Charlotte High School - Witan Yearbook (Rochester, NY)

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THE WITAN SAFE? Water, water, no thing but blue- green water, stretched from horizon to horizon. On the surface of the wildly tossing sea, a raft floated shoreward, not in a straight line but continually changing its course at the least whim of the wind. The wind hurled the raft up one mountain-like wave and down the next. A poorly dressed sailor of unknown nationality huddled in the center of the raft. To the watchers on the beach, the raft seemed to be in danger of overturning but always it would right itself and stagger, in its un- certain course, toward land and safety. The raft approached nearer. It was within two hundred feet of the shore and the expectant watchers. The occupant of the raft was seen to stand up and wave his hand as it to assure them of his safety. With a final effort, the sea summed up all its reserve strength and overturned the raft. Undertows are queer things. Thp body of the unfortunate sailor never washed in until nine days later. C. Hogan, 29. WEEDING GARDENS I heard someone say, “Weed them and weep! and certainly it is true. The first weeding in the spring is per- fectly terrible. You can hardly tell the weeds from the tiny new plants which are coming up from some wind- scattered seeds. There are violets, honeysuckles and baby’s breath for instance, mixed in with rag-weed, other weeds and grass. If you aren't careful you pull out the baby's breath and leave the rag-weed, liecau.se they look so much alike. However, the weep” part is not only on account of the flowers you have destroyed for weeds, but also for the stiflmess of your bending ap- paratus on the next day. Florene Rich, '29. THE FIRST WATCH BEING COMPLETED I crouched lower in my weak, self- made fortress, the victim of almost unbearable circumstances. I was all alone in my misery, not a soul in ail this cold, bleak world was able to help me. My oppressor’s eyes gleamed through a huge aperture in my totally unprepared defense. Cold shivers crept down my spine as I thought of my coming doom. My watch, once in complete rhythm with my heart, now lagged far behind, tick- ing off its minutes with such mechan- ical exactness that I shuddered as if with a chill. Ah, it had come at last! I looked up bravely, prepared to meet the end, when r — i - - n - - g (!) interrupted my thoughts with startl- ing rapidity. I wager that not a person in my Cicero class left it more gladly than 1 did that morning. THE HAUNTED BOOKSHOP 1 have never been so disappointed in a book as in the end of The Haunted Bookshop, by Christopher Morley. It seems to me that a man ingenious enough to have created Mifflin, the hook-seller with his multiplicity of unusual ideas, could have developed something more unexpected than the plot he thrusts on Mifflin. I think the reason that this is noticeable is the extraordinary beginning. I wish to meet Mifflin again to talk over his philosophy of dishwashing and house- hold duty, and his opinion of the read- ing world and of the rest of it too. I want to attend another meeting of the Corn-Cob Club and I desire to chuckle over the comically true signs which Mifflin was in the habit of placing everywhere. I am going to meet him too, for I am going to re- read the first half of the book and forget the rest of it, for it destroys him. 16

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T Ii E WIT A N A REVIEW 1 am a librarian. Each day I see before me manjr people, and each a type. These people’s characters are mirrored by their words and actions. I believe it would be an interesting, yes a very interesting experiment to line these people up and to guess their character, then allow them to go un- molested to say the library, and watch them. What a revelation there would be! For example: A woman drives up to the curb be- fore the library in a long sleek car, gathers an armful of books and mag- azines, and comes to the door. To see her there one would think she was a very nice lady, polite in all her actions and gracious in manner. But, wait, this very lady enters, and strews her armful of books over the desk and hurries on into the library. I scratch my head (figuratively) and wonder what her name is, and if I am lucky I remember it, if not, 1 slip all the books and look up the names by the numbers on the book slip. Then I search through the files and probably find no cards. Then I make out a special slip, compute the fines on the magazines (which are two days overdue). After all this, I tell the fair lady that she can’t take books without her card. She comes to the desk and asks if her sister-in-law’s card is in. I ask the name and look for the card; and nine chances to ten, it isn't in. I, then, tactfully mention the fines, and seeing a questioning look clouding her face, I hasten to explain that the books were due Mon- day and here it is Wednesday with two cents per day for two days makes four cents due on each maga- zine of which there are nine, making in all a fine of thirty-six cents. She remonstrates, and informs me that I should tell her when she has seven-day books. I reply that all periodicals may be taken for only seven days, and take the money which she reluctantly offers me. Again I tell her that she is unable to draw the books she wishes without her card, and upon receiving her change she pouts out. I heave a sigh and mentally sum her up as a slave driver and a nickel nurser. People like this make nice statues. Irving G. Hanford. STUBBY One night about two years ago my father told me he had a present for me in his overcoat pocket. 1 put my hand in the pocket and pulled out a funny ball of a kitten. It was totally black. It was the cutest thing, all the girls said so. One day curiosity got the better of him and he put his tail in a trap and lost it. That is why we called him Stubby. He was always into something. One day we found him with his head in a bottle of jam. He was a likeable little thing and only had one enemy. This was the dog next door. I have always heard that cats have nine lives, but I don’t believe Stubby had that many. One day the dog chased him up the electric light pole. Somehow he got in the wires and was quite shocked. Poor Stubby found this a killing experience. B. Kirby. 15

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T H K W I ] A N PAINTING “Oh! how I love to paint!” 1 spent part of nay only day at home painting. Painting! As for the looks of the room, you may draw your own conclusions. Here is how I did it. First I sanded the surface to be painted, then shellacked the knot- holes and puttied the cracks and nail holes. Now comes the sad part of the story. I started to paint, actually spread white, sticky stuff on the wall with a brush. What fun! It ran and ran and I ran after it, catching some but missing most of it. Then my parents came to the rescue of the room and I quit, glad to he rid of the job. H. Frisbee, 89. WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A SCOUT What does it mean to be a Scout? Many times people ask that question when they see a party of scouts hiking by. Being a scout does not mean that every little while the boy dresses up in a uniform and has a good time hiking or the like. It means that the boy has taken an oath “to do his duty to God and his country and to obey the scout law; to help other people at all times; to keep himself physically strong, mentally awake and morally straight.” In the scout's regime, the boys are taught First Aid, signalling, and in the merit badge section there is work to take up in many branches. BROADCASTING “I don't care, you have those ear- phones all the time cried Connie. “O, I do not!” said Dick. “You do!” “I don't!” “You do!” cried Connie, and tried to snatch them. “Mother, please! “Now, Mother, you know 1 never have them,” whimpered Connie. “Have what?” asked Mother. “Oh, Mother,” cried Connie. “Well, whatever it is, I am not go- ing to settle any arguments,” replied Mother, “but please be quiet; I am trying to read.” “Well, 1 don’t care; I ” said Dick. “Don't say another word about those ear-phones or you both will go to bed,” interrupted Mother. And so the quarrel ended. Doris Kemp, 8A2. DAVY JONES' PUZZLE I Continued from page 0) was unwilling to lose her prize. She poured more water into the holds. “Captain Splifins ordered the men to line up. We were in regular form before you could soy Davy Jones. He said: ‘Men, today shall be the last day for some of you. The Heavens will it. I've hoped and prayed. I must lose some of you or all . We stood breathless. ‘We can only have half the crew. Every ninth man must walk the plank'. “Only fourteen men remained and they were all white. But Davy Jones still wanted the ship. It never reached harbor.” I waited a moment for him to ex- plain how the feat was accomplished. He merely shrugged his shoulders and became lost in reverie. I puzzled over the situation awhile, then left him to his dreams. What was the originul lineup? Philip Burgeon, '28. SPRING What makes folks feel glad and gay, And drives all their cares away? When the first flowers of Spring peep out, Old men forget their troublesome gout. When boys forget to study their books. And take up rod, and line, and hook. Pray tell! what is this magic thing? Why, to be sure, it is glad Spring! Bernice Gutland, '8P.2. 17