College of the Sisters of Bethany - Ivy Leaf Yearbook (Topeka, KS)

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lillllIIIIIIHIIIIIIIlIIllIIIIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII T H E 1 v Y L E A F lllllllllIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIIIli The Elevators View Point We read and hear about eminent people who have achieved popularity through their kind words, charming personality, or through some other outstanding trait, which they possess, but it is very seldom that we hear of a person who has become popular by accepting abuse. A few days ago, three girls were engrossed in a deep conversation as I passed by during my daily routine. Each one thought that she was extremely abused and one said that she knew her parents loved her no more, because she had not received a box of candy from them for six days. Dear me! if I could only look :forward to rewards after suffering such torture as I do every day! I am actually a slave to the girls here at school. I am absolutely under their con- trol, and I flinch from their slightest touch. My sleeping quarters are in the base- ment of Wolfe Hall, and, if the girls happen to leave me suspended in the air, I sometimes get no real rest for hours. I now have gashes in my sides and my nerves are shattered repeatedly when some- one slams the door which is the most abused part of my anatomy. Although Miss Carlisle has the electrician give me a physical examination regularly once a week, he is sometimes called at other intervals. Often I dream of the time when I shall be old, weak, and shaky, and shall no longer be able to do my work. A prisoner's life now would be easy compared with mine, because he is at least able to observe the beauties of nature, and the beautiful sun- shine. I am a prisoner, serving a-life sentence, shut off from the outside world. in a dark and dingy shaft, which is my home. I am in a worse condition than the Prisoner of Chillon because he could at least make friends with the spiders while I am in such constant use that the spiders have no time to spin their webs anywhere near me. The girls are not permitted to use me after 10 o'clock on Friday evening so I usually get most of my sleep then. They come home from concerts looking so weary and tired that I sometimes wish I could extend a cordial invitation to them to ride upstairs but as they are not allowed to do so, I dare not permit myself to ask them, because the teachers treat me so kindly that they are my best friends and I should not like to lose their friendship. My hours of toil are extremely long, but, thank goodness! I am only forced to carry six girls at once. Yesterday one of the girls on the third floor wished to use me at the same time that a girl inthe basement was trying desperately to pull me down. I happened to be resting one the first floor and I was suddenly arounsed as my back was given a violent twist. I groaned with pain and the girl on the third eventually decided that she would be able to get to class more swiftly if she ran downstairs, so the strain was relieved and I Went merrily upon my way to the basement. Last week, a saucy Freshman tacked signs all over me advertising an auction, which the class intended to give soon. No matter how hard I try, it is utterly impossible for me to please most of these girls They ridicule me because I ascend so slowly and when I do happen to feel well, they scream and run because they think the elevator is out of order if I go faster than usual. I never realize how much people appreciate and miss me, until I stop to be ex- amined. The girls walk upstairs then and I overhear them praising me and saying what a wonderful convenience the elevator is and also how careful they will be of me when I am well again. I am always sorry to see the girls leave for their vacations because I work over- time then, carrying trunks, suit-cases, victrolas and nukes when they are preparing to leave, and after they have gone, I still continue to work on and on, carrying fur- niture from one floor to another, etc. This year has been a dreadful strain on me, since last year fourth floor was in- habited by a few members of the faculty, I rarely visited that part of the building. This year, however, fourth floor is occupied by eight busy seniors who are always in need of me so that they may rush from class to class during the day. Sometimes I get so tired that I cannot keep my eyes open any longer and my red light flickers and gradually goes out. This is very annoying to many, and soon I am rudely awakened by someone fastening a bulb to my head, which causes me to open my eyes again immediately. I contracted an awful cold last night because the basement window was left open. I fear that I shall not be of much service today to my friends. - VERNE WAGNER. Page Thirty-eight IIIIIIlllllllllllllIlllllllllllllIIIIlllllllllllllllllIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIllIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHHII? 1 9 2 7 illIllIllllllllllllllllllllllllllIllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

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IllIIlllIIIIIIIIllllllllIIIIIllIIIIIllIIIIIIIIlIIIHHllllllllllllllllllllll T H E I V Y L E A P IIHIIHHIIllllillIHIIIIlllIIIlHHIIIIIIIIllIU1IIIHIHIIIIHIIIUIIIIH Because of Snow It was a long white, winding road, seldom used by travellers but occasionally by the Mounted Police who drove their bedraggled horses over it on their return to Fort Sanoa. It was a terribly windy night, the pines were bending to and fro be- neath their burden of snow and the road was hardly distinguishable because of a blizzard. The moon, which usually shone brightly enough to lead people on their way into the northern parts of Canada, scarcely helped the lone 'traveller on his snow- blinded way. As the man trundled on he emitted at ever increasing intervals deep, breath-taking coughs, while, as if answer to these, the timber wolves howled. The wind blew harder and harder as the snow flakes, which grew bigger, completely covered any trace of the old road. When the man, worn out by stumbling and incessant cough- ing, realized that it would be impossible to continue his route, even if he could find his way, he fell to the earth with a groan. ' In a little Alaskan town, Jerry McTavers waited for the father, who had left three months ago on a trip to the states. Every morning she recleaned his tall boots, laid out fresh clothes, tidied herself and then climbed into his big arm chair, and with a hopeful heart waited for her Daddy. While Jerry waited, Ol' Man McTavers, as the Alaskans called him, lay face down on the snow, beating it with open palms, and as the cries of the famine-stricken wolves closed in about him he made the sign of the cross, called softly to the strong northern wind, Jerry, and died. With a loud cry the wolves set upon him, rent his garments and with muffled wails beckoned to another of the long-fanged tribe. For six more months Jerry waited for her Daddy and then she, too, joined the numberless host on its way to the unknown. POLLY SPEELMAN. Bethany Storm Swept As the sun sank slowly behind black, threatening clouds in the west one evening, it sent gleaming rays, through breaks in the gold, in all tints imaginable outlining huge, fantastic shapes and figures. These shades lingered caressingly in the sky till suddenly they were blotted out by the dark clouds that now loomed high. A deafening crash, which seemed to rend the heavens, broke the death-like stillness that had hushed the earth a few moments before. Thor was driving his thunder- chariot overhead, his hammer, Seeth, raised aloft sending dazzling, terrifying flashes of lightning across the heaven to earth. His anger seemed unappeasable. Rain began to fall in swirling, beating torrents. The trees moaned and whispered among themselves as they swayed in the wind. Then, as we knelt during the twilight service, in the chapel, the organ pealed loud over the tempest raging without, the fitful glare of lightning reflected the hues of the stained glass windows, sending weird streaks of colored light over the altar and chapel. Later that night, as I stood watching the storm, there was a lull, the wind and rain subsided, the clouds drifted away, the thunder became a mere echo in the distance and the moon shone on the pine standing, a lone sentinel, which has kept watch through many storms, before the doors of Bethany. VETA ANN McCLURE. It's not the school, said Veta, it's the principle of the thing. Page Thirty-seven III4IHHIIIIHHIIIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIIHHIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIIIIHIHIHIIHHIIHlIlllIIlll!lH!Ei: 1 0 2 7 IllllllHIHHIIIIIIHIIHIIIIIIIIHIHIIIIIHHHHIHIHIIIHIIIIIHIIHIIIIHHlIHHlHHllI4IH!IH

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FINE ARTS -X!