Bryant Junior High School - Junior Life Yearbook (Minneapolis, MN)

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T II E JUNIOR LIFE 7 Bryant Songsters Any person visiting Bryant Junior High would be delighted upon arriving at the third floor. From rooms 301 and 326 sweet strains of music are heard and as the door has been left open one can distinguish the words. “When the foeman hares his steel ' sings out the chorus of boys with lusty voices. The girls answer with, “Go, ye heroes, but the boys seem reluctant to leave. However, after a few more pleading phrases from the girls they decide to go and the song ends with gusto. But what is this we hear? “Go back to the top of the page, commands Mrs. Angell. So the song starts again after a long sigh from the front seat section, and again it finishes, but with greater vigor than ever. A hush comes over the class as it swings into the calmer tones of “Sweet and Low. Alas! There is a rude interruption. In the middle of this beautiful piece the sharp ring of the hell is joyfully accepted by the students. There is a loud slam of books and grins appear on every face. Another period is ended! —Solange Duvair. Hunting Honey in Texas My friend, Joe, who was a Mexican, had told me that in the swamps there arc many flowers that have some water in their blossoms. This sweetened water the bees like. We decided to find some of their honey made from these flowers. We found a swamp easily enough and also found the path the bees were following. To trail them through that thick undergrowth was a difficult problem. We lay down on our stomachs and crawled along under the dense growth of vine. All the time we had to keep our eyes on the bee path above. After two hours of crawling we came upon the comb. It was away up in a tree that had some queer sort of thorns that I thought would prevent my friend from going up. Joe told me to build a fire in a certain spot which he pointed out to me. I did as I was told, not having the slightest idea as to what I was building the fire for. After I had a good fire built, Joe came back with an armful of grass and a very long pole. He put the grass on the fire, almost putting it out;

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6 THE JUNIOR LIFE of the country’s money and material things. He seems to think nothing of his neighbor. As long as he and his family are sheltered, fed, and clothed, all is well. But what about the family next door? Are they all right? Usually we don’t know our neighbors well enough to pick them out in a crowd. Hence, we don’t care a great deal about their welfare. Maybe, if we would work together more for the welfare of all and not so much for ourselves alone, we wouldn’t have depressions and so much poverty, and the results would be health, happiness, and international progress. Between Mother and Son Johnnie, a much discouraged boy (due to his report card revelations), has just entered his home. His mother, who is struggling with some rather hopeless stockings, is sitting in the far corner from the door through which Johnnie has just emerged. She notices his downcast countenance but says nothing. Johnnie goes immediately to his room where he remains for about five minutes. When this time has elapsed, he appears in the living room apparently very much enlightened. “O Mom, would you like to have me wash the dishes for you tonight ?” Utter surprise is very evident on his mother’s face but she controls it saying, “Why, I would be delighted. Thank you so much.'' There is a short pause. Johnnie breaks it with, “You see, 1 thought I would do it as long as Sis wants to go out so much. Anyway, 1 haven’t anything to do except homework. With this he left the room only to be brought back by his mother’s inquiry, “Oh say, Johnnie, wasn’t your report card due today? The boy’s hopes immediately crashed. A queer feeling is very prominent around the pit of his stomach. “Oh-er-yes. 1 did get it today. B-but it’s up in my room just now and I want to go skating with the kids. They are waiting for me. Mother’s response is very resolute. “I wish to see it now so that I can sign it before we forget it. “Aw gee, Mom; well, all right.” Slow, trudging footsteps are heard as he approaches his room, which is quite typically boyish. A few minutes later he rejoins his mother, report card in hand. He gives it an indifferent toss in his mother’s direction and hurries from the door. “I’ll be home for supper.” His mother recalls him. He returns very reluctantly and shows signs of discomfort. “1 see why you wanted to do the dishes so badly tonight. Tell your English teacher she can expect me tomorrow.” There you are now. What’s a fellow going to do in that case? —Ruth Aldrich

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8 TIIE JVNIO R L I F E then he sat down beside me and started explaining how we were to get the honey. When he had finished with his explanation we saw all the bees swarming around about ten feet from the comb. The smoke had risen surrounding the comb. The bees that could not stand the smoke had moved out. Joe then took the long pole and with one punch, knocked the comb to the ground outside the smoky area. He then dropped the pole, picked up the comb and stepped back into the smoke path for protection. If he had left it on the ground, the bees would have come and guarded it, preventing us from taking possession of our sweet find. About fifteen minutes later we stepped out of the smoke with not a bee in sight anywhere. It was easier going home that evening than it had been coming because Joe had found a road nearby that led to the'clearing where our horses were picketed. We saddled them and journeyed homeward. This was one time when our sweet tooth had been satisfied. There was honey not only inside but outside as well. —Warren Weeks. Uninvited Footsteps We were camping in a secluded spot on a lonely mountain. The surrounding mountains had taken on a gray-blue color which is not unusual in the evening. Only a faint glow was visible as evidence of a slowly sinking sun. Against this stood huge pines, tall and sublime. Pink and gray feather clouds rested peacefully in the western sky. In the east a few early stars began to twinkle. The wind had ceased to blow; hence, there was not a ripple on beautiful Lake Louise. The last glowing embers of a dying fire were to be seen in front of our camp. A wolf’s howl in the distance; mellow tones of a guitar from a gypsy camp a little way down the mountain side. Twilight fell. The moon rose and sent a silvery sheen over everything. It was exquisite. My family, including my parents, brother John, and myself, decided it was time to go to bed and departed to our tents. In bed I happened to think that neither Mother nor I had fastened the tent door. Any intruder who found it desirable might enter. I was too excited to think further on that subject and discarded it from my mind. Suddenly I heard a twig snap; then more twigs and leaves crackled. What could it be? Footsteps? Coming closer—closer! It sounded like two persons. By increased distinction I decided the steps were within five feet of the tent. The visitor had now reached our shelter and was circling it. I heard it brush against the canvas wall. 1 was altogether too frightened to scream. My hands were like icy needles on my burning face.