work, lost all trace of his youthful model. Years passed, and the artist ' s hours of toil showed their results. The painting was nearly finished, but Judas remained to be painted. Leonardo da Vinci began his search for a model. His task was not difficult, for during the first week he found a beggar so suitable that the artist ' s cup was filled with joy. It is not necessary to go into detail concerning the appearance of the unfortu- nate beggar. To say that he filled the part of Judas perfectly seems sufficient. Every one recognizes Judas as a man of evil face and furtive eyes, in every way dis- reputable. Such was the appearance of this man of the streets. It was not diffi- cult for Leonardo da Vinci to entice this man to act as model. The charm of gold indeed did all. While Leonardo da Vinci was working with him, he was amazed at how familiar this man ' s face seemed. He asked the beggar if their paths had met before, and made the amazing discoverj that the man who posed as the Master and his present model were one and the same man. The hand of time had done its work; the years of dissipation and indulgence had reaped their harvest. — Helen Buchanan, H9.
Page 28 text:
A SOLITARY EVENING The clock on the mantel said exactly eighteen and one-half minutes after eleven. From outside came the sounds of leaves being hurled about, which did not particularly serve to brighten the atmosphere. Now, Peggy wasn ' t especially afraid to be alone; in fact, she was often by herself. But tonight, with the clock mournfully ticking and every little sound magnified, what was Peggy to do? Had it been Friday, or even Sunday, the family would have been up. This evening, however, they had all been tired after the week-end gayeties and had gone to their bedrooms. And so, I repeat, Peggy was decidedly alone. She sat in the corner of the davenport, her eyes fixed on a book in her hand, while the clock counted off the minutes. A something, unknown to Pegg ' , swept by the window. The light went out, leaving the room in utter darkness, save for the dying fire. She didn ' t start; in fact, she acted as though she had heard nothing. The clock struck twelve; muffled steps came into the room and held a flashlight in such a position as to see the " lay of the land. " Would she let him rob the house and hurt her? Why did she not stir? Who was she to sit like a statue? So she was — nearly that, for Peggy, my readers, is only a French doll. — Frances Merrill, H9. HILL VIEW Hill view, Nebraska, is a typical country town. The inhabitants are as sleepy as they were fifty years ago, and just as sociable. It possesses most of the modern things New York does, only on a smaller scale: a lawyer, one-seat barber shop, doctor, and even a dance-hall, or " cabaret, " as the owners call it, are part of Hillview. There is the little Palace Theatre, which is open every Saturda} night, when it presents the latest " super-picture " to a receptive audience composed of the town people and farmers, who drive in every week-end to market their wares. The theatre houses fully a hundred people and gives them music from an old piano. There ' s a drug store in town, too, which has a soda fountain, castor oil, headache powders, and a rack of hair-raising monthly magazines which are sold quickly to the younger generation. Two general stores, whose rivalry is a tradition, grace Hillview. They will peddle ouija boards, loUypops, or brooms for nine cents apiece to undersell each other. One even gave a pipe to the Widow McCarthy once to gain her trade forever. One man in town owns a radio, and is very popular on the date of the big fight, a Sousa concert, or the Army-Navy football game. He, being thrifty, conceived the idea of giving a " radio party, " and demanded gifts on each of the aforementioned occasions. He once earned the enmity of all present when the battery went dead! Of course there are several celebrities in the town: Joe Powell, whose son is in a circus; Bill Speaker, who once was robbed of fifty dollars; Jim Walder, whose aunt may leave him a million; and Sam Hawkins, the crazy inventor, who thinks he can fly. The tovim history, also, is full of startling incidents, such as the time the top of Sarah Peck ' s chicken house was blown away in a hurricane; the bank robbery which the " oldest inhabitant " still talks about; and the time little Flora Wilkes was thought kidnapped, but later was found asleep under the bed. A modem Sleepy Hollow is Hillview, with its inhabitants, like all people, in ' an eternal race to keep abreast of the times. — Keith Monroe, H7.
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