Arsenal Technical High School - Arsenal Cannon Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

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TRAVEL A TRAGEDY IN THE LUNCH ROOM To see- The fairyland of cherry blossoms, Moonbeams on snow-capped Fujiyama. To hear- The incessant jargon and chatter, Silver temple bells a tinkling. To see, to hear- japan. To view- The Nile, pyramids, ancient temples, Vast stretches of sand meeting the golden sky. To experience- Curiosity for musty ages, Thrill of mysterious atmosphere. To view, to experience- Egypt- To visit- Ivy-grown manors with rolling lawns, Grim, staunch, old castles of bygone times. To know- All poets in Westminster Abbey, London from Temple Bar to Soho Square. To visit, to know- England. But first to roam- Fields, woodlands, rivers, mountains, cities, The States from Maine to California. To walk- Wall Street and Fifth Avenue in New York, Each Main Street in little one-horse towns. And always to roam, to walk- The United States. GLADYS KOEHLER, ENG. viuc TWENTY-TWO WENTY-TWO. My time had come! Trembling from head to foot, I walked to my fate. I heard nothing, I saw only the wall where it was to happen. I became weaker, and my knees failing me alto- gether, I slid limply down, blindly groping for a sup- port. My searching fingers found something or other projecting from the wall, and I dropped thankfully upon it. No one noticed my actions. No one cared as to what was happening to me. Was there no mercy? I took one glance at the batteries trained upon me and resigned myself to my inevitable fate. I dimly remember, Lift up your headlv Yes, I thought, I will take it like a man. Then- Ready? the same voice inquired. Repulsing a demon- ical urge to laugh, I stiffened, threw up my chin, mois- tened my lips, and nodded, Yes. Moments stretched into hours. Would he never shoot? Next. Twenty- three. Oh, girls! wasn't it just too thrilling though, and really, my dear, wasn't that photographer cute? ROBERT STONE, ENG. vmc E WERE sitting at a crowded table in the old lunch room. The usual lunch-hour noises-the metal- lic clatter of trays, the rattle of dishes, the scraping of wood against concrete, the chatter and hum of carefree conversation, merry laughter-met our ears, but my companion did not hear them. He stared down at the tray before him with eyes that saw nothing. His face wore a look of worried, puzzled concentration. His eye- brows were drawn down, as were the corners of his mouth. His left elbow was propped on the edge of the table, and his cheek lay against his fist. With his free hand he toyed with the straw which protruded from a small milk bottle, now empty. His shoulders drooped, his legs were drawn up under his chair. What's wrong, old fellow? I asked, consolingly. Lessons worrying you? Naw,,' he muttered. Can't decide whether to eat pie or ice cream first. N OSES ooo noses are my hobby-probably because I havenft one. They have always been objects for speculation at any gathering, social or otherwise. Even study halls furnish a variety of specimens. Ar present there is a very long, irregular, prying, blonde nose in the seat in front of me. It gives me a profile view quite often inferring that it is really worth- while. A Roman nose several aisles to the right is slight- ly bent over Tennyson. When that individual frowns, which he does frequently, the nose becomes more Roman. If I judged people by noses, and I do, I would have a great dislike for the blonde nose. My judgment would denounce the person as shallow and as a follower of the line of least resistance. The other nose is not quite so disgusting in my estimation, for sullen people quite often are justified in their sullenness. The nose of my ideals is straight, neither broad nor thin, humped, curled, or turned up. It fits a balanced face with regular features. I see it every day, but even if it were mine it wouldn't fit my face. MADELINE SANDER SUNSET HEN the day is gone And the setting sun Sinks deep In the golden west, When cares are done, Your treasures won, And the birds Have gone to rest, You, too, will find In the twilight time Sweet peace and happiness. JANET K. WISCHMEIER, ENG. vinc E241

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BERN ICE NIGHT PROWLER KEEN observer requires no great length of time to discover whois who in our family circle, it's self- evident. No member of this little group has the power to command and enforce as does my younger sister. Wfhen she wishes, she can send a glow of sunshine through all the house. She also can bring upon our de- fenseless heads a severe mental fand verball storm. One of the tender points of her affections is her black and white cat. The other day the beast bounded into the room looking very much like a disreputable floor mop. Her usually immaculate breast and face of snowy white bore dingy evidence of her excursion to the coal bin. QI have no words to suggest how filthy she appeared to me.l I made a dive for her and would have extermi- nated the wretch, but, like a lightning flash, my kid sister shot across the room toward me. You let my cat alone! she thundered. Her blue eyes grew black with fury, and as for me, well, I dropped the cat. This youngest member of our illustrious family is also quite an accomplished pugilist. Recently, when the leaden skies were sifting snowflakes and the ground was thickly padded with this covering, a friend and I took our sleds and Bernice to Brookside Park to coast. Chil- dren, mostly boys, thronged the hill which proved ideal for our sport. My sister decided to commence action. She made a perfect take-off, guiding the sled well. An impish boy saw a chance for some fun, he took off at an angle and hit Fleet Wing, her sled, upsetting a less timid girl than he evidently supposed my sister to be. Both picked themselves up and brushed off their clothes, then Bernice raised her hand threateningly. The boy tore across the hill, dodging oncoming sleds, slipping here and there, regaining his footing, and rac- ing ong Bernice pursued, biting the tip of her tongue as hard as she could fa trick she invariably does when angryl . Most of the crowd stopped to watch the chase, which grew exceedingly amusing. My young fighter finally got her man, however, and, without the slightest regard for her status as a lady, banged him unmerci- fullyg then she calmly recovered her sled, climbed the hill, and renewed her sport. This time her descent was uninterrupted. Although she possesses these warlike characteristics, Babe also has at her disposal a sweetness and helpful- ness which endears her to all who discover it. When I am studying hard, it is she who anticipates my wish for a drink of fresh waterg it is she who gets my book or pencil for me. Her dark blue eyes, which sometimes blacken with anger, also shine with love. Perhaps she dries the dishes for mother or dusts for me. Maybe she sweeps the front porch or pokes the fire. In some way she finds a means of expressing her affection by helping us now and then. She is like an April day whose clouds obscure the sky for a moment, then scurry past, leaving an azure heaven and a smiling sun. GENEVIEVE WIRES IGHT furniture made grotesque shadows in the dark, close room. Someone breathed heavily. Slowly the door opened. A figure entered quietly, then the door closed. A shadow crossed the room. The wardrobe door opened. Clothes rustled and hangers jingled softly. One by one light pieces of clothing were tossed from within the wardrobe to a big chair by the door. The figure worked silently and swiftly. On leaving the wardrobe, it advanced cautiously to the jewel case on the dressing table. The jewelry tinkled and rang as a hand plunged into the costly depths in the darkness. The figure stopped, listened, closed the box, and turned to the win- dow. After opening it carefully as far as it would go, the figure started toward the chair where the clothing had been thrown. With a piercing crash that resounded through the quiet house, tiie Chinese brass incense burner on the desk below the window banged to the fioor, and rolled noisily across the room. Its echoes had not died before a deep voice thundered from another part of the house. Who,s there? The figure stood rooted to the spot. In voice trem- bling with fear it responded, I, fatherf, What time is ir?,' Not daring to lie, the figure again answered in a quavering voice, One-thirty.'7 'eYou promised to be home by twelve. No more dates this week. Good night, daughter. LUCILE RANDOLPH. ENG. viiic MY SUPPRESSED DESIRE A football man with plenty of brawn But nary a brain in his head, The pigskin under his tight-clasped arm Toward the farther goal he sped, His eyes lit up with a blazing fireg I-Ie's my suppressed desire! A pigeon-toed lad with a golf outfit Tees olf with a lusty swing, foie leads far off in a nice sandpit A line reward for a pretty fling, This old Scotch game shows up the ire In my suppressed desirel A Nlarine with medals and a uniform Wiiis scores of girls from every port, I-Ie promises some day to reform But now he thinks it quite good sport, Lct's hope the winds 'll waft him higher For he is my suppressed desire! A boy with a yacht and plenty of line Runs loose on the shores of Lake St. Claire, Wfaiting, I hope, for the summertime When he knows that I'll be there, The one lone son of his aged sire, I-Ie's my suppressed desire! ' DOROTHY HovELsoN. ENG. v111C I23I

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