Shortridge High School - Annual Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

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IIUIIRIIHIRIIHID WILL IT BE ROSES? make life miserable for him with the orchidest orchids I can get! Tur tried to look mildly shocked. She had previously had words with the chairman of the committee on commencement arrangements. On the following day, Jim made his debut, in his brother's lavendar shirt and purple tie. Evelyn pretended to swoon away when she saw him. Do you furnish smoked glasses with your scenic effects, little brother of the rainbow? she demanded. J im's ears were pink, but he managed to look pained and surprised. Don't I look all right? he asked doubtfully. Gee, I love lavender. Do you really? said Evelyn thoughtfully. Absolutely, Jim rushed on, as Dave gave him a warning glance, and Tru held her breath. Why couldn't you girls have chosen some decent colored flower like lavender sweet peas, or something, to wear at graduation? Yellow roses-yellow! He looked actually sick. For heaven's sake, murmured Evelyn, looking dazed. And then the old teasingly look returned, and she said impishly, Too bad you don't like 'em, Jim, because I come right next to you, and mine are going to be big, and very, very yellow! As she disappeared out the door, Dave winked slowly at Jim. Will it be roses? he asked. And Tru, with a shaky smile, answered him, Yes, it will be roses! The Life of An Oarsman Stroke, recover, stroke, recover! This is the life of an oarsman:- Swift in night and true as an arrow, Gliding so smoothly over the water! But it's stroke, recoverg stroke, recover g It's this from the start to the end, But the thrill of a win and the woe of defeat Are what bring the blood to a fever heat:- Stroke, recover, stroke, recover:- This is the life of an oarsman! -Henry Chapin.

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murmur 1ll!!JEx WILL IT BE ROSES? 1 f .1.,. -... . i ilwii , J. L I S, . 1L,. . ,I mil? A ' l - c h WAX ...jk fd I I ilta A , v 3 . 1 ll.. ..A., V M 'A f I P I 'I it '.- 2 iii:-if-'f ' 'i ' Y -' M -ffziigi X fl ' f , 1 :Eh , . W f K 'x , N A W ISS, yfffUsp,.7m,, X ' j Wonder how far she'd go to make you uncomfortable, Jim? mused Dave. I can't say. You remember when we were in the eighth grade, and her father was on the school board, she got him to take it up with the principal that all the fellows on the traffic squad should wear red caps. Of all the nerve! Then and there Dave broached his plan. I bet that'll hold her, he said when he had finished. Tru was openly enthusiastic, and Jim was sceptical, but willing. The next day the senior girls held a meeting, and, true to custom, the ma- jority wanted roses-yellow roses. Even Jim was pleased. 'iBut if you had chosen red- he said to Tru, threat- eningly. Be sure to keep it dark that you like yellow, she admonished. f'All right. I'm starting on my lavender shirt campaign tomorrow, he promised. Later the same afternoon Tru ran up the hall after Evelyn, who was start- ing home. They've just posted the list of how we're going to march in at graduationj' she said excitedly. Come and see where youill be, Evelyn. ' ' ' J' Rostron, reported Evelyn joyously. 'iWon't I I ll walk right behind im

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murmur illumiri Q A BOY'S LIFE IN BOOKS HE LITTLE BOY was just four. His birthday had been a happy one. New blocks and new toys had been added to the old ones. The little boy had run his bright red fire engine over the black rug to scores of terrible confiagrations and had gotten his white knees very, very dirty. He had built every kind of structure, garages, houses, forts, and skyscrapers with his new blocks, and had laid them low on the black rug with glorious earthquakes. He had eaten stick candy and several chunks of his birthday cake. The little boy was very, very tired and so he crawled up into his motherfs lap. She laid down her novel and picked up two birthday presents from the table where his toys and blocks had been. These presents didn't have wheels like the fire engine, nor would they make houses like the blocks, but Peter Rabbit and Mother Goose Rhymes were to have more of the little boy's time in the future than did the toys and the blocks. The little boy grew and wanted more books. So, on his sixth birthday, his mother added Epaminondas and His Auntie, The Lambikinj' The Little Fir Tree, Little Jack Rollaroundf' and Little Red Riding Hood to his fast-growing list of child favorites. A few years later, when the little boy was not so little, and could read, fairy tales became his favorites. Charles Kings1ey's Water Babies and stories from the pen and Grimm and Andersen gave him the most enjoyment. On his tenth birthday Robin Hood came into his life. After this book had been read, he began to feel a great admiration for all that was brave and heroic. Stories of Charlemagne, Roland, Robert of Sicily, and the Bruces of Scotland filled his mind. Just as the mother began to feel proud of her son's taste in literature, he became greatly interested in Wild West movies, and as a result, wild west books. He became a two-gun cowboy of the plains. At any moment, when the spirit moved him, he would drill imaginary vil- lains with a stream of lead. As soon as he was safely out of this period, his mother sighed with relief, and began to think again of her own choices for the boy. How different the boy's choice! Tom Swift, in twenty-five volumes, Tom Slade, in nearly as many, the Rover Boys, and other young men of fictional fame q?J came trouping into his library and brain. Now, son, stop reading that trash, mother had said, time after time. But as