Butler High School - Tropaeum Yearbook (Butler, IN)

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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

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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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across country on a day like this is more than I can understand; of course its their afternoon out, but why weren’t they content to stay here and at least try to be cool.. I wonder how that sick. woman they took away this morning is now. Believe I’ll walk down by the river to a nice cool place and—no I don’t want any company—good-bye.”’ Jim McArthur watched the pretty figure of the girl as she walked away, wondering as he did so, why Sidney Trayman was so preverse and would never listen to him when he told her of his love for her. Love! He’d followed her for two years now, from the city to the sea- shore, from the seashore to the country and back to the city and he de- clared to himself (as he neverhad the chance to unburden himself to her) with all the customary ardor of lovers that he would follow her t o the ‘‘ends of the earth.”’ His revery was interrupted by the appearance of a man riding up the shady drive on a bicycle. As he came nearer McArthur saw he was in the uniform of a policeman. ‘‘Wonder if we’re harboring a thief or a murderer,” tho’t Jim. “Hey, you there! Where’s Mrs. Smith?” naming the proprietor of Meadow Brook. ‘Asleep, like all sensible people in this beastly heat. What’s the row?” “O, nothing at all. Ive only ridden twenty miles in this sun to this blasted place to see that none of you people get away,’ making a vain attempt to appear calm, “‘you’re under quarantine.” “Quarantine!” gasped Jim. ‘“‘Great Scot, what for?”’ “Smallpox. That woman they took away this morning had it, and every one in this house will have tostay fortwo weeks. Just my luck,” he grumbled on ‘‘to be sent on a job like this.—-I’ll have the willies for a fair out here among the swells with nothing to do.” He went into the house in search of Mrs. Smith leaving McArthur on the porch. It seemed as tho’ the news spread like wild fire, for within ten min- utes nearly all the inmates of the hotel were on the hitherto deserted veranda, excitedly discussing the recent calamity. Mrs. Smith was in hysterics at the tho’t of a quarantine in connection with her aristocra- tic place. Some of the people were angry, others treated the whole thing as a joke, but all realized that they must stay, regardless of plans and personal interests. “Well, atleast there are the servants and we shall be no worse off than before,” said pretty Mrs. Lawton, a dainty woman who was the wife of a New York financier. Then the horrible blow came--there were no servants! Since they had gone out for the afternoon of course they would not be allowed to return. Every one simply stood and stared at each other. McArthur was the first to recover from the surprise and shock. Drawing a long breath he said, ‘‘I suppose the only thing to do, is for each one to do his share of the work and get along the best we can. Why really, ‘‘bright- ening,’ I think that would be jolly—--just like camping out. Come on, let’s appoint some one as ‘boss’ and then things will go swimmingly.” The crowd caught some of his enthusiasm, tho’ they accepted work 27