Mechanic Arts High School - M Yearbook (St Paul, MN)

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16 THE M JUNE, 1925 Portia sat in the garden, dreaming gently and complacently of future triumphs. Sud- denly a raging fury charged into the garden. Peace was no more. So, said Bassanio in a terrible voice, 'lsol So, what? asked Portia, trying to keep her courage in the face of such wrath. USO, resumed the outraged man, 'Tm Mr. Portia, am I? I don't care what you call yourself. She said it bravely. Call yourself whatever you want to. Bassanio disregarded her interruption. lVlr. Portia, he said bitterly. You haven't enough with being a lawyer. You've got to grab my work from me. I don't want your work. Keep it. Why do you let people call me Mr, Por- tia if you don't? Can I help it? Yes, you can. Trying to take all the credit for running this house and bringing up the kids. l won't stand for it. l'm go- ing away with them. You can't have them. 'AYou're welcome to 'em. l'm sorry l ever married you. It isn't your fault that you did. Could you help it that you eeny-meeny-miny-moed the right casket? l wish you'd got the skull. When would you have become a lawyer if I had? Huh? , You win, Portia laughed. Then as Bassanio walked away, l'll send money reg- ularly. Honestly. The Garden of Allah By NEIL BOARDMAN Deep in the Garden of Allah A perfumed fountain Howsg And the dreams we dream by the fountain Are sweet as the scent of the rose. They carry us over the tree-tops, And over the garden wallg Back to the sea and the desert, With the hot sun over all: And there we dance with our fellows. And there we drink and eat: And there we light, and suffer! .... Ahl Life is bitter--yet sweet! V Life in the world of mankind! We hate and we love in our turn: And ohf 'neath the sun of the desert How the fires of passion burn! Life in the world of mankind ls a gamble, and never the sameg A laugh and a groan and a prayer- But ever a chance-and a game. There's peace in the Garden of Allah: There are flowers that blossom and shine: And my dreams are the dreams of the old world,- With its loves and its hates-that are mine.

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JUNE, 1925 T I-I E HM!! After the Happy Ending By MARTHA Krorz The happy ending has been the accepted style for authors since the world began. Wil- liam Shakespeare himself conformed to con- vention when he failed to write the sixth and final episode of The Merchant of Ven- ice. His mistake is here corrected by the author. From time immemorial success has turned people's heads and Portia was no exception. Her success in Antonio's case led to a decision to increase her fame as a lawyer. As Bassanio sat in the garden one evening, Portia came toward him, looking very lovely in a blue gown that exactly suited her golden Qhennaedj hair. CShe worked for effectsj. Good even, my lord Bassaniof' are the words which Shakespeare would have put in her mouth. But Portia was a lawyer and used direct language. What she did say was Nice night, Bass, old timer. Got some good news to tell you. Bassanio winced as from a blow. In other words he knew what was coming. When Portia wore a blue dress and called him 'fold timer instead of fool something was likely to happen. And something did hap- pen. I've decided, Portia said as she seated herself, to take up the profession of law seriously. Everybody is trying to attract attention and I think I can if I dress as I did the other time. You haven't anything to do, so you can stay at home. This is the day of woman, she finished warmly, so what is a woman without a career? Certainly, certainly, her husband mur- mured, feebly. Don't sit there and say 'certainly' like a dumbbell. Tell me what you think of it. All right, all right. Don't repeat yourself. And you needn't say you don't like it because I'm going to do it anyhow. I should think you'd agree with me because some day you'll be only too glad that you did. She paused for a moment and Bassanio, annoyed, broke into speech. UI didn't say I liked it and I didn't say I didn't, I didn't say anything. You were going to. 'AI was not. , You were, too. How do you know? You can't read my mind. I certainly can. Everybody can read a blank. Then I wasn't going to say anything. You were. You said my mind was a blank. For goodness sake, keep still. The short silence was broken by a triple howl. Bassanio rose, Portia forgotten, but the children's measles recalled. Oh, Bass, Portia halted him for a mo- ment, there's a case tomorrow. Don't ex- pect me till you see me. ak at :sc ak ff So it was mutually decided that the law should profit by Portia's talents. All Venice agreed that never had there been a lawyer who fitted the law and her clothes any better. Bassanio felt that never had there been a more efiicient housekeeper than he. Portia voiced the same opinion. Honestly, you make a dandy cook and children's nurse. I couldn't do it. It takes patience, the housekeeper said modestly. 'Alt sure does. I'm glad I'm a lawyer. xo- nf wk if wk For two years thereafter Portia and Bas- sanio saw each other only for an occasional brief moment, and then only long enough to compliment each other on his work. No quarrels marred their family peace. All was harmony and understanding. lk 41 ak ak lk Then one day a dreadful thing happened. It was during one of Portia's infrequent stays at home for recuperation from her battles in court. Bassanio was taking his youngest daughter for an airing when he passed two old dandies. Ah, there goes Mr. Portia. Quite the henpecked husband, remarked the more ob- noxious creature. Bassanio stopped, then, giving, a mani- acal yell. he dashed for home with his daugh- ter clutched in his arms. i

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JUNE, 1925 T H E M 17 A Page of Sonnets Sonnet By EVERETT HAEDECKE To the School Boy Reading His History The sounding battles leave him nodding still, The din of javelins at the distant wall ls far too faint to wake that weary will, He little cares, for cities when they fall. He cares not if this Helen's face were fair, Nor if the thousand ships shall go or stay: In vain the rumbling chariots throng the air With sounds the centuries shall not hush away. Beyond the window where the Spring is new, Are marbles in a square, and tops again And floating voices tell him what they do, And lure his thought from these long-war- ring men, And though his vision history still clogs, He dreams of marbles and of tops, and dogs. Sonnet to the Children By JAMES DUNN Hark as the children play so merrily, They never have the slightest bit of fear. With voices high, they laugh so happily And often scorn the warnings they may hear. They play as all small children love to do, From morn until the dusk at evening falls, They very often disobey, 'tis true, But yet they always harken when love calls. Let's laugh, like them, regardless of the end Altho' our days may know both grief and strife Let's do our best, and always try to lend A merry laugh to every hour of life. And like the children at their eager play Let's heed the call of love in every way. To October By EMMA WINTER October is the treasurer of the year, And all the months pay bounty to her store, With what the fields and orchards freely bear. She fills her brimming coffers more and more, But she, with garments gay and rich and bold, And ever decked with youthful lavishness In brilliant scarlet, purple, red, and gold, Spends all her garnered wealth in gaudy dress. She heedeth not how swift the hours fly, But smiles and sings her happy life along, Above she only sees the shining sky, She only hears the breeze's voice in song. Her garments trail the woodland spaces through And gather pearls of early morning dew. Sonnet By MARGARET CRANDALL The happy cheering sunshine tells of spring, We wait the flowers blooming in the dell, The warm days violets and roses bring, The joy of life and love of God they spell. What is so rare as sunrise rosey hue? It is the glow that tints the morning skies. From flaming red to Heaven's rarest blue, Each flower watches for the sun to rise. So every happy person breathes of joy A happy, smiling friend is like sunrise A friend is always new, not like a toy. They are as lasting as the strongest ties. Life's made of flowers, sunshine, and of friends These are the greatest blessings that God sends. To An Old Ship By CARL WINGQUIST Old ship, you lie so quite lone and still, No longer can you plough the angry waves. Your hull has stood the furious storms until The splashing spray has water-logged your staves. A schooner once you were so strong and bold, And braved the raging typhoons with great ease. You carried cargoes in the seven seas And brought your owners precious jewels and gold. I, too, have now become both old and maimed From serving men on life's great rolling sea. l've conquered storms that would my life have claimed, And now approach the harbor of eternity. The rest l'll earn will be like yours, well won, g I'll listen for my Master's voice, Well done,