Clifton High School - Rotunda Yearbook (Clifton, NJ)

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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

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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 REFLECTOR CLIFTON HIGH SCHOOL FEBRUARY, 1925 Resignation: “There’s no use in rushing yourself. You’ll get to your destination even- tually.’’ Ambition: “Yes, eventually. But why not sooner?’’ They continued on in the same manner, un- til Ambition stopped, and glared across at his enemy. Suddenly he walked across to the other shoulder, and grasping Resignation attempted to shove him off into space. But Resignation resisted stubbornly and himself almost pushed the aggressor from his perch. Thus they fought, one striving to remove the other, while the stu- dent went on, unconscious of the terrific com- bat going on for the possession of his spirit. The struggle waxed fiercer. It seemed as though Resignation would carry the day. But, all at once. Ambition gave a mighty heave and threw his opponent into the air, where he dis- appeared. Then Ambition drew himself to his full height, folded his arms across his breast, and also disappeared. Simultaneously, Mr. Student braced his shoulders, threw back his head, and quickened his step. A new gleam was in his eyes, which seemed to look ahead at some unseen object or goal. No longer was his soul divided by dis- sension. Within him all was peace, but he did not wonder at the change, for he was an ordin- ary mortal. M. Cantor, June ’25. If you’re really not enjoyin' What seems to be your lot. An’ you feel that you’re deservin’ Somethin’ better than you’ve got— Jes’ learn to square your shoulders, An’ hold your head up high; You’ll feel a whole lot better If you care enough to try. It’s true—“as true as preachin’ ”— That most folks set an’ groan When Miss Fortune comes to see ’em, An’ seems to like their zone. There ain’t no use o’ settin’ When it’s up to you to prove That you’re stronger than your caller, An’ it’s time for her to move! M. Hanna, February ’25. THE WANDERINGS OF THE DI KE OF DEVONSHIRE “Duke,” remarked Arlene Davis, with the frank courage of an heiress to millions, I am sensible of the honor conveyed in your of- fer, but before I answer 1 must ask certain questions.” The duke bowed. “You know that dad. like most people who have made money suddenly, is an ultra Tory. “We are Tories ourselves,” observed the duke. “Ob yes, but faineants in Toryism, accord- ing to papa,” she retorted, with a depricatory gesture. “You must do something to convince him that you are as intensely anti-Radical as he is himself. How many votes are you en- titled to cast at the coming general election?” The duke produced a betting book and has- tily made a calculation. “Well,” he said, “there is the vote in Dale- shire. and in Shropshire, and in Devon on the Rivers Court estate, and in the boroughs of Moreton, Dalehampton, and Middleton. In London constituencies”— Arlene began to look appalled. “How many in all in England?” she inter- rupted. “Thirteen. And then in Scotland—One in “Thirteen. And then in Scotland—one in Inverness, the Lowland estates give me one in Lanark, Dumfries, the Lothians.” He caught her look of appeal and finished, “seven in all. Then in Ireland—but all these details must tire you. Summing them all up, I have thirty- six votes—no, thirty-seven. I forgot that 1 have one vote in the island of Orkney.” M iss Davis sank back in her chair with a little sigh. The duke stared in a puzzled man- ner alternately at her and at his betting book. Finally she broke the silence. “Only last night dad was saying that if at the next election any Tory gentleman failed to vote his utmost capacity be would consider him as a traitor to the cause. Duke, you ask what you can do to win me. Vote for the cause in every one of the constituencies where you pos- sess suffrage.” The poor duke stood aghast. “But, Miss Davis,” he protested, “have you considered? I have thirty-seven constituen- cies. Many of the elections in these places oc- cur on the same day. Some of them are hundreds of miles apart. It is impossible!” Miss Davis rose from her chair as she said firmly, “I have answered you.” The duke had also risen with a rather awk- ward dignity. “Arlene,” he said, “if I do not vote legally from every one of those consti- tuencies you shall never see me again.” PAGE EIGHTEEN