South Pasadena High School - Copa de Oro Yearbook (South Pasadena, CA)

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HELEN PIERCE, ’12 Where Did You Come From, Freshmen Dear? (Apologies to George MacDonald) Where did you come from, Freshmen dear? Out of grammar school into here. Where did you get those frightened looks? By looking at Seniors’ stacks of books. What makes you stare and tremble so? Because we're so little, don’t you know. Where did you get that little tear? We found it waiting when we got here. What makes your forehead so smooth and high? A soft hand stroked it as we passed by. What makes your hair stand up so straight? Why, we’re always afraid of being late. Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss? Three teachers gave us at once a kiss. Where did you get those lengthened clothes? That is something that nobody knows. Where is your nurse, you darling things? She has us tied to her apron strings. But how did you come to High, you dears? Our mothers decided to send us here.

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MARY LOIS BAKER, ’14 KATHRYN “Oho! From Missouri ?” “Yes, Missouri, but she can’t help that.” “But Missouri! Say, fellows, something’s going to happen when yon Missouri comes to gay Paree! Crickety wow! Missouri! Missouri!!” The shouting echoed through the hall of the New York Polytechnic, as a group of athletes gathered around William Burnstan, their honored captain, while that handsome fellow attempted to tell of a fair young cousin expected next day from Jersey, Missouri. Vainly he tried to quiet them, explaining that her father had been a very successful stock-raiser and that Kathryn, now an orphan, was a “dandy” girl and coming to live with them awhile. “Aw, Bill, don’t you realize it’s Missouri?” “Sure, I know Missouri,” laughed William, “but I sy, come over tomorrow evening and meet Kathryn, won’t you? She’ll be interested in school affairs and football, I’m sure. But, whew,” (looking at his watch), “T’ve got to be going. So long,” and William was off. ee eee ieee} With crashing and creaking the heavy train stopped in the crowded central station. Eagerly William Burnstan watched the arrivals: an elder- ly lady, carrying a bandbox and crying in shrill tones after a porter who was gingerly holding a birdcage at arm’s length, “Be keerful 0’ Polly, thére, she ain’t never been to Nu Yawk afore;” a young couple with a new leather suitcase to which was dangling a French-heeled slipper of which they were evidently entirely obvious; two young ladies, one wearing a pink silk dress, white pumps and a large hat, one side of which was weighted down with immense yellow roses; a couple of Italians with several small children, each dragging behind the one in front—such persons passed before Wil-