Clifton High School - Rotunda Yearbook (Clifton, NJ)

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THE REFLECTOR CLIFTON 1IIUH SCHOOL FEBRUARY. 1925 About a week later she attended a cross word puzzle party at which Hob, in spite of bis ab- horrence for the pastime, was present. “What’s this contest that everyone is so ex- cited about?” demanded Hob during the early part of the evening. A gale of laughter greeted his remark, and Jim Bates cried out, “I say, you must be asleep! Don’t you read the papers?” “The Evening Press is offering $500 as a prize to the one who correctly solves a series of twenty-five puzzles, one of which appears in the paper every day,” explained Edith Rodney. “Yes, and you write an essay on the value of cross word puzzles, too, so that in case there are too many correet solutions, the winner can be judged by the essay,” added Belle Laur- ence. “Do you understand now?” asked Jim moek- ingly. Perhaps you are puzzled about the Evening Press. That, my dear fellow, is the local paper. Its offices are situated—.” “All right,” said Hob when the laughter from this remark had ceased, “I guess 1 understand —even about the paper.” “How many puzzles have you finished, Syl- via?” asked Doris Kent. “The first twelve,” answered Sylvia proudly. “I guess you’re the only one who has finish- ed twelve,” said Edith. “I’ll bet on Sylvia to win the prize,” asserted Jim. “I don’t know about that,” said Hob half seriously. “I think I’ll have to go after that prize myself.” “Try and do it!” taunted Jim. “Try and do what?” asked Mrs. Davis, who entered the room at this moment in an excited manner. Then without waiting for a reply she said, “Mrs. Davis just called up to say that I)ona!d can't come to the party. He bad an accident with his ear and broke his leg.” This remark was greeted by a chorus of oh’s and other exclamations, and the conversation was turned into other channels. The next afternoon Sylvia, having carefully finished her thirteenth puzzle, went to put it with her other ones in her English notebook. To her amazement the twelve previous puzzles were gone, and careful search failed to reveal them anywhere. Poor Sylvia was thunderstruck. She phon- ed to her two friends, Edith and Laura, and when they arrived she told them the startling news. “Are you sure you left them in this book?” asked Edith. “Positive,” replied Sylvia. “I kept them here because the notebook presses them and keeps them together.” “Where do you suppose they are now. “Oh, I s’pose someone took them from my desk in school,” said Sylvia angrily. “It certainly is too bad,” said Laura. “Every- body expected you to win. “Except Hob,” interposed Edith slyly. “He announced today that he’s going to try to win the prize himself.” This remark was an unfortunate one, for Sylvia jumped up quickly saying, “He took them! I know he did. That’s what he was doing by my desk when 1 came to school today.” “I thought you said he put a note in your desk,” said Edith. “Yes,” replied Sylvia, “he asked for his pin, but that was just an excuse. He’s probably trying to get even with me for seeming to call him a fool. Listen! I’ll ask him for the puz- zles, and if he gives them back I won’t say any- thing about the matter to anyone else.” “I suppose that’s the best thing to do,” agreed Laura. “He probably meant it for a joke.” The next day Sylvia approached Hob, who at first tried to avoid her; but she boldly de- manded her puzzles. “What puzzles?” he asked nonchalantly. “My cross word puzzles,” replied Sylvia. “You took them from my desk yesterday. Didn’t you ?” “Took your puzzles? Do you mean stole them?” loudly demanded Bob. Then mock- ingly, “Ob, of course! I’m fool enough to do anything like that. Sure, the fool stole them.” And he left her, immediately, too stunned to reply. “Well, I’ll fix you, murmured Sylvia. “I’ll get those back numbers and work as hard as 1 can and win the prize yet.” During the days that followed, she saw little of Hob, and when she did she treated him very coldly. At last the contest was over and Sylvia had finished every puzzle. She carefully wrote her essay, and putting it and the puzzles into a large envelope, she started for the office of the Evening Press. On the way she met Bob, who hailed her pleasantly. “Say, Sylvia,” he said, “I’m awfully sorry I acted so mean the other night. I found that definition about silly love making when I was doing the puzzle.” “Are you taking your puzzles in?” asked Sylvia curiously. “Yes. I hope to win the prize. I’ve finish- ed every puzzle.” PAGE SIXTEEN

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THE RE F LECTOR C LIFTON II I c; II SC II () O L FEBRUARY. 1925 CROSS WORDS AND PUZZLES “I’ve just been calling on Mrs. Rodney, Syl- via and she says Edith is—.” “What’s a five letter word meaning to irri- tate mother?” interrupted Sylvia whose seventeen years had been dedicated to the pur- suits of happiness. “Sylvia ” said Mrs. l)aye sharply, “you don’t pay a bit of attention when I speak to » 9 you. “Wha’j’ say?” mumbled Sylvia. Then, glancing up from her cross word puzzle, she caught a glimpse of her mother’s face. “Oh mother!” she exclaimed. “What were you say- ing, dear? I’ve been working so hard trying to solve this puzzle that I wasn’t paying at- tention to you.” Then laughing she jumped up and kissed her mother adding, “You know. I’ll have to work hard to win that cross-word puzzle contest.” Mrs. Dave smiled. “That cross word con- test, Sylvia, isn’t the only important thing on earth. You shouldn’t take it so seriously. Do vou know that several people have asked me what makes you act so queerly lately? They say you don’t even speak when they meet you on the street.” “Never mind, dear. When I win my prize I’ll take all my friends out for a good time to make up for it.” “Well, do as you think best,” said Mrs. Daye, as she watched the dark head again bent over the puzzle. Mrs. Dave was quite worried about Sylvia, and broached the matter to Mr. Daye that evening, saying, “Suppose she doesn't win.” But Mr. Daye merely laughed and said he’d “bet on Sylvia.” And when Rob Arnold call- ed on Miss Sylvia that evening and he whisper- ed to his wife that there was “something to oc- cupy her mind,” Mrs. Dave let the matter drop. But- After warmly greeting her guest, Sylvia seated herself beside him. Now Rob privately thought Sylvia was the nicest girl in town; and as he wasn’t the only fellow who thought so, he was greatly flattered. “What’s that you’ve got? he asked, noticing a pencil and paper in her hands. “It’s a cross-word puzzle. Let's work it out together. What’s a five letter word meaning pertaining to wood spirits?” “Elfin,” laughed Bob good naturedly. “Say, Sylvia, suppose we go to the movies tonight. We’ll be in time for the second show and there’s a great picture playing.” “Movies? Oh no! Not tonight. I’d rather do this puzzle. What on earth is harmful in six letters?” “Search me. Say, are you going to that dance with me next week?” “Hooray! Dance just fits in here for a—.” “Oh, cut that puzzle, Sylvia. I didn’t come here to solve cross-word puzzles.” “No? Now what can a—” “No. 1 didn’t,” emphatically. “Why, Rob, it’s fine sport. You ought to—” “Sorry, Sylvia, but solving cross-word puz- zles isn’t exactly my idea of amusement.” “What is your idea of amusement?” queried Sylvia absently with her mind on her puzzle. “To make love in a silly manner,” she mur- mured, reading one of the definitions. “What do you mean,” cried Rob, bis face assuming a very bright hue. “Huh?” exclaimed Sylvia, struck by his tone. “What’s the matter?” she asked, for Rob had suddenly risen. “If that’s all you think of me I’ll be on my way,” said Rob angrily. “What do you mean? Are you mad because I’ve been doing that puzzle? If you are—” “Puzzle!” roared Rob, “What do I care about that puzzle? But when a girl tells me I’m a fool who makes love for amusement, then I guess I retire.” “Rob,” began Sylvia, “I didn’t call you a fool. Why, I don’t understand you. I’ve been reading off these definitions and now you fly at me like this.” “Definitions,” grunted Rob, “You just show me where it say’s ‘A fool who makes love for amusement.’ ” “You must be mistaken,” said Sylvia help- lessly. Then, as she ran her eye over the puz- zle definitions, her face suddenly brightened. “Oh, here it is! ‘To make love in a silly man- ner. That wasn’t referring to you—it’s just one of the definitions.” Rut Rob refused to be convinced. Without even looking at the paper, he walked to the door. “I’m going,” he said shortly. “Goodnight.” “Oh, Bob,” began Sylvia, following him, but he left her without another word. “Gee! Isn’t lie peevish?” thought Sylvia. “Peeved—p-e-ev-e-d. That just fits in for out of sorts,” and she hurried back to her puzzle. Nevertheless, Sylvia thought more of the in- cident than she cared to admit; and when she next met Rob and received a politely co’d greeting, she was in no way relieved. PAGE FIFTEEN

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THE REFLECTOR CLIFTON HIGH SCII O O L FEBRUARY, 1925 “Well,” gasped Sylvia spitefully, “I hope winning hv stealing satisfies you.” “Stealing? Oh!” said Hob. And he crim- soned painfully, but said no more. When the day of the announcement of the winners finally arrived, Sylvia with half a dozen friends eagerly walked to the store for the evening paper. Glaring headlines met their eyes: First Prize Won By Two People. Only Two Perfect Sets of Puzzles Submit- ted. Both Essays So Good That Each Winner Will Receive $500. “Well, without reading further, it’s obvious who won,” said Sylvia. “Bob and I both hand- ed in perfect puzzles, and I guess it’s also ob- vious who took my puzzles.” By this time they had reached Sylvia’s home and all the girls went inside with Sylvia. Poor Sylvia! The fun of winning was quite overshadowed by her disappointment in Bob. She idly fingered her English notebook and stared straight before her unsecingly. “You must have been in an awful hurry when you wrote that book,” said Edith, looking over her shoulder. “Why?” asked Sylvia. “Oh girls!” she sud- denly exclaimed, “this is Donald’s book. lie carried mine from school one day. He must have got his mixed, and now lie’s in bed with a broken leg so he doesn’t know about it.” While the girls were still staring at her, she jumped up and started to leave the room. When she reached the door she stopped and said, “I think I’ll call up Bob and congratulate him.” She came back a few minutes later blushing furiously. “What did he say?” she was asked. “Nothing,” replied Sylvia. “He’s coming over tonight to give his pin back to me.” Alice Hornby, June ’25. THE BROOK The brook runs swiftly, clear and free, O’er sand and rocks and branch of tree, Unchecked by bends, fern fringed and cool, Past mossy banks and shaded pool. Through emerald fields and busy towns, Still flowing swiftly, down and down, Until it joins the broad, deep lake, With wavelets rippling in its wake. G. Meyers, June '25. AUTUMN Neath rustling robes of crimson silk The maples softly sigh. And gold-drenched leaves from oak trees rain As shrill winds whistle by. The grasses kneel with lowered spears, Where clover heads are bent. And patient, ’midst the stubble dun, A spider spreads his tent. Pale, starry asters twinkling yet Jeer the sweet peas’ withered pod, And flickering sunbeams fall aslant. The swaying golden rod. Ah, yes! The summer days are spent, The red, red rose is dead,— But soon December’s ermine cloak Will gleam above its bed. Ere long across the span of months, The voice of March will ring, Proclaiming, in a gusty tone, The birth of budding spring. Helen Wester, June ’25. THE PERPETUAL STRUGGLE As Mr. N. E. Student strolled through the corridors of the school, he was torn by two ad- verse emotions. On the one hand, he wished to lie back and “take it easy.” The warm June weather did not encourage industry. On the other hand, however, his conscience was goad- ed from time to time by a feeling he could not define. Had Mr. Student the power to perceive such things, he would have seen perched on his shoulders two queer-looking personages. One was a stout, ruddy character clothed entirely in gray. His face bore a sublime expression of well-being. His very attitude suggested resig- nation. and, indeed, that was his title. The other queer fellow was the direct opposite of his companion. His was a well-knit figure, with head thrown back and chest inflated. His steel-blue eyes, which matched his dress, stared straight ahead, as though with only one object in view. 11 is name was Ambition. These two quaint beings were strangely en- gaged. First one and then another would rise in tip-toe and whisper a few words in the student’s ear somewhat in this fashion: Resignation: “Don’t hurry. There’s plenty of time. Anyway, isn’t it too warm to hurry?” Ambition: “No, it isn’t. If you wish to succeed you must not loiter, no matter what the weather.” PAGE SEVENTEEN