Butler High School - Magnet Yearbook (Butler, PA)

Page 14 text:

12 7 H E SENIOR £M A G N E T “FILIBUSTERING” Elizabeth Mulholland HOUGH a knight of that illustrious calling, a newspaper reporter, the word “filibustering” had never found its way into the vocabulary of Tom Ward. He had a somewhat hazy conception of the meaning of the word but could not have formed a verbal definition for it. This was the reason why his friend, Martin Holt, happening in upon him one nice June evening, found him pondering over an open “unabridged.” ‘Found a new indoor sport, old boy? inquired Holt as he comfortably settled himself in a big easy chair. “Why I thought you knew Webster verbatim.” But Ward did not answer this banter with his usual quick retort and Holt noticed that he had a preoccupied air about him. At length Tom answered. “I’m really serious for once, Mart. Perhaps you can help me out some. Just what does the word “filibustering” convey to your mind? And Tom shot a curious glance at Holt. Holt got up from his chair and after walking about the room and unconsciously examining the pictures on the walls, he answered, “To tell you the truth, Tom. I’ve never heard the word used in conversation; but 1 must have read something about it because it brings to my minu a picture of some greasy Mexicans or Spaniards shooting up a town. But why the commotion about it?” “Just my thoughts” and a few of the wrinkles, which felt ill at ease on Tom’s forehead, were glad to flee. “You must read Davis' and 01 lenrv’s short stories, too, for I think that’s where 1 got my idea of the word. Listen! the dictionary gives it as: “A lawless military adventure; a pirate.” “Now I ask you—can you imagine Thomas Finnigan Ward, cub reporter for the New York Times, and son of the late John Ward, prominent banker, as a filibuster? Why, man alive, I thought they all lived in Cuba and carried picks and shovels, and here Tom doubled up with peals of convulsed laughter. A close observer would have noticed a momentary, but only momentary, twitching about the corners of Holt's mouth and then he drew himself up with affected coldness and when Tom’s hilarity was somewhat abated, he broke in, “I beg your pardon if I’ve broken in on a secret—of course you don’t have to explain your own private little mystery unless you want to.” “Aw come down off the horse!” chuckled Tom as he pushed a sheet of paper toward the other. “Read that.” and Tom took it eagerly and read: Mr. Ward Sir: Your perhaps well meant filibustering in other peoples’ business is altogether unappreciated and unwanted. I’m perfectly able to look after the interests of my own servants and consider your advances as an interference in my personal affairs. Kindly comply with these statements and save trouble. Sincerely, Deborah Fielding Mart’s face wore a puzzled expression and he asked in an astonished tone,

Page 13 text:

THE SENIOR EM A G N E T II You can imagine their greeting and their conversation. I didn’t hear what they said and I’m not old enough to manufacture a conversation for them—I haven’t had the experience. Needless to say, however, they decided to leave that desolate spot and they both climbed into the machine and sailed away. They had traveled about sixty miles when Jimmie lost control of the machine. It began to fall. They came nearer and nearer to the hard earth, or no, not the earth, a lake. They were about ten feet from the water and—I woke up deciding not to eat any more midnight luncheons. -B.H.S.- A DREAM Gertrude Guttormsen I dreamed that Butler had gone thru a change. And everything there was new and strange! I wonder if dreams come true. That everyone in the class had passed, And flunking subjects were a thing of the past, And we won the championship at last, I wonder if dreams come true. I dreamed that Dot flyers wouldn't talk any more That Ellen worked problems and hollered for more; I wonder if dreams come true. That when Bernlohr made a basket, there were no fans to cheer That class dues were paid quite promptly each year, That Bernard was as big as he’d like to appear, I wonder if dreams come true. That Miss Purvis no longer with problems could cope, That down in the gym there was plenty of soap; I wonder if dreams come true, That the Basket Ball trips now lasted two days, And the Magnet Staff was showered with praise. And when I awoke, I was in a dale, I wonder if dreams come true. TO THE CLASS OF UNE, ’22 Thelma Cooper ’24 Farewell, Senior Class, We bid you sad adieu, And whatsoever comes to pass, We hope Fate will smile on you. Out into the world you’ll go; With many a smile and tear, And tbo’ through many a hard place you'll row, We hope your path may be clear. Soon we will be in your place And we will not envy you. In the world of many a race. We hope Success will carry you through. So these last words we give to you, May you remember them'. Be always courteous, kind and true, Whene’er you fail, begin again. —b.h.s.— A TOAST Elizabeth A. Mulhclland Here’s to the Seniors of ’22 Here’s to the vim in all they do. Here’s to their teachers, who with helping grace Helped them to win in their long run race. And here’s to Miss Houston, the best of sports, Who’s helped us out of trouble of all kinds and sorts Here’s to her kind, so unfortunately few May they smile just as brightly, and remain ever as true.

Page 15 text:

THE SENIOR {MAGNET 13 “Now, who under heaven is this Deborah Fielding, and what kind of a new scrap are you into?” Already one could see by the expression of Tom’s eves that some new idea had obsessed him. “I'm as innocent as a new born babe,” he said. “You know Deborah as well as I do. I can just imagine her though—a little white haired, peppery tempered old lady with a vivid imagination. 1 must certainly give her credit, though, for using unique language. 1 suppose all she has to do is to sit around with her knitting and shoot orders at the servants. Wonder what they’ve been up to now?” “Well, this is surely a good one on you. Best I’ve heard in a long time!” and Holt laughed just as heartily as Pom had. But what do you expect to do about it? Hire a Pinkerton or disguise yourself as Sherlock Holmes, and probe the mystery?” “Neither,” answered Tom, “both are too conventional. That dear old lady either didn’t know anything about child psychology or else she didn’t know me. You know, when you tell a child not to do a thing, they suddenly get a determination to do it. That’s my case. Besides, I’ve always had a hankering to strike up an acquaintance with some nice old lady—might need her for a chaperon some time. You see what 1 mean?” Holt grinned broadly as he replied, “Yes, I understand you. 1 might have guessed as much for it’s just like you. I’m not worried about the chaperon though, but I’m kind of sorry I'll not be here to watch the fun” and he got up to go. “What do you mean? You’re not leaving town are you?” asked Tom in a surprised tone as he accompanied his friend to the door. “Yes,” replied Holt, that’s what I dropped in to tell you. Uncle's sending me over to Hurope on business—have to chase up some old papers to settle a family squabble. Then while I’m over there, 1 expect to travel about some.” “Well, I’ll miss you Old Top, but I’m glad you’re going; you’ll surely have a fine time. When are you going, and how long do you expect to be gone?” said Tom as he slapped Holt vigorously on the shoulder. “I sail Saturday,” Holt answered, “and expect to be gone about six months. But I’ll always receive my mail if it is sent to the Hotel-, Paris, so you must write to me and let me know how the mystery unfolds and I’ll try to keep you in touch with my movements across the way.” After talking a little more about Holt’s intended journey, Mart finally took his departure and Toni turned back to his apartment to think. Sunday 28, 1919 Dear Mart:— According to the calendar, it’s only three weeks since your boat sailed, but so much has happened in that time that it seems like months. Two of the fellows at the office are off on their vacation now and that keeps the rest of us hopping. The Tuesday after you left, I started on my solution of the mystery. From the city directory, I found the addresses of a good many Fieldings and bv fishing Joe Tubble (Joe’s our right hand man—I think he knows everyone in N. Y. City by name) I found at which one Deborah lived. The house is a dream—me thinks that Deborah must be w'orth a tidy sum. It was in the morning that 1 found the place, I think I walked past it twenty times, trying to think up some plan by which I could meet Deborah.”