Calhoun School - Ink Pot Yearbook (New York, NY)

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Q 1936 INK PDT + Game EORGE BRADFORD and Allan Bradford looked each other coldly in the eye. l'll knock it out of you, thundered Mr. Bradford. I'll send you up to the lumber camp, and there you'll learn something useful instead of playing around with a string racket and a ball. Why, anybody can hit a ball over a net. It's a sissy game, and I'll be hanged if l'll let my son waste his time on that. You ought to be in the country chopping wood and learning your father's trade from the bottom up. It,s no use, Dad, Allan replied. You wouldn't talk that way if you knew the gamef' I'll break every racket in this house! he returned, and meant it. It was a perfect day for traveling and the sun shone brilliantly. Before his father was up the next morning, Allan went to say good-bye to all his friends. He was home in time for lunch and then with his father rushed down to the station. One firm handclasp, and he was off for the camp. On arriving at the station in the Adirondacks he jumped from the train to be greeted by a big, brown, burly man. Are you Mr. O'Keith ? Allan asked. Yes, I am,', the man replied. Come along with me and we'll get started. Just a minute sir, Allan said. I have a package waiting for me. And with that he raced into the station and came out with a square, thin bundle. What's that? Nlr. O'Keith asked. A tennis racket, the boy replied. And what do you expect to do with it up here? We've got no such things as tennis courts, the man said. I'll find a place, never fear, and with that the matter was dropped. The men at the camp took an immediate liking to the boy and he to them. He told them all about his ambitions to be an expert tennis player, and asked them if they couldn't Hx him up a court on one of the vacant lots. The men were dubious, however, for explicit instructions came from lVlr. Bradford admonishing the foreman, O'Keith, by telegram, to treat him rough. The boy begged to be allowed to practice and have a court, and finally the men consented. Before long Allan was teaching these clumsy youths how to play tennis, and it actually became a popular sport within the camp. The foreman wrote home to lvlr. Bradford that his son was getting along fine and has turned out to be an excellent sport. He also said that the boy begged to be allowed to have a tennis court and practice and they had granted him that favor. When Bradford read that telegram he was furious. Acting upon impulse he phoned Richard Harding, one of the best professionals. Want to make a thousand ? Bradford asked. What for? Richard Harding replied. Go up to my lumber camp where my boy is staying and make him realize he can't play tennis. He thinks he can, you seef' All right, sir, I'll do it for a thousand, the champion said. The following week a young man came up to the camp and said he was to take the secretary's place and work there permanently. As the days passed, Allan, improving upon his tennis all the time, often played with the new secretary. Harding showed Allan new strokes and gave him practice and conhdence, but Allan could always beat him rather easily. O'Keith asked Allan one day if he would arrange a tournament for the men. Delighted at the chance to show what he could do, Allan said, Why, sure! Forty-two

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Q 1936 INK POT Q Sumet and T wilzglat in the COUMIUI HAVE you ever stood on a hill gazing at the crest of another, larger hill in the distance to watch the sunset? If you haven't, you've missed one of the wonders and glories of nature. It is no wonder that artists of every period paint sunsets and the twilights which follow them. A sunset always appears to me as if the sun in all its glory and magnificence is saying goodby to the world, and wanting to leave a lasting impression behind it. The sun seems to sink slowly to the crest of the hill, becoming more orange and redder all the time. Finally in one last plunge of glistening color it appears to hit the hill top, and bound off behind it. Then its sparkling rays, thrown up from behind the hill, gradually become dimmer and dimmer until they melt into the onrushing shadows. The many colors of the sky fade into a greyish white and-twilight is here. It seems then that the world stands still for a while contemplating what to do next. The silence is soon broken by the faint twittering of the birds as they settle in their nests, and by the tinkling of the cowbells as the cows are let out to pasture for the night. By this time the greyness has turned to black, and here and there a twingling star may be seen in the sky. -IUDITH FRANK, 36. Der Kleine Karl ER zu Fritzens Haus kommt, bringt immer etwas Gutes fur den kleinen Karl. Karl ist ein ,Iahr alt. Er ist sehr lustig. Er lauft und springt gern. Er ist sehr froh wenn jemand mit ihm spielt. Jeden Tag sagt Fritz zu ihmg Gluten Tag, mein kleiner Karl. Wie geht es heute ? Woof! Woof! bellt Karl. CONSTANCE Mamowrrz, '39. Bellum PAUCIS annis ante bellum in Europa cum familia in pace habitavi. Pater meus et frater fuerunt agricolae et studio et diligentia magna laboraverunt. Agros pulchros coluerunt et copiam cibi frumentique semper habuimus. F riter meus cotidie ductus est solus equis in agr6s. Sed tum bellum miserum incepit et hostes clamantes venerunt in agros nostros et friter meus conspectus a militibus interfectus est. Pater captivus retentus erat itaque mater in fugam se dedit carro parv6 ut auxilium et libertatem pro pitre pararet. Doizorl-xv NVEITZNER, '39. Forty-one

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+ 1936 INK POT ' Any man who wanted to volunteer could enter the tournament, but only four, including the new secretary, did. Allan disposed of these men easily enough, and finally he was matched with Lockwood, the secretary. Everybody came out to see the match. The balls flipped to and fro, skimming the net by an inch, and soon Allan had the first three games. Lockwood's service! O'Keith yelled. The first service had a cut to it and was over in a Hash of lightning. Allan stood dumbfounded at this show of playing from a man from whom he could always win a love set. Millions of thoughts raced through his mind, but by sheer will power he pulled himself together. The second serve went over exactly like the first and in no time at all the games were three up. No one noticed a stocky, well-dressed man who was eyeing the match with satisfaction and excitement. The score was now 4-3 in favor of Lockwood. Allan now was disappointed, sorrowful to think that either this man or his father had deceived him, and sorrier yet that perhaps he wouldn't be able to show his parent that he could beat this man. A grim determination crept over him and he then decided he would try his utmost to win. It was Allan's service and he sent over a steaming ball, but it was returned as quickly. He returned it, placing the ball in the back court, for his opponent was playing net. The score was now 5-4 in Allan's favor and the group watching cheered for joy. Allan knew that at least they were backing him. Suddenly a stout figure got up and shouted at him, Come on, son! You can beat him. Go to it. VVith a sound between a sob and laugh of joy Allan played an incredible game. Point, set! O'Keith yelled, and Lockwood sent over a ball that was on Allan's backhand. This was his weakest stroke, but by a superhuman effort he returned it so it just dropped over the net. Game, set ! O'Keith yelled, and the camp went wild. A little later father and son were sitting together outside the bungalow. l'm sorry, Allan, he said. You deserved to win, and it's not a sissy game . l'm glad you showed me that. By the way, Allan, when are you going to teach me how to play this new-fangled stunt ?', EDITH WILSON, '39. '24 llitewzlzbn fr Urqtuf' T HE sun smilingly sealded the sandy shore. A cry was clearly heard in the distance crisply cutting the quiet air. A swimmer noiselessly neared the water. The sun smiled serenely. The screams soared through the sky: Help! help! help! The ceaseless splashes of the swimmer disturbed the solemnity of the sea: stroke, stroke, stroke. The sun laughed. Again came the fearful, futile, fervent cries: Help! help! help! faster! faster! fasterlv The swimmer, with the superhuman strength of his strong, sinewy arms, quickened his speed. Suddenly the sun saddened. The waters became angry. The rescuer reached the victim. The tears were dripping as crystal dew drops from the saddened face of the sun. Two heads simultaneously submerged under the sea. No pleading cries were heard: Help! help! help! No splashing from the swimmer's strong, sinewy arms disturbed the solemnity of the silent sea: stroke. stroke, stroke. An array of light, beautiful colors formed an arc in the heavens. The sun sadly scalded the sandy shore. N BARBARA SELVERNE, '38, Forty-th ree