Clifton High School - Rotunda Yearbook (Clifton, NJ)

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THE REFLECTOR him breathlessly the error she had made, and apologized. She also agreed to return the check, if he so desired. Oh, thatls all rightf' the answer came back pleasantly over the phone. My mother is the woman to whom the house belongs, and she left the portrait behind by mistake. The name Rembrandt was written across the corner long ago by a friend of mother's who painted the pic- ture from Stuart's original. He thought it a huge joke, but evidently you think otherwise, by the sound of your voice. But the painting was, as I have already told you, a favorite of my mother, and she asked me to get it for her. When I saw you had it for sale, I hadn't nerve enough to ask for it, as I thought you wouldnlt believe it belonged to me. Con- sequently, the only thing I could do was to purchase it, even though it belongs to my mother. But as for the check, disregard it, for it isn't any good anyway. You know, I really didnlt buy anything from you and so owe you nothing. I thank you for your kindness and trouble, and good-day. And the voice at the other end of the wire broke off abruptly with a short laugh. 'lWell, can you beat that!', said Patricia indignantly, as she hung up the receiver. Almost in tears, she trudged through the muddy streets back to the shop. All her happy illusions, dreams of antiques-gone! Ken, reliable Ken, was waiting for her, and as he saw the dejected look with which she greeted him, asked, Are you still satisfied with being 'Independent Patricia'? If not, let's forget antique shops and bad checks. I'd like to take you into the city for dinner. Afterwards we can take in a theater, opera, or whatever you are in the mood for seeing. Come on, Pat dear. Why not?,' l'Of course, you silly boy,', murmured the remarkable Pat, her spirits again revived. Do you think I could resist such an enticing invitation?', KARIN SKOGLAND, June 1932. Waterfall Swirling, dashing, currents clashing, Halting, now, upon the brink, The streamlet rushes, unabashing, Then plunges o'er into the sink. A mist-spray rises, covering all, Making dim each outlined stone In fog-like blanket, while old Sol Peeps thru the iridescent foam. Ah, speak you of beauty unsurpassed, Of grand emotion within call? Then go you as the urge may last And look upon a waterfall. SYLVIO LAWRENCE ZANETTI, june 1931. Twenty-on

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THE REFLECTOR women folks would make little delicacies and bring them to her fresh from the oven or pan. The social life was delightful, but financial con- ditions depressing. One afternoon a car drew up, and a well-dressed young man alighted and entered the shop. After a friendly How-do-you-do? he glanced around and picked up two or three pieces of pottery. Handling one after another, he finally selected an imported Chinese vase, which he paid for. Glancing above the door as he prepared to leave, he gave a perceptible start when he saw the portrait of Washington. Just how much are you asking for that portrait, madam? he in- quired. Patsy, not knowing what to answer, as she had merely hung it for decoration, took the picture down. The gentleman inspected it closely. Suddenly, as they were looking at the painting, both seemed to see something at once. Yes, there it was! The name Rembrandt was written carelessly across the left-hand corner of the canvas. Q'Why, Patsy exclaimed, it's a masterpiece! I couldn't think of selling it before I found out the estimated value. I had no idea it was one of Rembrandts You see,,' she said, flushing as she said it, I picked it up in a small shop in New York. XVell,v he drawled, seemingly not at all surprised, I should like very much to take it with me now, as I am leaving shortly for England. I want to take the portrait to my mother, for Washington is a special favorite of hers. Couldn't I give you a deposit and leave my card? Send me a bill for the balance when you are ready. Patsy finally consented and, taking the man's card and a check for 5100, gave him the picture. She was delighted with the sale, but still dazed from the surprise it had given her. A few days later Maureen came out for a visit, but was disgusted with the rainy weather. Patsy told her about selling the portrait of Washington. I was certainly surprised when I found the painting was a Rem- brandt. I shall have to send Mr. Briggs a bill for the balance. How much do you think it is worth? i'Why,,, exclaimed Maureen, that picture could never have been a 'Rembrandtli Don't you know that the famous artist died in 1669 and Washington Wasnit even heard of until 1732? Some one is probably playing an expensive joke on youf' For goodness sake! gasped Patsy. 'KNever thought of that. What shall I do? The man will probably discover his mistake and blame me. How shall I ever explain it? Oh dear, do help me, Mauree! How could I ever have been so stupid? My success went to my head, I suppose. 'KWhy not call him by phone and explain?', suggested Maureen. He may be considerate and overlook the error iust to keep the portraitf, Patsy, in a frenzy, walked to the highway, and telephoning from the country club, called Mr. Briggs in New York City. She explained to Twen ty

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THE REFLECTOR ty-t Morning From a Momffain Top Morning- Glorious, golden morning! Rebirth of life, Rebirth of Day, child of the Night. Awakening and stirring Of Woodland creatures. Sweet call of each bird for its mate. The deep green And dampness of the mossy forest- Pinnacles of achievement and beauty On which no improvement is to be made. Nature, Light and soft calls! Darkness brightens into soft gray, Gray glows forth into pale, rosy mauveg Then deepens into glowing, golden orange. A burning rim appears over the distant peak. Now, The sky is an ocean of golden maize, Shading out from the blaze of the sun. Insignificant man beholds Nature. Hidden forces Incomparable, stand out and touch his soul. On earth, Green forest harmony spattered with golden light, Sprinkled with globules of dew, Catching and reflecting Golden rays. Mountain brood- Silver liquid, Cool and clear, - Bubbles gaily forth from moss-covered rocks. Harmony- Of color, soul and life- Nature's serenade! DOROTHY BURK, June 1932