Westwood High School - Chipmunk Yearbook (Westwood, CA)

Page 32 text:

[32] T II E (' II I I M V N K During my careful study of the ore I easily recognized it as the same as that I had just tested. “Oh, I say,” I said, turning to my brother, “Better water these gentlemen’s horses!” With this I went into the assay office and commenced to run the test. It, needless to say it, was a fizzle. After about thirty minutes I reported that there was “nothing doing.” “Very sorry to bother you, you know,” said the dudish imitation of a man. “Oh, that’s all right!” I shouted as they wfent out the door. As I turned I noticed that our young friend was slipping a scale weight in his pocket as he w'ent out. He must have taken it for gold. I paid no attention to it but turning to him I said, “Allow me to show you some red ore.” As I reached for the ore, w'hich was on the table on which the dude sat, I accidentally (?) tipped over a small bottle of parting acid. About nine-tenths of it poured on the part where he w-as sitting. It took about thirty seconds for our young friend to grow real angry and say things not fit to print here. After neutralizing the acid with sodium bicarbonate, I bade my guests good night. Going to the door I saw the dude start to make a flying mount. As he caught one foot in a stirrup, the strap broke. At the same instant the cinch must have slipped, for he and the saddle hit the ground pretty hard at the same time. He arose dizzily and produced a gun and demonstrated how dangerous it is to let children handle firearms. He hit saddle, trees, rocks and bushes, but failed to hit the horse, on w'hom he laid all the blame for his misfortune. My brother and I assisted him to catch his horse and we mended his cinch. He remarked as he was leaving how' evenly the cinch had broken, but my brother and I looked so innocent and expressed our deepest regrets, and he said no more. Strange, wasn’t it, how that bottle of acid tipped over and how that cinch broke? About four months later we received a check for $25.00 “for services ren- dered,” as the note said. We did not recognize the sender’s name, but it was drawn on the account of Michael London, our “batty” old friend. Does it pay to help out an old guy whom you think is batty? If you don’t think so, just ask my brother and me. We know. -K. W, ’23.

Page 31 text:

THE CHIPMUNK [31] I hits the trail for here to find out how this ore is. If it’s worth a tinker’s durn I’m goin’ to register my claim before it gets jumped. That’s all I’m sayin’ now, but I reckon as how you’d better run that test and let me mosey along.” “All right,” I replied, “I’ll get to work pronto and see if I can make a good test on it.” In about half an hour I handed a report slip to the stranger. It read: Gold...................... 32.40 per ton. Silver.................... 10.00 per ton. Copper...................Eight per cent. “Ye gods and little codfish!” was the first thing the stranger said. “Give me that slip, I’m leaving for that claim. Pay you later. So-long!” He hurriedly grabbed his hat as he ran for the door. “So-long—see you later,” he flung over his shoulder as he made a flying leap on his horse. “Well, if that don’t beat me!” my brother said. “What do you make of it?” “It looks as if he’s either made a lucky hit or else he’s trying to slip one over on us. Listen!” After a little pause we heard what seemed to be fire horses coming down the road. “Guess it’s the gang he told us about. Give them the steer,” I whispered cautiously; “Kill all the time possible. The door was suddenly opened and in hurried a man of about five foot six in height. Did I say a man? At least he passed for one. He was slight of build and had a quick, nervous manner. His hair was a sandy yellow; his eyes were covered with large glasses and his face was long and slim. He must have weighed about 130 pounds. “Are you the assayer, my good man?” he asked in a shrill voice. “If so, do me the favor of testing this bit of stone that I think might contain mineral.” “Quit ‘good manning’ me, and let’s see your ore,” I said fiercely—that is, as fiercely as I could. After looking at the ore carefully for about five minutes, I replied as slowly as I could speak: “Well, it may contain mineral, but I don’t think so.” “You will test the ore, will you not?” he inquired.

Page 33 text:

THE CHIPMUNK [ ] SUCH IS LIFE! Dorothy Mansfield was slowly walking to school, in a deep study. “Wait a moment. You’re always thinking so hard that you can’t even notice your friends. Have you heard the news? A new boy is going to enter school next week.” This rapid flow of speech came from a slender, attractive looking girl, with pretty brown eyes, brown hair curled elaborately by means of electric curlers, and a complexion which showed an over-indulgence of sweets. She fondly considered herself very popular in school, especially with the boys. “Just think of having somebody new to dance with at the high school dances. Oh, won’t I make him sit up and take notice!” So continued the newcomer, whose name was Ida Brooks. “You seem to be pretty sure of yourself,” answered Dorothy. “YV hat if some of the other girls decide to take a hand in the game and capture him for them- selves?” “Oh, well, if I really want him, no other girl can get him,” was the confident answer. “By the way, Ida, what is his name?” asked Dorothy “Bob Hurst.” The conversations between Ida and the rest of the girls were along very sim- ilar lines, Ida always trying to give the impression of her great popularity. The next day when Ida arrived at school, she rushed up to a group of girls and exclaimed, “Oh, girls, Mrs. Hurst, his mother, arrived in town yesterday. She is an old friend of mother’s, and last night mother went to call on her and I went too, in the hope of seeing him. He has not come yet, but I saw his pic- ture, and Oh, he is the handsomest boy you ever saw. He is rather tall, with dark eyes, dark wavy hair, and Oh, the most delicious smile, showing such even, strong, white teeth. Everyone will just adore him.” Ida paused here for the very good reason that she had to gasp for breath. “How do you know that the picture was of him?” asked Dorothy Mansfield. “Because Mrs. Hurst told me that it was her son,” was the confident answer. “And I suppose you sat up all night looking through story books and novels for witty sayings to fill him with,” replied Dorothy.