Butler High School - Tropaeum Yearbook (Butler, IN)

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For a pattern of innocence here’s a good sample. Picture John Blaker and his electric machine, His new-fangled airship will shortly be seen, Soon some other new fakes——incidentals between, Its a picture no artist can paint. Picture Miss Whit in a bathing suit Now don’t you think she’d look very cute? Picture Chuck Elliot when he is sad. Picture Doe Tappen when he is glad. Picture Jack sriding a mule Falling off and calling himself a d-——- fool, This is the way he does as a rule He’s a picture no artist can paint. Picture Harris trying to flirt, Getting scarred and falling headlong in the dirt. Picture Rollo out on a bum To get him back home—you’ll have to go some. Picture Ollie combing her hair, Picture Coy Pifer cross as a bear, Picture Grayce W. free from all care These are pictures no artist can paint. Pieture Peggy chewing her gum I guess she knows how to make it go some. Picture J. Leroy ’mong his plants and his bugs, He loves cats and dogs, from Maltese down to Pugs. Picture Rosalie canceling a date, Picture the poor boy when she’s sealed up his fate, O, these things are all too sad to relate, Its a picture no artist can paint. Picture Blondie winking her eye At one of the boys——all on the sly. She’s a typical type of a Leap-year girl, She needs no start to set hearts in a whirl. Picture our Bromo learning his Dutch, Its a picture that never is seen very much, We think we will label it boldly ‘““None Such”--- He’s a picture no artist can paint. Besse Wiley, 08. 25

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Pictures of Pictures. Picture our sweet little Sunshiny Jake A landscape without him would all be a fake. Pieture “Pus” Grube out on a farm— Put him some place where he’ll do no harm. Picture Preach Parker out on a bike, He’s not a bit lazy, just refuses to hike, But he beats all the cars on the Vandalia pike, He’s a picture no artist can paint. Picture Prof. Bean with his Algebra class, Overtime working—poor lad and poor lass. Picture Ross Firestone taking a drink, Picture Miss Higley stopping to think, Picture Post Wells with a cigarette— It’s a combination we haven’t seen yet, But when we do you all can just bet Its a picture no artist can paint. Picture Mab Murch ariding her pony, See the beast balk, without ceremony. Picture Maud 8. when she strolls “round with Murch, Its a “cinch” they think not of the pedagogue’s birch. Picture Stoney whose heart is nigh broken, The stone part is melted—the rest is a ‘‘soaken,”’ His sweetheart has left him without sign or token, He’s a picture no artist can paint. Picture Miss Nimmons stepping three feet To keep pace with the boys—now she can’t be beat. Picture our Dolly hunting a beau, She wants one with whiskers and plenty of dough. Picture Miss Edith staying out late Swinging with Bob on the back garden gate. Trying her best to make a new date—— Its a picture no artist can paint. Picture Miss Baker and a great big tall beau It’s a picture we haven’t seen yet—don’t you know. Picture Miss Garber reciting a piece, Give us a rest, do dry up, and cease! Picture Miss Huffman chewing her nails, Albert Eviston pulling puppy-dogs’ tails, Guy Rummel hunting for bull-frogs and snails, They are pictures no artist can paint. Picture Grace Lowe breaking a rule, Laid down by the pedagogues here in this school. Picture Miss Smith following out her example 24

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Pr ee Es es en Ht nn A I OE OS YO el SY OY ES HE SN a Se TS Se LITERATURE | Rem OE ar eee me 1 ene RSE RE BG SO eam HO Ge fe ¥ A Song of te O, list to the katy-did out in the clover— The clover whose gay robes have faded to brown. It is trying to tell us that summer is over, And all the green leaves will soon flutter down. O, why do you come with this message of sadness Disturbing the peace of a quiet summer’s day? Our hearts were so filled with contentment and gladness, O, why do you drive this dear feeling away? Why could we not live through the very last day, Without the forewarning that on the tomorrow, The beauties of nature would all fade away And leave us to mourn their departure with sorrow. So it is in the summer of glad happy youth, When our pathway is lit with the sweetness of love. The whole world is full of rich goodness and truth, The stars are so bright in the heavens above. Yet thus to each soul comes a low whispered warning, That we soon must enter the battle of strife. We too will awake and discover some morning That we are afloat on the broad sea of life. O, may we all to this warning take heed, And in our school-life keep a purpose in mind. So may we ever in each thought and deed, Perfect delight and true happiness find. Besse Wiley, ’08 Did SheSeub the Steps? “This is positively the hottest day I ever saw; it’s as bad as being alone in the wilds of Africa,—every one is asleep or cross as a bear, and its too warm for tennis or golf. This absolute quiet is wearing on me. Really I’m afraid I’ll become illnatured—wish I had some one to talk to.”’ The speaker was a pretty girl, who was sitting on the shady veranda of a summer hotel; near her stood a table upon which was a glass of lemonade and a choice collection of fans which she explained she was too warm to think of using. “Very much obliged for the comp,” returned a young man in white ducts, who was lolling on the veranda steps, ‘‘if I wasn’t so comfy, I’d get up and thank you with my best bow.” ‘“‘How those servants could stand it to togup and go off on a jaunt 26