Central High School - Mirror Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

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loud “bang,” you know. One time when I was little I had a great big one which 1 was saving until 1 could bring myself to enjoy the brief pleasure of popping it. One day I took it out onto the stone steps in front of the house, and waited until Mama should go to the back, when I intended to throw it down from the porch to the sidewalk below. This she did just as Aunt Liza, our washerwoman, waddled up to the gate with an immense bundle of clothes on her head. She was in a deep reverie, and paid no attention to me. high up on the porch. Neither did I notice her. for I was occupied in making a fare well examination of my globe. I heard Mother returning, and without further ado, I slung the bulb with all my might onto the pavement. It struck just behind Aunt Liza and exploded with a tremendous “bang!” Down came the clothes from the old aunty's head, and down she flopped n top of them. “You. Billy! I sec’d you thow dat thing at me. I’se gwine tell Miss May. I is. Jcs’ you see f T don’t. And she did, worse luck to me. (Aeroplanes.) Have you ever read the story of Daedalus and Icarus? If you haven’t, read it, but don’t let it have the affect on you that it did on me. The more I thought about Daedalus’ plan of conquering the upper regions, the more feasible it seemed, so I decided to try it myself. Feathers and wax I had none. But necessity begets invention, and I thought of the chickens. Glue would do as well as wax, and was much stickier. Therefore, watching my chance. I drove the poultry into the barn and locked the door. Whew! you don’t know just how hard a chicken can peck ’till you try to pick him before lie’s dead: But I got lots and lots of feathers before they all got away. And glue? Dad had some in his tool chest, and I knew where the key was kept. So 1 began in the aeroplane business. Off came my second-best coat, and soon it was thickly covered with nice, runny.” sticky glue and heaps of feathers. 1 put it on. and was about to climb to the loft to try it, when--- “William Gant King! What have you done to these poor chickens? Not a feather on them, and a forecast of frost tonight!” Then she spied me. That night a very small boy ate supper off the mantel, and some very queer, unnatural-looking chickens hovered around the kitchen stove to keep from freezing to death. WILLIAM KING, ’Ifl. 14

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When I Was a Very Little Boy (Bathing.) I used to hate to take a bath, and whenever a Wednesday or a Saturday rolled around 1 made divers plans to avoid one. Once 1 nearly succeeded in doing so. My mother had prepared the tub, and was about to prepare me. when the ‘phone rang. Whilst she was in the hall, answering it, 1 conceived the grand idea of—hiding in a small clothes closet, where my toys were kept. This T proceeded to do. and when Mother returned no Billy was to he found. In the yard, in the cellar, up in the playroom—Billy had disappeared. A frantic search followed, all over the neighborhood. then my Mama ’phoned for Dad. Why. my dear. came over the ’phone, “are you sure you’ve looked well—in the clothes closets, for instance? Then, click, click, click.” high heels sounded on the floor. On they came, right up to the door behind which I cowered—then—well, you know. I don't like to talk about it. (Baptism.) One Sunday my mother took me to a Baptist Church to witness the baptismal ceremony of a young friend of hers. Without the divine grace of baptism, the soul cannot enter heaven. said the minister. Those few words were all I remembered of his sermon, but they impressed me greatly. So on the way home. T was very inquisitive. Had T been baptised? Had Mama? Tapa? Yes. Were we going to heaven? She hoped we would. 1 became very thoughtful. T remembered my dog and cat. They hadn’t been in water, and if T was going to heaven T wanted them there, too. An idea’ Several hours later T captured my live stock and carried it to a rain barrel near the house. What was it the man said when he put Gladys under the water? Well, a Golden Text would do for a plain dog and a cat. So— into the half-filled barrel went Pussy and Rover: down came the top. and T. with eves tightly closed and hands devoutly clasped, muttered. For God so love th’ worl' that he giv His on’y Son. that whos’ever bleved on Him shan’t die. Amen. I opened the barrel. Out of it and into the house dashed two wet. angry pets. “Shucks. I said, disappointedly, they never waited ’till I said the last A-men. (F.lcctric Globes.) Electric light globes are nice things to “bust. They make an awful 13

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The Child and the Gosling I was. at tin- time of this event, a small, chubby boy of four. 1 had a large head thickly covered with curly, golden hair, and eyes that were typically Dutch. 1 was clad in a blue denim apron. On my head a large, yellow sailor hat sat rather unsccurcly, and my feet were shod in the shoes God had given me. My home at this time was on Fourteenth avenue, then only a cow-path, sparsely settled by a few families. The houses were all cottages and the yards were mostly small in front with a sort of truck farm in the rear. Animals of all domesticated breeds found a free range in the streets and yards. I well remember the day. It was just at the time when the grass had grown tall enough to make a smooth bed and was so delightful to sit in. As 1 lay there, in the shade of the “Big Oak.1' I heard a little squeak. I turned my head in the direction of the sound and there was the yellowest, fluffiest gosling I had ever seen. At once I was filled with the desire to possess it. so I set out for it. Several times I fell, but T had nearly caught up with it when it ran through the chicken hole in the fence. I went through it also, hut fell face downward on the ground on the other side. When I looked up my heart nearly failed me. There standing in the alley was the largest, meanest-looking. most awe inspiring goose 1 had ever seen. I turned quicker than you can say “scat and took a dive for the hole. This time I hit on my head and rolled over. Inst as I got up T heard the goose hit the ground and make that hissing noise which no fowl except a goose can make. I girded up my loins and started out much as a runner doe ; when he starts on the four-forty. I took the shortest route to the back door; that is. the straight line. T could feel the hot breath of the goose on my neck as T ran. I picked the best path that was available and watched closely lest I stumble and let the goose catch me. T was about ten feet from the back porch door when I thought about asking aid of some one. My mother was the one T thought of first, so T immediately started to veil for her. Just as T reached the steps she appeared and just as she started to open her mouth to ask me what was the matter. I ran up close and buried my head in the folds of her dress. The only thing I c« tild say was. “Don't let him get me, Muvver; don't let him get me.” ’ W. D. SMITH, '18. 15