Clifton High School - Rotunda Yearbook (Clifton, NJ)

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THE KEF LECTOR CLIFTON HIGH SCHOOL FEBRUARY 1 9 2 S THE PHANTOM SHIP I Out from the harbor sailed one day. Blown by the breeze about, A tiny ship upon its way To brave the sea of doubt. II The name inscribed upon the boat To mark its way through strife. Was one so easily to note In large letters was “Life.” III But sailing there t’was not alone. From out some corner came Another ship, much like its own Ambition was its name. IV Ambition was a phantom dim, A ghostlike, haunting ship, And light shone through its every limb Too frail for any trip. V But fated to sail on the sea Together o’er the tide, They could not peaceful travelers be Or comrades side by side. VI The ship called “Life” encountered storms Where waves were high and mad; Ever Ambition’s ghostlike arms Dimmed any light it had. VII And when through peaceful moonlight calm This fated vessel sailed. The phantom stretched its ghostlike arms The peacefulness assailed. VIII And after “Life” had run the race. What work it did, well done. Still stared Ambition’s haunting face Recalling work undone. IX There’re many encounter the bitter fate While sailing the sea of doubt Having Ambition their haunting mate Haunting the trip throughout. Ellen Phillips, June ’30. BY SUBSTITUTION Remiff Irriern, Arab, reclining with evident p'easure on an oriental couch, was inhaling the perfumed smoke of a Turkish cigarette. The light from a green shaded electric lamp re- vealed a face and figure molded into a rare masculine beauty. His clothes suggested the French “dandy.” Rem was deep in thought. Ever since he had left his native country to come to his fa- ther’s chateau he had been trying to concoct a scheme by which he could put a conspicuous bulge to his almost hollow pockets and when a dim light did flicker in, he grasped at it with enthusiasm and worked on it until he had a prospect in view which he considered positive. As he took a long last puff from his cigarette stub, he rose, rearranged his tie and made ready to go out. At this point, three short consecu- tive knocks sounded telling him that Nasi, a man in his hire, was behind his door. “Come in.” His voice was high and showed a trace of eagerness. A short, stocky middle-aged man with an un- kempt beard was framed in the doorway. He closed the door carefully, took his hat off, and walked in. “Well,” inquired Rem, wdiat news?” “The young lady accepted and will be here with the others at eight on the next Thursday.” “Who read my note?” “Mademoiselle Rene. She accepted right away, She loves you, don’t —” “Did she give you a note for me?” The man silently handed him a blue, per- fumed envelope, and retreated to a corner where he waited. Rem Irriern read the contents with a sinister smile. “Dear Rem, I received your invitation with an un- limited degree of pleasure. Mother and father thank you for theirs but they will be unable to attend. I will come alone. Rene.” As he read, the expression on his face be- came a triumphal leer. “Mother and father won’t come. Ha ! that’s good,” he mused half aloud. “Twenty-nine guests; a real French social party—fine? Nasi.” “Here.” “Go down to the salon and take a last look over everything. We have only two more days before the party.” The servant walked out quickly. Rem once more arranged his tie. He took his cane from under an aged bookcase and he, also, stepped out. PAGE FOURTEEN

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THE REFLECTOR CLIFTON HIGH SCHOOL FEBRUARY 1928 Poor Douglas, in the privacy of his room, prayed that the guilty one might be found. Early Monday morning a flustered little pre- ceptor burst into the Dean’s office. “I’m sorry, Mr. Morris, but I recalled an in- cident which happened on the morning when the examinations wTere to begin. I am sure it will greatly enlighten a very perplexing situation. I was speaking with Mr. I.ane in his classroom about the examination questions. I was look- ing over the paper when we began talking about another subject. Unthinkingly I had rolled the paper in question into a wad and had thrown it into the waste paper basket. Instead of fall- ing into the basket it probably rolled under Douglas Danials’ desk. Now you see it was really all my fault and Douglas is really inno- cent.” He concluded his lengthy speech in a hurry and after adjusting his spectacles upon his nose, he stared straight ahead of him fearing that at any moment the Dean would flare up in an outburst of anger. “I am glad you have come to me about this matter, professor, for it gives to the gridiron a good player and to the medical world an en- thusiastic young doctor. You may go now. but in the future please think about what you are doing.” With a sigh of relief Mr. Morris sent the office boy to find Douglas. Douglas was over- joyed to hear that he had been cleared and re- fused to bring charges against jealous “Pretty” for telling his abominable falsehood. The football season came to a close after a glorious round of victories for Renault’s Med- ical Academy. The young captain, Douglas Danials, was given a great ovation for carrying Renault’s to victory. After a hard struggle he had at last reached his goal. CHAPTER V (Conclusion) In a cheery office on the main street of the little town of Sandy Nook, sat a medical look- ing young man. His strong slender fingers toyed with a pencil while his eyes rested dream- ily upon a gilt edged sign which hung from the window. “Doctor Douglas Danials,” was the inscription. Douglas had realized his father’s wish. He had been in his office for a whole year and his business was prospering; for the villagers had taken a liking for this robust young man who helped to ease their pains. Douglas’s heart was in his work and many a good deed had he done for those who couldn’t pay him his due. He was keeping his father as a model and was do- ing what he thought his father would have done had he lived. Once every year a solitary figure wends its way up Sycamore Hill to the tiny grave at its top. Each year this same figure silently stands at the foot of the two graves, side by side be- neath a weeping willow and, as the sun bids the world adieu, drops upon his knees and whispers to the sighing wind and the calm heav- ens, Dad, Dad! If you were but here to enjoy my success which you hoped and prayed for and which I have at last realized!” But the sighing of the gentle breeze is his only answer—and a calmness—a great peace, in his soul. For, to Douglas, the two graves are very dear: they hold what no heart can forget—the truest and most beloved mother and father that anyone could have. Rose Braviak, June ’30. THE BATTLE Outside raged a wicked storm, As if at battle with the world, it raged, Its missiles were the pelting drops and hail, Its cannon’s roar. The thunder. The black and angry Night commanded All elements in his fury. His sharp spear, lightning, perilously he threw. The Monarch, Wind, revengeful in his power Drove his soldier clouds before him, Unrelenting. They too, were maddened with a warlike spirit. And heartless, sped upon their errands. The myriad stars, Were helpless. Imprisoned by some soldier clouds; They clamoured for the Moon, their leader. But he was not there. But soon, A messenger, a comet, from the Moon Was sent to cheer the stars. Commander Night, Kept up his cruel and savage play Upon the unresisting Earth. And then, The Moon, courageous leader of the stars, Broke through The line of cowardly soldier clouds, Who fled before him. The beaten Wind uttered a furious howl And sped away. Commander Night Became extremely still. Triumphantly, the Moon and stars, Protectors of the Earth, Shone down. All was serene. Again. Dorothy Krouse, June ’29 PAGE THIRTEEN

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THE REFLECTOR CLIFTON HIGH SCHOOL FEBRUARY 1928 He walked at a fast pace up the Rue de la Fontaine and turned down Re Boulevard. He stopped at 113, ran up a flight of stone steps and rang the bell. He was immediately ushered into a large room. A moment later a young and beautiful girl came hurriedly into the room. “Ah Rem, how very seldom I see you. Since that night three months ago,” she blushed, “I have seen you but four times.” “Rene,” he squeezed her hand tenderly, “you know how much I love you. If I don’t come very often you know I can’t. I’m always thinking of you; I—Oh, Rene why think of the past? Are we not together now? I will see you very often soon again at the party.” “Oh yes.” She seemed happy. “Mother says I could wear those famous pearls which were almost stolen twice. “Yes, Ah here comes father.” “Father this is Monsieur Irriem who has invited us to his chateau.” Monsieur Valera was perhaps sixtv years old. He had an intelligent and somewhat fas- cinating gaze which when leveled at a person caused the latter to move uneasily. On this occasion he walked rapidly toward Rem and greeted him courteously. “Yes, ah yes,” he soliloquized, “I’m very glad to see you so that I can offer my apologies for being unable to accept your invitation. “Oh, well, maybe you’ll honor me with a visit some other time.” “Surely.” The evening passed in such conversation. Rem left at ten and walked slowly home- ward. “The old bird doesn’t like me much,” he mused. “Well,” with a sudden burst of en- thusiasm. “everything is coming along first rate even at that.” At seven on Thursday evening the majority of the guests were already collected in Rem Irriem’s spacious and beautiful salon. Rene, possibly to be decidely fashionable, came late. Rem went to the door immediately to meet her. Ah, come in. Now we’re all here.” Time passed rapidly with the customary ex- citement that is a positive feature of French gatherings. Some of the guests formed in groups and walked through the building. Others went in pairs. Rene and Rem formed one of these pairs. They were seated on a marble bench in an in- conspicuous corner of the main salon. At eleven o’clock or there about Rene sud- denly noted the loss of her pearls. ' Oh, Rem they’re gone.” “What’s gone?” “The pearls.” “The pearls ! They’re gone ! “Yes gone.” “Wait,—wait here. I’ll get the police.” “Yes, yes do so.” This conversation had not reached the ears of the guests who already showed the effects of too much liquor. Rem calmly walked out of the main door and ran quickly, by a side entrance, to the second floor. He stopped before a door; looked both ways and walked in locking the door behind him. Out of his pocket he drew a long, shining, pearl necklace: the famous “Million Franc,” Valera collection of pearls! Rem Irriem’s calmness and exterior coolness disappeared. “How simple,” he cried. “Every- thing was ‘pie’ as the Americans say. One mil- lion francs! Equivalent to about forty-two thousand pounds. I’ll get forty thousand sure from dad. I’ll leave for Arabia now and be there in sixteen days.” Monsieur Remif Irriem. native of Arabia, was never heard of again. Rene Valvera drove her “Parisian” slowly home. She almost cried at the thought of Rem’s hypocricy. She wondered what her father would say—she reached home. Rene opened the living room door and walked silently in. There, contrary to any expecta- tions, for it was late, sat her father, on a big comfortable easy chair reading a thick volume of I he Life of Napoleon.” Upon her en- trance he looked up, welcomed her with a pa- ternal welcome and continued reading. “Father I have something important to say to you.” “Monsieur Valera looked up. “Yes?” “Father I—the— “Yes?” “I lost—someone stole—Rem— “Your Arabian friend ‘Borrowed’ your necklace. Is that it? he asked sarcastiacallv. “Yes, How— “Well, Rene, time and experience are the best teachers. I didn’t like this Arab from the first. My suspicions were correct.” But mother s necklace. Your suspicions didn’t save that.” “Oh my dear daughter, don’t worry over the loss of that necklace you were wearing.” He seemed to enjoy the situation. “It cost me exactly twelve francs. The original is lying safely on the second shelf in that safe,” he said pointing a steady finger at a small, barrel shaped steel structure. Anthony Tubbiolo. June ’30. PAGE FIFTEEN