Central High School - Cog N Pen Yearbook (Newark, NJ)

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The week-end passed very slowly, at least for two young people, and when Monday morning came, both Bettv and Dick were in school much earlier than usual. the tellows were shocked. Dick, who usu- ally landed in school about 8:59, was there before 8:39. Nobody could understand it. Vionday, luesdav, Wednesday passed, in which they were together all the time. hey went to as- sembly together, were together during the periods, ate lunch together, and every day after school, Dick took the gir! home in his car. Everyone noticed this, and the school was buzzing with the latest subject for dis- cussion. thursday morning, a dance was announced in əs- sembly. Uf course, as everyone expected, Dick asked Betty, and the girl shyly but very enthusiasti- caliy accepted. It was the hrst dance she had at- tenaed m all the time she had been going to high school. At the dance, everyone was talking about them. You see, the boys had never noticed Betty before that weex—she had kept herselt aloof from them, and tha girls had never bothered with her. So they gath +. in groups, those who were not dancing, and gossi, $ away to their heart's content. “1 don't see anything in her,” remarked Helen Saunders, “she isn't good-looking, and she doesn’t dress so nicely either. I don't see what Dick sees in her.” “K-A-T,” replied her brother Jack, and turning on nis heel, he walked over to where Dick and Betty were standing and asked Dick to introduce him to Betty. lhis done, he asked her for a dance and it was granted him. Meanwhile, Dick stood out and watched. By this time several other boys had gathered around Dick, asking him to introduce them to Bettv. So, for the rest of the afternoon, Bettv was swamped wi'h partners, and onlv had time to dance once more with Dick. After the dance, riding home with Dick, no one could have called Betty Hartman plain. Her dark eyes sparkled and shone like twin diamonds, and her cheecks were as red as rose s. Yes, Betty had just had her first taste of popularity and she found it to be very sweet. Indeed, during that ride home, it was wetty who chattered and laughed and Dick who sat back silently and marveled. ‘he next day, and for many days after that, Dick hardly saw or spoke to Betty. She was always sur- rounded by a crowd, and he never got a chance to get a word in edgewise. He began to feel sorry that he had introduced Betty to the fellows, because then he would have had her to himself, but he quickly dis- missed the thought, because he knew the girl was en- joying her popularity. But he missed her cheerful 10 talks, and her sweet personality, and wished she H time to ride home with him after school like she 4 during that first week of their friendship. ‘Then came the dance given by the —— = Fraternity, to which Dick and most of the older by belonged. Betty received four invitations from diff ent fellows, but she held back her answers as long, she could until One dav, the girl left school verv late, after meeting of her club. She was president now, and ki to attend to manv matters before leaving school. A. she was glad to be able to walk home alone: — wanted to think, and she didn't have very much th to herself latelv. She walked along, thinking al Dick, and wondering why he avoided her lately. never took her home after school, like he used to ¢ and he never took her to dances anymore. Inde lately he never went to dances, but rushed out: school to—well, wherever he went, she didn't kna She never knew anything about his affairs anymo| Just then she heard a hom toot, and tumi around, she saw Dick's little red car pull up to { curb, and Dick jumped out. “Going anywhere special?” he asked. “Just home,” answered Betty. “How would you like to have me take you ho like I used to do?” “Fine,” said the girl, and she jumped into the d and sat down beside him. Betty chattered away at a lively rate, which Dj answered only in monosyllables, looking at her | tently all the way home. All of a sudden, Bel stopped talking and, turning around, she lool squarely at the big sullen fellow sitting beside her. “Dick Harvey,” she said, “why don’t you ask j to go to the — dance with you?” “But Betty,” cried the delighted boy, “would vi really go with me?” “Well,” replied Betty shyly, “it's manners to wi till you're asked.” “I thought you would go with Saunders or one | the other fellows, and I was afraid to ask you. Bi Betty, better late than never, will you go with me) “Yes,” said that young lady, ''on condition t you will never avoid me again the way you've bel doing lately. Why did you do it, Dick?” “Well, Bet, I thought you didn’t care about rl any more, having all the other fellows, but I'll prot ise never to avoid you again. After this you'll ha to chase me away.” And so they became friends again, these two, ail they remained friends throughout their high school a college careers. After that—well I must not give t much away, but they're very happy together now, tol THE ENB.

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x J EPF SS gi Another second and ''Carrots'' came in two lengths ahead. At this there arose a thunderous cheer that fairly shook the grandstand. Congratulations were showered thick and fast upon her as she sat with flushed cheeks and streaming hair, in her saddle. A group of girls elbowed their way to her side, looking up at her sheepishly. “We're sorry we snubbed you,” came from Margie, “and we want to apologize. Will you show that you forgive us by coming to our dance to-morrow night, with Dan? We're giving it to celebrate your victory.” “Carrots,” ñ nodded. BETTY, THE SHY By DoROTHX GOODMAN And so they became friends. Dick Harvey, the handsome blond football hero and little demure, dark- eyed Betty Hartman. Yes, they became real friends and this is how it happened. You see, he was so handsome and strong, and so popular that shy little Betty could only worship him from afar. And if he chanced to even glance her way, she would blush to the very roots of her hair. But it all changed in a dav, and this is how it was. One day, during the fifth period, Betty was sent on an errant. She was walking down the stairs, hum- ming a dreamy little tune, and looking nowhere in particular, when—her foot slipped and down the stairs she tumbled, head over heels. At the bottom, she was so dazed that she just lay there—when, all of a sudden she heard a voice say, “Come, girlie, you re all right, aren't you? Have you hurt yourself badly?” and she looked up into the eyes of—Dick Harvey. Her senses came back with a rush, and she blushed furiously. ‘“ I—you—-oh—no, I’m all right,” she stam- mered, and tried to stand up. ‘This she found was impossible, as she had twisted her ankle badly and could not stand on it. She tried to take a step, but immediately fell back into Dick’s arms. “May I help you to the nurse’s room?” asked the boy, and she said he might. Then, as gently as he could, and he was very gentle for such a big fellow, he helped her along, un- til he had gotten her safely into the medical office. There the bruised ankle was bandaged tightly, and the girl was contemplating how she could get home. “I have my car downstairs, and if I may take you home, I'd be glad to,” offered the hero of many a gridiron battle. Before Betty could refuse, for that is what she intended doing, the nurse had answered for her. “Yes, Harvey, that will be fine; I'll get excuses for both of you,” and they were left alone in the office. Dick tried to start a conversation, but Betty's ankle hurt her so, and she looked so embarrassed that Dick was content to keep up a cheerful monologue without expecting an answer. It was the same all the way home, and, except for telling Dick her address, she hardly said two words in answer to his chatter- ings. But Dick didn’t feel disturbed. He was feeling very happy. Here he was doing something worth while at last, and enjoying it in the meantime. He wondered how it was that he had never noticed Betty before, but he said nothing on the subject. When they reached Betty’s home, and had quieted her mother’s fears, Dick sat down for a few minutes. Bettv's mother thanked him warmly for his help, and Betty also thanked him in her shy little way. Dick modestly said it was a mere nothing, and caught him- self blushing furiously. What was this? He, Dick Harvey, who knew and went out with the most popu- lar and prettiest girls in the school, blushing because a mere little slip of a girl had thanked him for help- ing her? He could not understand himself. He left the house a short time later, with a cordial invitation from Mrs. Hartman, shly seconded by Betty, to come again; and all the way back to school he was thinking of how pale Betty had looked when he had picked her up on the stairs. The next day was Friday, and Betty did not come to school. His friends all noticed how impatient Dick was for 3 o clock to come, but no one knew the rea- son. As soon as he was dismissed, Dick drove up to Betty’s house. He found the girl lying on the sofa with her ankle still bandaged. She was very glad to see him and told him so. She was more talkative today, although, as he soon found, Betty never did much talking. They talked about sports, dancing, and other things for some time, and when Dick said he had to go, Betty thanked him for coming to see how she was.

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A Complaint of the Decay of Horses By JoHN REILLV That all—changing magic wand of science—al- most as effective as Midas’s touch—is rapidly driv- ing from our city streets, the horse. With all his carts and trucks, coaches and carriages, stables and blacksmithshops, the horse is fast becoming a thing of the past. Soon he will be a curiosity in town and (I suppose) we shall see him only when the circus comes to town, or among the other strange animals in the zoo. I do not approve of this wholesale casting aside of a faithful servant of thousands of years. His serv- ices were given without complaint—without compen- In tale or history, the horse is ever an indis- pensable figure. We read of the great cavalry of Alexander and Caesar. But who can imagine some contrivance (such as the motorcycle) taking the place of the horse in a cavalry charge? How could the knights of the Middle Ages have managed without their horses, or how would Quentin Durward and Isabelle have escaped from France? How would it sound in the poem if Paul Revere had ridden in a Ford? For many years the horse was the only means of travel—except for those who, being too poor to ride, walked—whether for merchants bringing their goods from town to town, for knights on journeys far from home, or for Louis XVI when he attempted to flee from his angry subjects, and had not the curiosity of that unhappy monarch induced him to stick his fat head lout of his coach window, he probably would not have lost it so soon. sation. But at length came the steam engine and the rail- roads. The horse tried hard, but could not com- ete with the puffing monster. After all he was made pt flesh and blood, and so his usefulness in long jour- heys came to an end. Still his place in domestic life vas unchallenged. But now we have the automobile, And again the horse feels himself unable to compete. e sees another usurper in possession of the domain bt which he was lord for many centuries. I grieve to think of the time when we shall have o horses—and that time is not far off —for he is not mere machine like the automobile. He is his mas- er's friend. He knows his master’s humors; responds o his every word and touch. He does not break Hown in the midst of his work, but no matter how tired and hungry, he strives on to finish his task with- out complaint. Have you noticed, reader, how the automobile is replacing the horse in our fire apparatus? Whenever a new engine is added or an old one replaced, the new one is a machine. The horses are not fast enough for us any more. ‘This thought must bring grief to everyone who remembers how—when he was a little boy—he loved to watch the fire horses—for it was the horses and not the engine that attracted him— rushing to the fire. It was a race between horse and fire and the animal knew that much depended on him. His efforts surely must have aroused the spirits of the firemen. But who could be inspired by an automo- bile? Its is but a mass of metal—it has no soul. The only emotion it inspires (as it rushes through the streets like a raging monster) is terror, lest it should leave its true course and run wild, as it seems to threaten to do. Have you seen recently, any of those sleighs which used to be so numerous about town after every snow- storm? I have not. It seems strange (in the ex- celled weather for sleighriding which we had last week) that not a sleigh could be seen, nor the jing- ling of a bell heard. I wonder what has become of them. Recently, I saw one—or rather the remains of one—in a yard on the outskirts of the city. It was sadly crippled and was fit for nothing but the wood pile. I suppose the others have met the same fate. This is a result of the exodus of the horse. I used to pass daily—on my way from school— a stable, and every day there were about a dozen very large horses tied to posts outside the building. But now the stable is empty—there are no more horses—and next door is a large garage, where are kept the automobiles which now do the horses’ work. I wonder what has become of those horses. Have they been sent to the soap factory, or have they been used—as was suggested during the war—for making frankfurters ? When you see a horse and buggy—that is if you ever do see one—going about the city, do not laugh at it because it is out of date, for remember that it is not so long ago that the horse and buggy held the same place in the community as the automobile does today. Rather, stop and revertently salute the fallen monarch.