Clifton High School - Rotunda Yearbook (Clifton, NJ)

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LITECATLCE S'

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THE REFLECTOR It is said that there are only two or three muscles needed to smile, while forty-eight are exercised in frowning. We must appreciate the views of others and not be hasty in criticizing. Make hay while the sun shines” is a good motto, but Make friends while the sun shines” is still better. We must be good losers! Sometimes the losers are cheered and ap- plauded more than the winners. It is more praiseworthy to be a good loser than a good winner. In either case we must be honest and square in our work and play. The feeling of elation is greater if we win fairly. Let us therefore look at life as a source of enjoyment. Let us look at its problems and its disappointments with a cheerful earnestness. Beatrice Klein. IV aiting The sun like a fiery comet is slowly sinking The corn stacks alight with the crimson rays Are bold flames shot from a molten earth, The sun sets And the stacks are like staid bronzed Indians Standing, thinking, waiting Standing like men out of whom the flame of youth has passed; Thinking of the days gone by, Waiting for that which is to come. Dorothy Lennon, June ’29. 3u fflnnnriam AARON SLYBLOOM JESSIE EARLEY 10

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THE REFLECTOR Revenge hot wind moaned softly through the tree tops and matted un- f C dergrowth. Far away, softened by the great distance, sounded the hunting cry of a hungry lion, a dreadful sound, once heard, never to be forgotten. All animal life large and small was out to kill, slay, devour and destroy. The endless battle of the jungle was on with the survival of the fittest” as the only law. Back and forth, back and forth in ceaseless monotony, now high and fast, now low and slow, sounded the din of the tom-toms, those great drums used for the transmitting of messages over miles of country. Seated at the door of his little tent was Sir Robert Allen, smoking his pipe and getting what little coolness there was in the hot wind. Sud- denly he was startled by a scream of pain. Jumping up he rushed to the tent from which the cry came. Now all was silent within, so walking up quietly he entered. The sight which greeted him was enough to make anyone’s blood boil. In one corner of the tent lay a boy, his head beaten in and covered with blood. Over him stood his master, Allen’s chief porter. With a cry like an enraged beast, Allen threw himself at the negro and with a strength born of fury flung him bodily from the tent. Follow- ing up his advantage Allen rushed out with pistol drawn but the negro with the nimbleness of a cat had regained his feet and disappeared into the jungle. Re-entering the tent, Allen tried to do what he could for the boy but it was too late:—he was dead. This affected Allen greatly for, used as he was to violent death, he could not stand the thought of this helpless boy’s being struck down for some trivial offense. Calling his assistant, he gave orders to prepare for the burial of the boy and to watch for the killer, who was to be shot at sight. An hour later as he was headed for his tent he heard a shot and a cry of triumph. Rushing out he saw a porter dragging the dead body of the murderer away. Evidently the fellow had been surprised in the act of entering or leaving his tent. With no other thought but that of joy at the killing of the murderer, Allen entered his tent and took up his violin to amuse himself for a while. After playing a few minutes he heard something rustle on the floor. Looking down, his hair rose upon his head and he was frozen with terror for there upon the floor within easy reach of his unprotected legs was a deadly snake swaying to and fro, evidently charmed by the music. As he stopped playing for a few seconds the swaying stopped and the snake began to coil up ready to spring. 12