Johnstown High School - Spectator Yearbook (Johnstown, PA)

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sPEc'rA'roR 19 A Burglar in the Night M. C. '16 It was just four o'clock. The thunder roared and the lightning flashed through the tree tops in the sedate old Somerset Grove. The usually brave and sleepy Gertrude lay upon her tiny cot in the damp tent and gazed uneasily through the darkness. Elizabeth and Helen, quite unaware of the clash of Mother Nature without, lay quietly by her side. Between the wars of Thunder-Gods the stillness was broken by the constant tick-tick of the tiny alarm clock in the corner. The weary girl tossed from one side to the other. Sure- ly that was some person huddled in yonder corner. But no! lt was only Helens well used tennis racket reposing on the trunk just as usual. To Gertrude's racked brain every gar- ment, each piece of the well-used furniture, took human form and came toward her. Crash! Crash! liy the fierce stroke of lightning, the career of a stately old oak tree in the distance was suddenly ended. 'And horrors! At last the long expected had hap- pened. Some person was endeavoring to gain access to the none too secure tent. Gertrude tried to arouse her sleepy companions. But in vain. Her paralyzed vocal chords re- fused to work, and her paralyzed arm would not move. Sneak! Snaek! First along one side of the tent, then the other, lurked the figure of the surely dangerous burglar. Now it was just without Gertrude's cot. A sickening, rip- ping sound was heard by the panic-stricken girl, and some- thing sharp and pointed, perhaps a knife, touched her head. At last Gertrude sprang from her cot, roused the peace- ful inmates of the tent and ran into the wanning night. A last, feeble flash of lightning revealed to them the horrible crouching figure and gleaming eyes of Gertrude's burglar- Farmer Gray's terrified cow vainly endeavoring to with- draw her long horns from the leaking tent of the young campers! -

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18 SPECTATOR sota produces grain than it was when I studied geography. Duluth lies between a mountain and the lake, so that it is but one-half mile wide, and twenty-live miles in length. It is larger than Johnstown and has a great number of ex- ceptionally beautiful homes, most of which follow the shore line with a frontage on the lake. A day or two spent there proves very interesting to travellers from the East. On the return trip, the water was much rougher than on the trip up, and for one whole day and night the fog was so dense that often we could not see the rear end of the boat. Fog horns sounded about us every few minutesg and they have a very weird and uncanny sound. Then from some place in the distance would come back the answer of an- other boat. By the time we reached Lakel-Iuron, a wind storm had cleared the fog and the waves were rolling ten or more feet high. The wind and water roared and lashed against the boat with great force, making it rock just enough to give us an exciting experience which added much to the trip. A l must say a little about the captain. He was a jolly old man, just like one in fiction, and he has sailed for years and years and touched on every country on the globe. His tales of thrilling rescues and his ever-present humor pro- vided excellent entertainment and kept everybody laughing. The best has been saved until last, the moonlight. As I cannot paint a picture of it or write a poem about it, I can merely say that the full moon on the water to me pre- sents a picture more beautiful than any other I have seen. As I looked up into the mo0n's face, it appeared so much larger and nearer than ever before. It almost seemed to be human. And then its background, those myriads of starsg and the big golden clouds silhouetted against itg and the gleaming rays which shown down over the rolling waves, made a scene of rare beauty and ethereal harmony.

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20 SPECTATOR As the first faint glimpse of day appeared over the eastern horizon, Gertrude willingly joined in the merry laughter of her companions, while Farmer Gray's wondering cow dis- appeared among the trees. Q Lifefs Garden Catherine Hutchison '15 Out where the blossoms of springtime, Drowsily nod in the air Come dreams that descend with the dew-drops To dwell in a garden so fair. In one corner memories tender Flourish, unwatered by tears, While fancies and dreams dwell as flowers, Sweet guides, on the Roads of the years. A Brave Boy A. F. Z. '16 One hot Sunday afternoon in july, wearied by the dry, dusty streets of the city, I strolled leisurely out into the country. I wandered over meadows and fields for several hours until, becoming tired, I would have welcomed a rest- ing place very much. It did not take me long to find such a place, for I came upon a beautiful spot, shaded by two large oak trees, and secluded from the main road by a cl-uster of bushes. Here I sought to rest my weary bones and feast my eyes upon nature in its most beautiful state. I must have been sitting there for half an hour or more, when I became intoxicated with the freshness of the atmos- phere and soon felt a drowsiness come over me. Now I am a great believer in sleep, and thinking there would be nothing so refreshing as a little snooze in the solitude of the country, I rolled my coat into a bundle and placed it under my head to act as a pillow, and it was not long be- fore I was dead to the world. '