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Page 34 text:
THE CHIPMUNK for 1922
multitude of little peoples. Here and there a small animal scampered to
his late hed.
One by one the stars came out and winked mernly down upon the still
earth. The moon rose and hung in the dark sky—a crescent-shaped lantern,
illuminating the earth with a soft, silvery light. In the moonlight, the distant
peaks stood out in black relief standing like huge sentinels, guarding the sleeping.
R. G.. 23.
THE RED SUNBONNET
What could be more humiliating to a girl of thirteen years, than to he
forced to wear a red sunbonnet to church on Sunday, while all the other girls
of the village came trooping forth in lovely creations of lace and ribbon? Such
was my case, and I sat meek and small in the large family pew next to my
Aunt Elizabeth. My aunt termed the modem hats indecent and indurable,
and I firmly believe that it was against the latter point that she held her greatest
grudge. Several small boys sat back of me, who were continually pulling
my bonnet strings and calling me a red geranium, much to my mortification.
Church being over, we all assembled in our respective classes for Sunday
School. Our teacher was a young woman with a sweet smile and a pleasing
manner, and as I sat down she flashed me one of her rare smiles, that instantly
made me forget the former unplcasantries of the day. She came over to me
and began to talk, when she glanced at my sunbonnet. I half expected to see
a sardonic smile, instead she said, "I like your bonnet—it is becoming and
looks sensible. It is rarely that we see such sweet old-fashioned girls.”
Since that day no ridicule has ever affected me.
R. G.. ’23.
THE VALLEY OP THE ATOKI
The Valley of the Atoki. softly veiled with the rosy haze of morning,
at noon baring its vast extent to the summer’s trial of the fiery sun—at night
reached by the balm of the hill winds, dreams under the starlight or high noon.
In the dewy twilight the daughters of Cibola grind their corn and sing
the grinding song of the sunrise hour, and the praying men with their medicine
bowls utter sacred words to the great god of Poscyemo. Madly the young
men rush about playing their strange game of endurance. Suddenly the praying
men cease their murmunngs. and call to the people in a loud and awe inspiring
voice. The tumult and confusion die away, and the inhabitants hurry to
their homes. The night descends, and all is quiet.
R. G.. ’23.
Power given to you of old
To make your marvelous things of gold.
Spears to clash a shield a-sunder.
Swords to put a brave man under.
Graven images on them made.
Of Perseus with his trusty blade.
Of Neptune with his wondrous steeds.
Of Syrinx changed to tuft of reeds.
Of Juno with her peacocks vain.
Of Zeus omnipotent god of rain.
Your power is great, but one is greater
Power of Eros; hearts’ golden mater.
M. F.. 25.
It was yell practice, just a week before the game. Mickey slid into his
seat with a scowl on his face. He wasn’t going to yell. How could he help
his smallness? He didn't want to be short. He could play as well as Slats,
even if he was short. Well, they'd see. maybe they’d want him before the
Page 33 text:
THE CHIPMUNK lor 1922
Were you ever in High School during April and May when you just
feel like setting a match to the school house, and then laughing with real
enjoyment at seeing t burn? Well, if such is not the case perhaps you ve
just felt like doing nothing but gaze dreamily about at the awakening of
'Iliis ailment which comes to anyone attending school, goes by the name
of “spring fever” among some and among others of higher minds “pure
A sure sign of this disease is when the male sex start puttering with
their "Elizabeths” even though there isn’t the ghost of a chance to enjoy
them. And but a little later you might even see one of these well known
“Fords” rattling down the sidewalk like so many cans.
1 he girls in spite of their grown-up feeling take to jumping rope and
other childish games of their infancy.
rhen, oh! those teachers! Are they naturally cruel or don’t they
realize the crimes which they are committing when they laden the poor students’
weakening backs with ex’s, themes, debates and other what nots so dear to
If there is a cure for this fatal malady, the students of the High School
would be most grateful for information concerning the same.
A. I.. 73.
DAVID COPPERFIELD JACKSON
It is a dark and stormy night. In the “colored” section of a certain
Southern town are many “Monte Carlos,” gambling places for the convenience
of the colored people who have inclinations for gambling.
David Copperfield Jackson, a young negro, has been in this town almost
a morth. and has been enough at the various Monte Carlos so that the people
have some respect for him.
This particular dark and stormy night David Copperfield Jackson entered
the “gambling joint” of a certain fat. sleek, wealthy negro, whose name is
George Washington Lincoln.
Our hero goes up to the proprietor, and demands that “c’n he see
Mistah Linc’un fo’ a minnit, all private-like.”
Mr. Lincoln then shows Mr. Jackson into a back room, where he has
his office. "Now, Mistah Jackson, what do you want?”
"Mistah Linc’un, suh. las’ night ah had a dream. Ah dremt that ah
fell off a high bridge, and a big fish he grab me by the laig. an he just
pulled me under the water. Just as ah was about to get drowned, ah waked
up. Ah then looked in a dream book, and it said that ah would be extrem’ly
lucky in all mah gamblin’.”
Mr. Lincoln, who was as superstitious as he was fat. then said: “Will
ten dolla’s entice yo’ to leave mah establishment?”
Ten minutes later Mr. Jackson entered the "Monte Carlo” of W. Wilson
Taft. Five minutes later he emerged with fifteen dollars and a broad smile.
He then proceeded to the "Monte Carlos" of Julius Caesar Booth. Jame3
Monroe Doctrine, T. Roosevelt Daniels. P. T. Bamum Longfellow. E. Poe
Jones and Daniel Webster Calhoun, and emerged from each w.’lh ten or
fifteen dollars more than he entered with. He used the same “gag” on each
one to get the money.
That night he caught the outbound train for parts unknown.
S. D.. 74.
A WESTERN TWILIGHT
The sun was sinking slowly behind the western hills, bathing the little
cup-shaped valley in a parting flood of gold. The once white and fleecy
clouds were changed to burnished sheets of copper and fire. The hills
deepened from blue to purple.
At last the sun had set and the long western twilight settled down
upon the little valley, high in the Rocky Mountains. A coyote’s sharp yap
broke the calm, while the birds twittered sleepily in the trees. A large,
white owl flapped its way lazily across the meadow in search of some un-
The gentle evening breeze whispered through the little forest at the
edge of the meadow, rustling the leaves and crooning a soft lullaby to nature’s
Page 35 text:
THE CHIPMUNK for 1922
game was over. They wouldn't let him play at first; he wouldn’t play at all.
He was still brooding over his woes, when the yell practice broke up.
He started home, with a book under his arm. both hands crammed
deep into his pockets, and his cap pulled down over his eyes. When he had
gone about half way. his chum. Slats, caught up with him.
"Got any money up on the game. Mick?" asked Slats in a joking tone.
Slats looked at Mickey in surprise. Mickey never spoke shortly, he
always gushed on for an hour when spoken to. After several more attempts
at conversation to which he had received no response, he walked on and left
Mickey to his reflections.
It was the night of the game. Mickey debated for a long time whether
to go or stay home. But he finally concluded, that as long as the game was
to decide which school should have the cup. he would put his disappointment
aside and go.
He walked in behind a crowd of jovial boys and took a seat toward
the back of the room.
During the first few minutes of the game, excitement ran high—yell
for yell was exchanged—banners from both sides waved furiously—but
Mickey watched none of this. He kept his mind on the players. Why did
they make such wild shots? Oh. why did they drop the ball so often? What
was the matter with Slats? He could do absolutely nothing. Such thoughts
chased through his mind one after another until he was so excited he could
hardly keep from rushing out on the floor. By the time the first half was
more than half over he could see Slats was "all in." They removed him.
Oh. if only Jack would play better than Slats had done. By this time he
had entirely forgotten his vow. that he would not play if they asked him.
His one desire was to get out on the floor. He would show them that he
could play even if he was small. He would. Oh. what had happened to
Jack? He had hurt his foot. What would they do now? The next he
knew he was out on the floor. He tried to stop but some wild impulse pushed
him on. As the captain turned and saw Mickey, the look of anxiety on his
face turned to a look of partial relief.
"Oh! Mickey! You’re the boy I want. Get into a suit quick and
come back here. We’re beaten now but can’t quit.”
Mickey moved in a trance. He could not tell how he changed and
got back to the hall. Before he realized what had happened, he was standing
on the floor and the whistle had blown. He saw the ball dimly as if he
were in a trance and stretched out his hands. But the moment the ball was
in his hands, he awoke to the realization of what he was doing and played
as he had never played before. He forgot his smallness and spent his time
in dodging the larger players. What were they shouting for? Had he really
thrown a goal? Before he had time to ponder on this question, he was
playing again. The rest of the team took heart when they saw how Mickey
put his soul into his playing. The score was gradually climbing up to the
opponent’s score. But Mickey paid no attention to the score, he only knew
that he must make good.
He heard the whistle and a confused uproar and one question was
foremost in his mind. Had they won? In a moment, he felt himself being
lifted to the shoulders of some of the tallest boys, and cries of "Mickey! —
Mickey!—Rah—Rah—Mickey!” rang in his ears as they carried him
from the floor .
It was at the supper given to the opposing team after the game. Mickey
was still so dazed he could not eat. He was sitting at the end of the table,
but he did not pay much attention to what his captain was saying, until he
heard his own name mentioned. He sat up with a jerk in time to hear him
say. "And as Mickey won the cup for us. let’s all give him three cheers."
The heartiness of those cheers was still ringing in his ears, when he slipped
into dreamland that night.
R. L. ’24.
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