Garfield Junior High School - Gleaner Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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The boy leaps; there is a slight struggle. A low menacing whisper! Something glints in the hands of the intruder — then silence. The visitor stands and strides swiftly to the hall. He walks a few steps, then, turns and enters another room. He closes the door softly. Then he laughs, a low, nervous, shaky laugh, and mutters, Whew! I made it! I am sure not going to stay out until twelve when dad tells me to come at ten again, and I’m sure glad Jimmy took that nickel. He won’t tell.” John Brenneis, Low Nine. CHORNIE Hello! Anyone at home?” I wonder where Mother can be.” A note!” Oh dear, oh dear, how could that dog have swallowed another wash- rag. That will make the third this week.” If anyone had told me that one small Scottie pup could possibly encompass the number and variety of things that Chornie does, I would have doubted his veracity. But one learns! Take for example today. The first cheep of the bird brings a little black head to the crack of the door. Then a flash and a bounce — a very wet, warm tongue and a wet, cold nose play indiscriminately from ear to ear, while four, small feet beat a joyful tattoo on your stomach. It’s morning! and of course you get up. You reach for your shoes and socks, put beside the bed the night before. One shoe may be under the desk but one will surely be half way down the stairs. And the socks? Look at them! If it were only the toes the mend would not show, but it’s alwavs the heels which seem to be the choicest morsels. So the red socks seek their fellows in the ragbag. You make a mental note to put the shoes and socks on the bureau hereafter. Hair combed; dress on at last. Down to breakfast? No. Where’s the belt? The back door slams. Across the muddy garden you see a flash of red trailing on the ground — the belt, but in no condition to wear. While you are at school, there are, of course, many things that need attending to at home. Mother collects the laundry first. I’ll do a little helpful sorting of laundry,” thinks Chornie. Then — Far too many corners on most towels.” So he co-operates, assiduously taking off the corners, giving the laundry the opportunity to take out the middle. The next interesting thing to be done is the mopping of floors. Both parties expend great effort on this. What matter if the poor mop is nearly bald at the end of the procedure? No bits of mop are to be seen. What happened to them?” I wonder.

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In Flanders Fields” In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place, and in the sky, T he larks, still bravely singing, fly, Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the dead ; short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders field. Take up our quarrel with the foe, To you from failing hands we tljrow The torch-, be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields. — John D. McCrae. Philip Taylor, Low Nine. MYSTERY IN THE STORM A dim, sinister figure slips through the storm, stealthy, as though it feared it could be heard or seen through the rushing rain and the rolling thunder. It slips toward a dark forbidding house. A light flashes on in the house, and the figure freezes, as immovable as the rock by which it stands. The light goes out. The figure moves on. It is almost at the house now. A flash of lightning reveals for an instant the form of a young boy. He cannot be over fifteen, and he looks honest. What can his purpose be that he steals so carefully, so stealthily? Crime? No, he appears to be an honest lad, and yet, so did Billy the Kid. Now he is at the house. He circles it slowly, as if to locate an open window or a crack of light, but finds neither. He seems baffled for a moment; then a low laugh escapes his lips. He moves quickly toward a great tree which stands near the house. Up he climbs — up the slippery tree, which rocks and sways in the furious grip of the storm. Now he works his way out on a limb — out till it seems that the slim branch must break. Now he is at an unlocked window. He raises it slowly, an inch at a time. He slips in. He closes the window. He moves across the room; then, a board squeaks underfoot. A figure moves on the bed and lets out a low, startled cry.

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Oh Mother! You had better get that half inch of string hanging from Chornie’s mouth. Even a little string is bad.” Did you say a ' little?’ After all, three and a half yards is only a small part of a ball of string.” At last school is over and one hurries home to find the note. What could it be this time worse than another washrag?” Here’s Mother, at last, grimly clutching a rather gloomy little dog. What was it?” I ask. The pink washrag?” No! Good heavens! The bath-tub stopper!” Betty Ricker, Low Nine. Sanctuary When cares surround me like a pall And days are gray with myriad ills, 1 turn my back upon it all And seek my cabin in the hills. ’Tis there I find my antidote For worry of the sort tJjat kills — Heartache and strife are both remote From that sweet refuge in the hills. Kay Mitchelson, High Niue. SUPER-COLOSSAL Bill Chapman and his publicity agent friend, Jeff Hardy, were deep in thought. You could tell this because their heads were close together, and they spoke in solemn voices. You could also tell that they had been in conference for quite some time, for the dense blue smoke hung in stagnant spirals above their heads; they were speaking on that eventful day, of Bill’s chances in the movies. They were in fact formulating that plan, which, in later articles, was to be known as William Chapman’s Sensational Entrance Into the Movies!” That afternoon the Super-Colossal Movie Production Corporation was on location at an old ranch, which was the setting for a new Super- Colossal picture, The Heart of the Cow-Puncher.” There was a little flurry among the actors and actresses as the star, De Lancey Cabot, approached. The Most Romantic, Swashbuckling Hero Ever Seen on Stage or in Private Life” came hurrying up, apologizing for his tardiness, explaining that he had been a little late with his afternoon tea. Then came the terrible part of that momentous afternoon, for Cabot’s double could not be found, and the scene had to be taken before dark. It was necessary for Cabot’s double to ride a horse in the scene, but the double was not there, so Cabot must ride! But Cabot could not and would not do this, and finally had to be lifted, volubly protesting, to the saddle. All this time Bill and Jeff had been regarding the scene with amused smiles, for they were frequent visitors to the Super-Colossal set,