Butler High School - Magnet Yearbook (Butler, PA)

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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.

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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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THE SENIOR {MAGNET 21 I An Insight Into a Senior’s t I Memory High School I Harold F. Sandbach As the curtain is drawn aside, we see this class four years ago at the baccalaureate service, 1919. They sit on the left, seated from the very front, and extending back a good ways. In the first row there are four seats, three occupied, one vacant. In the first seat, sat the President, Harold Parker. The second seat held a little girl. Matilda Janner, Secretary. Number three is filled by another boy, Harold Sandbach, Vice President. In a solid mass, behind these three, we see the fair members of the class, little freckle-faced, bow-legged girls dressed in white. Next is the future rulers of this country, namely, the manhood of this class. We leave them now and go on to Fred Bernlohr’s room, No. 30, old High School. We can no longer follow all this illustrious class as they are now in different rooms, but, we can trail some of them. Like all freshmen, we lead a high life in school, making the teachers lose their patience every day. Remember the little drawer in Fred’s desk? All the freshmen’s toys were kept in there, and it sure was full. As I view the water guns he collected, memory reminds me of the many times we had water battles when the teacher was out. Remember the thunder that used to arise from the freshmen’s bee-bees gently dropping through the ventilators, from floor to floor. Those were the good old days. Vic Campbell, Norm Ross, Don Keil and all those guys were with us then. Again we advance a little nearer the present and recall the first term of our life in the new High School building. Some of us were in Miss Rose’s home room then; that was on the third floor. We were beginning to quiet down a little bit by that time, but still led the teachers a merry chase. Life is short and time is fleeting, so we next recall those good old days in room 307, with Miss Rose as home room teacher. Along here somewhere, Frank Sarver joined our ranks. Others we picked up also, and still others we lost in the turmoil. But still we advance, and a detachment finds its way to Mr. Hogg’s room, when we were A Sophomores. The Johns, Winer and Rimer were with us now, and 1 remember more than one good story they related for my benefit during music period. Oh, boy, say it didn't make Mr. Hogg mad when we laughed at the end of each tale! The next time you are in 214, see if the old seat (No. 1) still screeches when you move sidewise in it. We staged our first social event in our A Soph year, in the form of a masquerade party at Shearer’s hall We had the time of our life that night; lots to eat, and, remember Lois Moone? She came dressed in a clown suit and the fellows thought she was a boy. They soon learned their mistake when they took off her mask. As the pictures pass through my mind, I next see part of this class in 217 with Mrs. McDermott holding the dictatorship. Boy-o-boy, she sure could lay down the law. Not as it bothered us much, for we soon became used to her. In our A Junior year, we cast our anchor in the peaceful waters of 201 and our ship has floated there ever since.