Central Middle School - Ceejay Yearbook (Kansas City, MO)

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Ts % W The couf s Soliloquy Prize Poem of Second Year Class NORMAN KELLOGG When I see the bright stars twinkling just above the prairie ' s rim, Then I want to steal up closer ' cause they look so far and dim, And they look a lot like campfires as they flicker, flare and pale. They bring back days long vanished, days when campfires lit the trail. Once we found a ring of schooners by the watch-fires careless glow; Nearing them we saw fire spreading to the wagons row on row, The heroes ' days were over, for we heard the redskins wail, As they danced the scalp dance ' round the campfires on the trail. Once again I saw the fire-glow through the desert ' s evening haze, Found a miner thirsty, dying, yet he fed his campfire ' s blaze! For the fierce wolves howled around him but he lived to tell the tale, Grasp my hand and called me pardner ' side his campfire on the trail! Sometime soon I ' ll again feel restless, take my gun from off the shelf, And go down that silent trail just to find out for myself, Whether the sun is a great beacon, whether that moon ' s a signal pale, Whether those stars that burn forever are the campfires of my trail! ll O vo li Page Eighty-nine

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ipi MypBiOPa ei Bfioyoo onoMB The Tardy (s!hec { Prize Story of Second Year Class RUTH COMER Bobby Murdock ' s eyes gleamed with joy as he bounded up the steps to his room. In his hand he held a letter from home. Gee, he thought, this li ' l ole ' lowance check ' ll come in handy. I surely need it for that date tonight. Hot Dog! Half-falling into his room he flung his coat and collapsed on the nearest object, which happened to be his steamer trunk, gaily deco- rated with all the paraphernalia of a college freshman. Bobby ex- perienced a brief pang in the region of his heart as his eyes fell on the textbooks he should have been studying. But all sad thoughts vanished as his gaze returned to the letter. Off came the smart oxfords; his toes spread comfortably, and, that he might further enjoy the next few minutes, his tie was unfastened. Bobby was proud of that tie. The older generation would have pronounced it jazzy and unfit to be seen on the street, but in college lingo it was the cat ' s ear-muffs. Then for even greater comfort he loosened his collar. After dislodging a megaphone and a coat hanger, he was ready to open the welcome missive. Rip-p went the envelope. Out slipped a single sheet of paper with a few type-written lines on it. No check between its folds; none in the envelope! Bobby ' s brow wrinkled in dismay. His eyebrows drew together in an upward slant. Eyes and lips displayed a mixture of dismay, amazement, anxiety. Again he shook the envelope and even blew it open, peering within. A long low whistle escaped him as he realized that the missive was signed Dad and contained information to the effect that his stern parent considered his present allowance entirely too extravagant for a child his age, therefore it would be forth- coming every two months instead of one. With incredulous eyes Bobby stared at the letter. No allowance and he was broke ! He jingled the few coins in his pocket. Fifteen cents, no allowance, and a date with the most popular girl in college! But yet a greater shock awaited him. Since your mother and I have long wished to see what college life is like, you may expect us on the 10:40 train the 26th. Such was the postscript! Mechanically, Bobby ' s eyes wandered from the clock to the calendar. Suddenly he sat up. Why today was the 26th and it was 1:30 already! Wonder if his folks had been waiting for him at the station? He ' d surely get in trouble if they had. With frantic haste, he prepared to go find them. Just as he finished slicking back his hair, a resounding knock was heard. Hastily jerking open a drawer he pretended to be hunting a collar. Co — , he got no farther for the door opened. Well, exclaimed a strangely familiar voice, can ' t you even stop to say ' hello ' ? Bobby swung around. In the door stood Larry Hamilton, smiling and debonair, who asked, What ' s wrong, old man? as h» caught sight of Bob ' s woebegone face. Wearily Bob began to explain. Ere he had spoken half a dozen words, Larry was in helpless paroxysms of laughter. The sight of Bob ' s bewildered face sent him into fresh gales of mirth. That ' s rich, he finally grasped. And you really believed it all? Well, I cer- tainly paid you back for that trick you played on me. I wrote that letter myself! Just then another knock was heard. The opened door disclosed the postman. Special delivery, sir, he said to Bob. When the envelope was opened out fell a long letter and — Bob ' s allowance! [ JM I IIIH IHHI Page Eighty-eight

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aBnopfeuoi i siiM !l!;T ;Hni i !i.si i!: i i;ss!i (Compensation Prize Story of First Year Class GEORGIA RUTH COX In the midst of a large manufacturing city, stood the colonial mansion of the late Colonel John N. Robinson. Although it was in the industrial district, Colonel Robinson still clung to the only home he had ever known. It had belonged to a long line of eminent men before him. It was surrounded by factories of every kind and by the busy hum of industrial life, yet it still held its place as one of the most elegant and beautiful of all homes. The master of this mansion, Colonel Robinson, was considered a financial wizard. People came from all four corners of the earth to seek his advice and recommendation. One evening the papers told a startling story of how the Trust National Bank, one of the leading banks of the city, was short one hundred thousand dollars. People at once were set to whisper and gossip. The bank examiners had gone over the books time after time and again and again, but to no avail. The bank was short the money. The next day a sudden, fascinating, yet horrible hush spread over the entire city. Colonel John N. Robinson, the much respected president and citizen, was accused of embezzling the sum of one hundred thousand dollars from this bank. It was thought he had failed in some enterprise and had stolen the money to cover his losses. Both the rich and the poor had entrusted their money to this bank — the rich, their large capital and the poor, their life savings. The citizens were enraged and disap- pointed and after a thrilling, lasting trial, Robinson was given a life term in prison. Ten years had passed and other men had taken Colonel Robinson ' s place in the world. Most cities grow in size and industry, and this city was not exceptional, conse- quently in the ten years that Colonel Robinson had seen nothing but bare prison walls, this town ' s industries had grown too large for their present homes and were expand- ing into new territory. A large furniture store was to be built upon the ground where the banker ' s once beautiful home was rapidly falling to ruin. As the wrecking crew started the task of tearing down this home, the older members of the town felt a sorrow that after the many generations of successful and famous men had owned and honored it, that its last master should be so disgraced. One evening the sturdy foreman of the wrecking crew walked into the manager ' s office and handed him an old, yellow, flimsy letter, which, he said, had been found in a box, concealed in one of the walls. The manager opened the letter with trembling hands for he realized it might solve the old mystery of the stolen money. The letter read: Colonel John N. Robinson was not guilty of embezzling the funds of the Trust National Bank. The thief was I, Richard, the butler, whom he discharged. I warned him I would get revenge and true to my word, I have. This discovery created great excitement and gossip. People who had gone against him when he was pronounced guilty, were ready to befriend him now. One bright summer day, Colonel John N. Robinson walked forth again into the fast-moving world. He went to make new friends and prove to those, who still doubted, his innocence — determined that he would again become successful. The promising sun shone down as though to guide his steps toward his goal. toM IE Page Ninety