Butler High School - Magnet Yearbook (Butler, PA)

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Till: SENIOR fMAGNET 19 suddenly upon the faces of James Borland and his friend Bruce Webster. 1 hey had remained in the library late that night discussing the events of the week when they heard a slight noise in Dr. Borland's laboratory and a few minutes later they had seen a group of boys, led by Billy Madison, steal across the moonlit lawn to the shelter of a grape arbor. After a hurried visit to the boys’ bedrooms and to the laboratory, they discovered the absence of the boys, and also that of an old skeleton which hung in a corner of the laboratory. I lence the strange apparition! Billy had evened the score with Marian. The next morning Marian slipped away from the guests and reached the edge of the garden unobserved. She scarce knew what to think of the unlooked for arrival of Bruce Webster, and what attitude she should adopt toward OUR John We’d set our hearts to take a hike, Hut not on foot, or on a bike; We bought ourselves a birch' canoe, A sixteen foot, just ’nough for two. We matched our brains against our luck, It cost six dollars, to a buck; We realised, but ’twas too late, It should have been two ninety-eight. The boles were small but they were plenty, I b’lieve there were close onto twenty; And when we tried; as I live. The blamed think leaked just like a sieve. him, when suddenly two strong arms grasped her and turned her gently toward a garden seat. “It can’t be Bruce,” breathed Marian huskily. “It can, indeed!” answered a well known voice. Ever since I met you I have loved you, he whispered as he slowly drew her closer to him. Now that I have realized my ambitions, I can tell you. But I have doubted happiness too long to receive it with open arms. I have made a stranger of it as does a miser by keeping his wealth hidden away from all eyes.” “Ever since 1 knew you, you have filled my thoughts and life,” answered Marian slowly. The margin of the garden was a few yards away, but it might have been miles, and the few trees scattered about might have been a forest of giant trees sheltering them from the gaze of curious eyes. B.H.S.------------- CANOE Byers We patched, and patched, and patched some more, And still it leaked. We all but swore; The way we daubed with tar and paint. Would try the patience of a saint. Before we got it to a trickle, We would have sold it for a nickle; But, as time for our departure came, We had to use it just the same. One morn we slung our heavy packs. Of grub and blankets on our backs; And made off for the river’s shore, A distance of two miles or more. We dumped our luggage in the boat, Surprised that still the thing would float. So thus at last we had embarked, Upon our voyage up the stream; I, sitting in the bow, remarked, “It’s true, what used to be a dream.”

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18 T II H S I: ;V () R ai A G N E 7 BILLY EVENS THE SCORE Helen Hindman It was three o’clock Labor Day, when a carriage drawn by a team of shiny black horses crossed the Oakmont and 1 larmarville bridge, and swung onto the hard, yellow streak of road that wrapped itself around the curves of the Allegheny river. The inmates of the carriage were of the 400 of Pittsburgh and it would pay us to stop for a few seconds and get acquainted. Mr. and Mrs. Madison were silently enjoying the beauty of the passing scenery, while Marian and Billy were thinking of the coming party. Marian’s wide, gray eyes were often and a little anxiously turned toward Billy, her young brother, who was tightly wedged between Mr. and Mrs. Madison. He did not return Marian’s appealing look, but sat there kicking the toes of his oxfords against the baggage at his feet. I lis mother glanced up and said, “Billy, what are you doing to that baggage and your new shoes?” She spoke mildly enough, but he at once turned his attention to some of the numerous objects that a boy of ten or twelve usually carries in his pockets. Something was undoubtedly wrong. Constraint hung in the air and none was more conscious of it than Billy. He could not forget the past evening when Marian had slipped into the house next door and found Billy and the young daughter of the house blissfully enjoying a box of caramels in the farthest corner of the veranda. Of course she had spread the news and poor Billy’s feelings were quite raw. All were quite ready for dinner when the carriage drove up to the door of the brilliantly lighted mansion, the home of Dr. and Mrs. Borland. The carriage was immediately besieged by laughing groups of young and old, and the whole family were joyously borne into the house. After dinner the girls were eagerly discussing the eligible young men present, and deciding which one they preferred. One announced that Dr. Borland’s son James had arrived a few moments ago and had brought Bruce Webster with him. Marian was silent, thinking of Bruce Webster, who had left his home town and had gone in quest of his fortune, before offering his love to her, the girl of his dreams. The day of his departure, Marian had returned home, after watching the train whiz itself away into a dot on the horizon. They had written long, newsy letters—and quite often a whimsically tender little note from Marian would cause him to keep his goal constantly in mind. For two weeks Marian had received no news of Bruce and this fact caused the one cloud on Marian’s happiness. The last weary guest had left the dance floor and all was quiet, when suddenly, shrill screams rent the air, issuing from the wing occupied by the young ladies. A floating white creature entered at the window. It slipped silently toward the girls, then retreated a few feet. Then it came forward, then retreating, coming nearer each time to the terror stricken girls. Bright eyes glared from deep sockets in a head which was shrouded in white. As the apparition glided through the room, a faint rattling of bones and clanging of chains was heard. Marian broke away from the terrified group and raced madly through the hall. People appeared as if by magic and the frightened girls were soon calmed. The strange apparition had vanished. Nothing remained but a wire extending trom the window to the center of the room. Understanding dawned

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20 THE SENIOR AG N E T MAYBE MIGHT IS RIGHT John Byers While watching a frog in a terrible plight, It struck me:—maybe might is right! I. The frog emerged from the muddy pool, And sat on the bank in the mosses cool; He growled at the tadpoles swimming below, Whose tiny feet were beginning to show. II. The snake in the grass, with his beady eyes, Espied the fat frog and with sundry sighs, Remarked that since he was getting thinner, A frog wouldn’t make a half bad dinner. III. So the snake crept up upon his prey, His mouth all set for a meal that day. Mister Frog, take care, you’d best be alert, You’ll make a fine dinner with polly-wog dessert. IV. The frog showed no sign of care or fear, And all the while the snake crept near; Then did he for an instant pause. Then struck, the frog was in his jaws. V. Just then I thought I’d take a hand, And at the snake I threw some sand; His hold he loosed upon his prey. And safely made his get-away. VI. The slimy old frog just gave a croak. As though it all had been a joke; He looked at me and blinked his eye, And straightway he devoured a fly! WHAT SAY YE TO IT? Ted Kottraba It is not qfuite a riddle, To play on a fiddle, And to bring out it’s sweet harmonies: To push on the middle, And bend the bow brittle, Might bring out it’s sweet charm on these. For cut from a log, Is a part called a frog, Which holds fill the keys at bay : And when a frog croaks, Don’t please some folks, And that’s why a fiddle’s so darned hard to play. For using an ax, They cut out their backs, For fiddles have backs they preach: Backs oft' get the rheumati e, I don’t know just why it is, And that’s why some fiddles screech. There’s a bridge on a fiddle, And that’s why it’s a riddle. To play on the blame thing at all: For to play on the bridge high, And look at the high sky, One’s liable to get di y and fall. There’s a thing in the fiddle, Sounding post, near the middle, Which are placed in real fiddles not toys: And how can one play, “A Sweet Summers Day,” When the sounding post’s making a noise. —By one who invented horse HAIR FOR FIDDLE BOWS.