Clifton High School - Rotunda Yearbook (Clifton, NJ)

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L’ALLEGRO—A la Mode To hear the clock begin its stroke And ringing, startle the poor bloke Who slumbering on his cot doth lie, Vainly regretting dawn is nigh. To rouse him from his dreams, bedight With mem’ries of the preceding night. Then to besiege the bathroom door, Resolved to enter it before His fellow sufferers gleefully gain The coveted goal and there remain, Unmindful of those impatient without To pamper or lave or tackle about With keen edged Gillette or Durham or Gem. A cup and a roll, and quickly then To the B. R. T., with its rush and roar, With a prayer in his heart that ’twill soon be o’er. His journey’s course he needs must stand With teeming crowds on every hand. Now here’s a maid demure and shy; Across the throng he casts his eye. And there’s a maid with manner bold Who fain his wand’ring glance would hold. Adown the canyons dark and deep, To his special niche in the cliffside steep, With lagging step, he makes his way, Himself, unmarked, in the busy fray. The dreary day drags to its close And night comes on. ’Tis then he knows The festive world will grant his need In pleasure gay or sportive deed. Then to the gaudy stage, anon If Ziegfeld’s Beauties’ socks be on, Or Griffith’s feature huge and grand, Hold forth at Capitol or Strand. Then to assuage the itching feet, Accompanied by maid petite, With one-step, toddle, walk or trot, Or other form of bally rot. He thus his nightly round doth make Till the fleeting hours demand he take His weary way unto his cot To await the stroke, his usual lot. With apologies to Milton, E. K. B„ ’22. Page Thirteen

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the others leave for school, heard the last bell ring, and then settled down with a sigh of content. “But what is that I smell? Hot muffins and fried ham, I’ll bet. I’m hungry, too.” “Mother,” he called, “I’m hungry. Please bring me something to eat.” Soon mother came in, bearing a tray which she placed within Billy’s reach. The tray contained a glass of milk and a plate upon which was a single slice of toast. “But, Mother,” cried the boy, “I want a real breakfast—hot muffins and the rest, like I eat every morning.” “Oh, no,” replied mother. “I don’t want your stomach upset now of all times.” The toast and milk speedily disappeared and mother took the tray away. Billy read on for a short time until the clock struck ten. “Ten o’clock,” sighed the little boy. “Now they are all lining up for the match and soon questions will be going back and forth at a great rate. Any- way, I won’t be there to fail.” At eleven he breathed a sigh of relief and ventured to get up and dress himself; the match was probably over. When Mrs. Blake saw her small son coming downstairs she said, “Oh, Billy, are you better, dear? I’m so glad. Sit right down here by the fire and if you stay in all day I guess you’ll be all right tomorrow.” “Oh, isn’t this an easy life,” thought Billy, when suddenly the tele- phone rang and Mrs. Blake, after listening an instant called, “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mrs. Anderson, but Billy isn’t well today and I don’t think it would wise to allow him to attend the party. Thank you just the same. Yes. Good-bye.” “Mother—Mother, what is it?” cried Billy in consternation. “Of course I can go to the party.” “No, dear. The party is this afternoon and I couldn’t think of letting you go where you would eat things which might bring back those ter- rible pains.” Poor Billy, with visions of the fancy cakes, candies and ice cream that he might have had, sat heavily down, resolving next time to locate his pain in another part of his body. ELINOR E. HANNA, ’22. Page Twelve

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A MISUNDERSTANDING was Jimmy’s first call on a girl. As he neared the house, is knees began to weaken. His head felt hot. Funny, iere was snow on the ground and it was quite cold. Should e turn back? Then he thought of the sweet little girl, her pleasant smile. But her father — he was different. Hadn’t the boys told him how strict “dad” was? Now he was at the gate. Should he enter? Yes, he would. He would show the rest of the fellows that he would not be “scared” home by any girl’s father. Susan needed company. Yes, and “dad” was so strict. Hadn’t the boys told him that Susan’s father denied her a young man’s company? Hadn’t they dared him to make the attempt? Hadn’t he taken the dare? Of course! Jimmy was now on the porch. With a shaky thumb, but not because he was cold, as I have said—with a shaky thumb, he rang the bell. After much stuttering and blushing the greetings were over. Susan and Jimmy sat on the parlor sofa. Neither broke the silence, though the sofa gave a little creak every time Jimmy gulped and fidgeted. He knew he must talk. He began with the common, “Fine weather” (al- though it wasn’t a bit). Five minutes later they were chatting together. The hands of the large hall clock went around once, twice, three times. Jimmy was in luck. Surely if Susan’s dad was at home, he would have heard from him by this time. Jimmy had not finished think- ing this and planning what he’d tell the boys, when—the portieres parted, and no other than Susan’s dad entered. Susan’s dad, yes! Look- ing at his watch he turned to Jimmy. “Son, do you know what time it is?” When dad looked up, he caught a glimpse of Jimmy’s left heel leaving the threshold. Then a slam of the front door. Susan sat up- right, her eyes as large as saucers. “Well, I’ll be! What on earth is the matter with that fellow, Susan? I was setting my watch and wanted to find the correct time when this silly fellow jumps up—and”----- But dad did not have a chance to finish. Susan had burst into laughter and the tears were rolling down her cheeks. So this was what the fellows had been telling her about. They had warned poor Jimmy of her dad’s strict nature, when dad was such a dear. JENNIE MARIE TROYAN, ’23. Page Fourteen