Cleveland High School - Legend Yearbook (Portland, OR)

Page 27 text:

THE LEDGER [Tivenly- ' ine THE TWO SUITS By pRANCliS ROSKNFELD I must go, I really can ' t stay away, T must, I must, I must go, I just have to go. These were the thoughts that were racing through Allan Briggs ' head as he sat absently gazing at the telephone whose receiver he had just hung up. This was Friday night and he had had a call from the cleaners, informing him that because of an error, his tuxedo could not be finished until Mon- day morning. Alice ' s party was coming off to- morrow night ; he had accepted her invitation as guest of honor; and it was impossible for him to back out now, without a minute ' s notice to Alice. After sitting and brooding for about five minutes he got up, walked to his closet, examined all his suits, but decided that none would fit the occasion. He listlessly walked about awhile and then decided to walk over to his chum ' s house — only to find that Bob was not in. But his mother was there and as Allan and Mrs. Neilan were very good friends he sat down to talk to her, and before very long he found himself pouring out his trouble. After hearing the story Mrs. Neilan sat per- plexed for a moment and then said, Why couldn ' t you wear your brother ' s suit, Allan? I never thought of that, answered he; by George, that ' s just what I ' ll do. With this thought in mind he hurried home and tried on Phil ' s suit and though it was not a perfect fit, it was passable. Saturday night finally came. Allan donned Phil ' s suit, and left for the party without a word to any one. About five minutes later Phil rushed into the house, only stopping long enough to tell his mother that he was going to dress and go to that formal dance he was invited to. He went to his room to get his suit, but to his surprise it was not to be found. After searching awhile he called for his mother ' s assi stance, and they both looked, but to no avail. Then Phil said, Mother, do you think Allan ' s would do ' Oh! exclaimed Mrs. Briggs, I sent Allan ' s suit to the cleaners and it has not been returned yet ; Allan must have worn yours, for he went to Alice ' s party. Phil on hearing this immediately left the house, took his car, and hurried to Alice ' s home. He went into the house and asked to speak to Allan. Have you got m ' suit on? Phil asked. Yes, answered Allan. Well, I ' m sorry, old man, but the suit will have to come off. But, Phil, I can ' t give it to you now. I must see this thing through. Can ' t you see how impos- sible this is? I ' m sorry, but I must have my suit. All right, then ; I ' ll go and excuse myself. Allan entered the room and walked over to Alice to offer an apology as he must leave at once. Un- fortunately, there was a crowd of boys and girls around her, but he had to do it and so he mustered up enough courage, walked up to the crowd and started to talk. Just then he felt someone shaking him ; he opened his eyes and found his mother at his bedside telling him that it was already eight o ' clock. Thank goodness, it was only a dream, mur- mured Allan. Autumn Leaves By Kenneth Collins, S. P. Little gorgeous autumn flowers, Like spun gold ; Falling down in brilliant showers, Wealth untold. Slowly swinging, quickly leaping, Down you go. Very soon now you ' ll be sleeping ' Neath the snow.

Page 26 text:

T2ve i y] THE LEDGER A TRAGEDY OF THE PRAIRIES By Katherine Sawatsky On the destitute Canadian prairies lay a blinding blanket of ice-crusted snow. October had come, ushering in cruel old man Winter with his cold breath and frosted talons. The follower of Autumn had passed, touched, and left Rosenort on the Bergthal prairie, as trans- formed and silent as if Winter ' s hand had rocked the village to sleep. Heavy gray columns of smoke curled upwards from big square chimneys set on straw-thatched roofs, and ascended to the grayish, storm-forboding sky above. Out on the crisp air tinkling sleigh bells mingled with the deep toll of the church bell, for it was Sunday morning. The shouting and laughter of the children pealed out as the villagers of this quaint Russian-German col- ony flocked to church in their Sunday best. Blue- eyed, rosy-cheeked young girls, wearing long black skirts, black jackets and black shawls, gaily trooped into the old church. S waggering swains, sporting new suits and new fur coats, cast bold glances upon the blushing damsels. On this particular morning Barbara Kernellson, her father, an elder, and Henri Adrian, Barbara ' s fiance, were traveling swiftly over the hard packed road, the jingling bells on Nell and Beauty pro- claiming the approach of the trio. When they ar- rived they found that a group of men had gathered around the church door to discuss the prophecy of the old silver-haired hermit. Ohm Youn. As Henri unhitched the horses and tied them to the posts in the stable, the elder and his daughter stayed to hear the last part of the discussion. Look here! exclaimed Petro Petrovich, the small storekeeper. Maybe you don ' t believe that when Youn says there will be a blizzard, there will be one. Has Youn lived on the prairies seventy years for nothing? I tell you, he is right! Be still, Petro. We shall see what will happen. For my part I believe Youn, for it was he who saved my crops last year, by prophecy. The last speaker, a tall, bluff fellow, turned from the group and entered the church. This confident speech did not daunt Yucob Evan- ovitch, the most handsome and cocksure young man in Rosenort. Come, Petro, he retorted. I ' m willing to wager my best horse, Callio, that there will be no blizzard today. Why, see here. All the weather signs foretell clear, cold days, and not blizzards. Youn talks, but does he know? Indeed, he knows, came the quiet voice of Henri who had returned from the hitching posts. You and your friends, Yucob, have jeered too often at Youn ' s prophecies, but you never remem- ber that most of them have come true. The toll of the last bell interrupted the argu- ment. The elder entered the church and the rest followed, full of doubts as to the future. The Sun- day routine began and went on as usual. The elder wearily droned out his dull speech on Jonah and the whale. Petro fell asleep and began to fnore loudly, much to the dismay of his wife, who vainly prodded him in his side with her hymn book. Children began to whimper and fidget as the seem- ingly endless sermon was being expounded. In fact, attention was being given to everything except the elder ' s carefully prepared oration. Kernellson had just completed the explanation of his text when a noise, like a thousand demons let loose, arose outside. Petro woke up and gazed with sleepy eyes at the windows nearest him. He rubbed his eyes and pinched his arm to see if he were awake or just dreaming. But he was not dreaming. The proph- ecied blizzard had at last descended upon the village in all its pent-up fury. The elder stopped speak- ing, for his weak voice could not be heard above the din and roar outside. Yucob paled, glanced about shiftily, and rose to go; but Henri stopped him. No, Yucob, he said. You are going to see this through, and when it is over Callio will be Petro ' s. Yucob turned red, and then white. The experi- ence of defeat was fearfully strange to him, who had always had his own way. He did not seem to comprehend the full significance of the situation. Turning away from the steady gaze of Henri ' s steel gray eyes, he sat down, afraid to do otherwise. Six dreary hours, prolonged beyond endurance, passed. No man dared venture out, for each knew the danger that waited outside the double-barred door. Everyone in that small room waited with strained anxiety for the end of the storm. But when no end came, Henri volunteered, in spite of the danger, to go to the nearest home for food. At once preparations began. Ropes that had been cast aside as useless by the elder were tied end upon end and fastened to Henri, who was then to go out and hitch the horses to the elder ' s sleigh. As he was about to open the door, Henri turned and fixed Yucob with a challenging stare. I ' ll dare you to go with me, Yucob, he called out. Yucob looked up with hatred and fear gleaming in his eyes. He dared not refuse. (Continued on Pape 46)

Page 28 text:

Twenty-two THE LEDGER The Song of the Willow Branches By Siegfried Rosen, S. P. (First Prize Foein) Wearied heads and wistful boughs, Dipping in the dreamy trail ; Bowing branches, bending limbs, Drooping in a drowsy wail; Nodding, nursing, listening, still ; Bleeding in a broken plea. Sobs the silvery Willow Tree. Blasted blossoms, weighted leaves. Heavy in the deadened air; Gre ish twigs and lazy stalks, Leaning in a lifeless stare; Lost in soothing slumber soft. Sunken in Eternity, Sleeps the weeping Willow Tree. Trickling waters, silken streams; Gliding, gleaming, lithe and low, Loitering through a listless lane. Lisping, stirring, leisured flow; Rippling by the fluttered boughs; Crooned and lulled in crowded glee, Nods the breathing Willow Tree. Wafted sighs and wilted leaves, Drifting on the fitful floss; Whitened lily, languid twig, Drooping over dolorous moss ; Blooming buds and beryl growth. Touching, twining branches, free. Float beneath the Willow Tree.