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

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ing black and silver; and from the top ol her blonde head, to the пр of her dainty slipper , she looked the perfect flapper of today. She acted the part, too. All evening she flirted outrageously. She was the undisputed belle ol the occasion. She ven had а smile for Jack, who tasted the dregs of bitterness when he saw this fair vision who had once been his, courted and feted by a legion of adorers owards the end of that hateful evening the heart- broken youth almost fainted with joy He saw Mary alone on the veranda. After all, Auld Lang Syne is the nearest and dearest to our hearts and the chums soon made up [he tactful Rita went home with Bill to the joy of that young man. Mary was escorted by her wandering boy who wandered no more and indeed they are still called “Mary and her Lamb.”’ WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO KNOW? By Syd Broder I know a girl with teeth of pearl, And shoulders white as snow; She lives—ah well, I must not tell. Wouldn’t you like to know? Her sunny hair is wondrous fair, And wavy in its flow; Who made it less One little tress? Wouldn't you like to know? Her eyes are blue, celestial hue, And dazzling in their glow; On whom they beam With melting gleam— Wouldn't you like to know? She has a name, the sweetest name That language can bestow: Twould break the spell If I should tell. Wouldn’t you like to know? Е-712 арр ee MEMORIES By Samuel Klausner Gone, gone are ihe zoodly days When I was wont to roam, On the very rugged sandy beach Of my old New England Home. П. I can see ihe treat gigantic rock Where on a spot пе ег touched by sea, We'd climb to fish from that one place, My brother Bert and me. ПІ. In fall with shot-guns in ош hands, And with our old dog, Bear, We'd go into the wooded fens In search of һе fleet-foot hare. IV. I left my old New England home For to зо and fortune seek, And the very rugged sandy beach I forgot within one week. V. But now I'm too old to seek for wealth And al ways by the sea, І can picture my New England home, My brother Bert, and me! The latest yellow menace—Mah Jong. [he lost cord has been found at last in the of a tire.

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MARY AND HER LAMB By Lillie August They had not seen each other for ages, or at least not since the time when Jack had left Hilton to come to the big Dayton High School. They had parted with tears and vows, and Jack had promised to be true forever and Mary had promised to live only for the day when they would meet again. And now she was coming, little blue eyed, golden- haired Mary, and Jack's eyes grew merry and his heart became joyous. Indeed, so jolly did he get with the thought of the coming of his little pal, that he attracted the attention of Rita Crandel, the ac- knowledged class vamp, who invited him to her birthday party. It was the week before the expected arrival and Jack at first spoke only of her. But it was not Jong before he began to speak at length on Rita’s charms and they soon became the best of friends. Alas for Mary, Rita was armed with accessories enough to charm many Jacks, and red lips, long eyelashes, and chic costumes did their work well. When Mary came, she went immediately to the High School where she expected to study (and play) for four years. When the two friends met, there was no rejoicing, no exclamations, no laughter; only an uncomfortable silence. Jack broke it first. How well you are looking, Mary, he exclaimed in a would-be enthusiastic voice. You look well, ioo, was the answer, and then after a few more commonplaces, the once intimate chums separated, to be alone with their own bitter thoughts. On her way home Mary was on the verge of lears. He is so different, she wailed to her cousin with whom she was staying. “He's dignified and proud and he's dressed like а dandy. Апа when I came in, he was talking to a girl who looked like one of those models I used to admire in the Fashion Book. Jack's train of thought ran something like this: “I wonder where she gets those clothes. Gosh, don't tell me she still patronizes old Bender from Main Street! And her hair—why doesn’t she bob it? How changed she is! Not at all that old pal I used to like so much. Rita’s sweater was a corker. Нег І don't think ГИ in- Rita's an awfully good eyes go good with the white. vite Mary to the dance. dancer. I'll bet Mary can't even dance.” Тһе evening of the dance approached. It was being run by the school, and the hall hired for the occasion was the largest in the town. Rita duly received an invitation and just as duly told Mary about it. cousin came in. Mary was crying when her They talked it over and finally During the days that fol- lowed she met Ja ck in the corridors znd he called once or twice but if he felt any remorse for not ask- ing her to the dance, he didn't show it. The night before the dance, Mary did a daring thing. She went up to Bill Wesely, a friend of Jack's and asked him to take her to the dance. ‘The young man was surprised, and it must be confessed, a little chagrined, but when she told him her plans, he chuckled with glee. His sense of humor forced him to enter into what he thought would be a good joke on Jack. Mary stopped crying. The next evening, a taxi drew up at Rita’s door and she was whirled away to the dance. Close be- side her sat the good looking Jack, his brown eyes sparkling at the thought of the good times ahead. In- deed, so good did he feel that he placed a kiss or two upon the unresisting lips of the vision beside him. The hall was already well filled and the pair walked through it followed by shouted greetings and laughing compliments. Indeed, Rita looked like a dream with her green frock, sparkling with shimmer- ing beads. Then the band broke into a riot of jazz and the dancing be gan. Suddenly there was a stir at the door. A young girl with a good looking cavalier entered and they both made for the dressing rooms. When they returned, they immediately joined the dancers. Апа, when, at the end of that dance, Jack turned to escort Rita to a seat, he stopped as if turned to stone. Looking up into the face of an admiring young man stood Mary. Her golden hair was piled in adorable ringlets on her small, well shaped head. Her sweet face looked beautiful with its red lips and big dark eyes framed in entrancing black lashes. Her slender form was accentuated by a gown of shimmer-

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A CHAPTER ОМ TONGUE By Antoinette Greenberg I have no tongue. Mistake me not, dear reader, nor even imagine that I am by nature destitute of that interior projection, meaty decoration and, рһувіо- logically speaking, muscular organ. I am, I think, rather sparingly than generously provided with this adornment, and І feel no disposition to envy the horse his lavish amount, nor the chicken her limited supply of that necessary feature. Neither have I done any- thing to incur any criticism on the part of the local cartoonist, because of this. I was never, thank my stars, in the comic movies, nor is there the slightest possibility of my ever being in them. When, therefore, I say I have no tongue, I mean no tongue for talking to the opposite sex. To say that this jabbering instrument never wagged fiu- ently under the stimulus of a sympathetic feminine ear would be a falsehood. But when “Не” arrives, this muscular contrivance suddenly becomes rigid, and all the wonderful speeches prepared beforehand are dammed up and forever zone. I think that I am naturally a linguist, but senti- mentally I am incapable of speech. For days before, I rehearse pretty speeches to myself before the mir- ror, to my dog, and also to the sympathetic manikins but all in vain. Yet, hath the noble Antoinette never been dismayed. I think practically, I can converse fluently, but romantically, І am incapable of utterance. І have à suspicion that I have an undeveloped fluency of talk with the opposite sex. Just the other day while prac- using on my Poodle dog, my sister Ruth came in and said, “I thought that it was the parrot. However, I soon convinced her that the Parrot would not have had quite the fervor, the ardor of that speech. | mention this hoping to cast no reflection on Poll’s linguistic ability. I have received a great deal more pain than pleas- ure from this dried up faculty. susceptible to harsh utterance. sometimes irritate me beyond words. I am constitutionally A misused word will I have сай through graduation orations ‘till sheer desperation made me rush madly out into the streets, where quiet and solitude reign. I sometimes wonder what an orator Pluto would be like. (Poor Pluto. ) Some day, perhaps, I will be able to overcome this mental paralysis and if “Не” proposes, I shall be able to stammer out “Yes.” (This is а 3B English Theme.— Editor.) MARCH WEATHER Ву Jerry Toscano Perhaps the sun might shine at midnight. Any- thing is possible in March. Burr!-- Now it’s raining. Неге and there, running as fast as they it's cold. can to find shelter, are men and women who mutter something unintelligible under their breaths. Patter Patter—Patter against the window panes. Now it’s hailing—n ow it’s snowing. The wind blows. A FEW HOURS LATER Men walking with their coats open and umbrellas under their arms. Now and then someone will wipe the perspiration from his forehead. ‘The sun is a ball of fire. People regret that they brought their coats. The snow is melting very fast. Streets look like rivers. Тһе sidewalks look like swamps. Ah—for cold weather! Cold weather comes and it comes with a rush. Ah—for warm weather. The place for the month of March is in a lunatic asylum. (This is an English Theme Grade 3A.— Editor.)