Cloverdale Union High School - Spectator Yearbook (Cloverdale, CA)

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THE SPECTATOR

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THE SPECTATOR Erma Ledford, whene’er she is seen, Is treating the boys in her dad’s big machine. Irma McPhail, always ready to laugh. Draws soda at Beaulieu’s for others to quaff. John Oliva, who is so calm and cool, Each day the teacher says, “You stay after school.” Oria Orr, neither too fat nor too thin, Is good when she plays on her pet violin. A delightful girl was Alta Perry, Whose absence from school makes life less merry. Cecil Smith, our ball pitcher with arm mighty and stout. In many a game puts other teams out. Hazel Smith, with her fingers so quick, Makes her typewriter go clickety ' dick. Bud Thompson the piano is learning to play, Hopes to rival Paderewsky in some future day. Raymond Ward, down here from the ranch, Is earnestly trying to learn how to dance. Virginia Williams, so slim and so tall, For a peppy nickname “Hi, Ginger,” we call.

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THE SPECTATOR TCfUTIMC venae The Silver Buc le he white swan drifts slowly along the water’s edge, gliding in among the water lilies, lifting its graceful head now and then and dipping its bill into the clear, smooth water. A gondola drifts slowly by, the steady dip of the oars breaking the stillness of the scene. Voices issue from the inside of the boat as it moves slowly along the bank until it reaches a house situated along the water’s edge. As the gondola stops, two figures alight, a man and a woman. They move toward the building and the woman speaks rapidly: “Now you see, Vertilio, we have quarreled. I, in a fit of anger, told him that I would never speak to him again, so he left the house and I have never seen him since that day. It was entirely my fault and I will tell him so. But remember, Vertilio, I must have your help. You will give it, won’t you, Vertilio?” “Of a certainty, Maria, I will give my help. I shall enjoy this adventure for I am sure he will fall into the trap. But I must go now, Maria—and do not forget the buckle.” “I will remember, Vertilio. You will find me in the rose garden. Go now, for I must get ready for the occasion.” Night has crept softly over the land and with her dusk-colored wings she folds it in her embrace. The city is preparing for a night’s revelry, for gay-colored lanterns adorn every building. Truly it is a Venetian city. A gondola passes by. A woman’s face of ivory whiteness, with a touch of bloom upon her cheeks, is seen for one instant; the eyes are hidden by a black satin mask and the figure is shrouded in a dark, old rose cape.