Cowley College - Tiger Daze Yearbook (Arkansas City, KS)

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A. C. JUNIOR COLLEGE MAGAZINE I guess, but he might not, and if you do save him he ' ll be worth ... Then aloud to the boy he said, Sure. He ' s yours. Go ahead and feed him, but you ' ve gotta take care of him yourself. And he passed out into the snow again. So busy was Billy during the next two weeks that he quite forgot his lineliness, forgot his grief in Jerry ' s sudden death, forgot that there was no one to play with. For Pinky — so the runt had been christened — had to be taught to drink sweetened milk from a spoon, and he was not an apt pupil. Finally, though, he learned the trick and then acquired the knack of drinking from a shallow pan. As he took a new interest in life, it be- came apparent to everyone except Billy that he would always retain his pig ' s idea concerning etiquette. In a month he had so far recovered that he was placed back in the pen with his brothers and sisters. No longer could Pinky be cared for alone, so upon Billy ' s sturdy little shoulders devolved the responsibility of caring for the entire litter. But he al- ways managed that Pinky should get the choicest portions — according to pig standards — from the kitchen scraps, and always he contrived to scratch his pet ' s back with a stick or corncob. So, through the blistering heat of breathless sum- mer noon, through the hazy, aromatic days of the haying season, through the chilly mornings of early autumn when the leaves were glorious splotches of col- or fluttering on the branches that had supported the white blossoms of spring, through the piled heaps of those same leaves fallen to earth, he carried in- numerable pails of water, countless buckets of corn to those pigs that grew from pigs to lean shotes, from lean shotes to fattening hogs. Still it was Pinky who came first at Billy ' s call and who ilngered behind to have his back scratched. Long since, the father had ceased to regard Pinky as the runt — he was now hog like the others— but to Billy he remained Pinky always. Home from school he came to feed the hogs but it was Pinky for whim he cared — whom he served and petted. There came a cold crisp day in late November when Billy, stopping by the hog-pen as he returned from school, call- ed for Pinky, but called in vain. No red bulk appeared from behind the shed to Ktand grunting contentedly while a cob clutched in Billy ' s fist scraped to and fro on the arched back. The boy stood star- ing about the pen bewilderedly, blankly; — then, dropping books and dinner-pail, he ran to the house, for Mother and an explanation. Mam ' , Mamma! he cried breathless- „ „„ „„ „„ „„ „„ „„ „„—„„ , — « , BEARD SON The Original and Old Reliable SPORT STORE We Have What You Need In Your Games It Pays to Play Phone 190 303 So. Summit +, ■« ,,. .. » ». ..—.,,—.,,— „,, „„— »,, ....— .. , — , ,. „„ — , ,„ „ „ „„ „„ When You Think of Flowers Think of A. C. FLORAL CO.

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A. C. JUNIOR COLLEGE MAGAZINE PIGS— A PAIR By ROBERT McMICHAEL Billy Evans was lonely, more lonely than he had ever been before in all his eight eventful years. He stood staring out at the March snow, wishing rebel- liously that he did not have to stay in- side. From the kitchen came the rat- tle of dishes as his mother busily clear- ed the breakfast table. The sound of Iher cheerful humming brought a lump to his throat and tears, that obscured the flying snow, to his eyes. Folding his arms on the window sill, and pillowing his touseled brown head upon them, he kicked resentfully at the rounds of his chair. Wisht I had something to play with, he murmured. Mother is too busy an ' I ' m tired of playing with picture books an ' blocks an ' .... An ' why can ' t I play in the snow? Just ' cause I got a little ol ' cold He slid down from the chair, looked longingly out the window again, then marched determinedly across the din- ing room to the kitchen door. There a sort of uncertainty replaced the deter- mination, and he hesitated, until his mother saw him leaning against the cas- ing in doutt and perplexity. Now, Billy, you know I told you that you couldn ' t go out in that snow. It ' s too cold and you ' re already nearly sick. Now, run . . . . But, Mother, I ' d be careful. Can ' t I go out, Mother. Honest, I ' d come . . . . No, you cannot ! Stop bothering me now — I ' m busy. Aw, I wanta go . . . . The wail was interrupted by a sudden stamping on the porch. The harassed mother eagerly seized upon the promis- ed distraction. There ' s Daddy! Open the door for him, Billy. But before the child reach- ed the door, it opened to admit a tail, woman, his red face dark and grim with vexation. Another runt in the litter, he growl- ed. Other one ' s dead an ' this ' n will be. I ain ' t got time to feed him with a sipoon. But, perhaps, if you ' d only try , , I tell you, I ain ' t got time to run no nursery for pigs. I ' ve gotta tend to them that have a chance to live. Billy left off his petting the chilled, shivering pig to sieze his father ' s hand and swing pendulum-wise from it Daddy! he cried, Let me have him. I ' ll take care of him an ' I haven ' t had a pet since that mean old coyote got Jerry. Jerry had been a little, speckled, lordly bantam rooster. Can ' t I have him, Daddy? The man looked at him thoughtfully as he muttered slowly, He ' ll die anyway, f . „ , + YES Graduate and Registered PHARMACIST Always in Charge at Thomas Drug Store 105 So, Summit Phone 373 . . „„ „,, „„ „„ „„ „„ „„ „„ ,,„ „„ „ „,; ' ♦ THE PLACE The Students Go IOR FIRST CLASS WORK It Pays To Look Well OSAGE HOTEL BARBER SHOP •b, — ,, — „„ — „, — „ — „„ — „ — „ — ,„ — „, — „ — ,„ — „„ — ,..+.

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A. C. JUNIOR COLLEGE MAGAZINE Copyright 192 Han Schaflncs Marx When Our Name Is On the Box No question about the ' class ' of that, most any man will say when he sees our name on the box. We earned that reputation by SiCilupuflous care — about values, about style. And every season we try to do every one of those things better. We ' re pretty sure we ' ve broken all previous records this spring. Cevfeft CITV. KAN ly, Where ' s Pink ' ! He ' s gone, Mamma! Where is he? Why, son, surely you don ' t want him for a pet now. He ' s so big and awk ward. He ' s mine. I want him. Where is he, Mamma? The little figure straighten- ed as Billy valiantly refuted the slander- ous attack on his pet. But, Billy, he was so big and dirty. Euddy sold him with the others. He didn ' t iknow you still wanted him for a pet. Daddy — sold him — but— -he — he — was mine! How could he? I want Pinky now. The child ' s face was pale and his lips trembled, but he did not cry. He gave him to me and now he ' s so-old him. There, there, Daddy didn ' t know you cared so much. Daddy gave him to me! Pinky was rmine — mine — . Billy stopped suddenly, whirled on his heel and ran back to the empty pen — -the pen that had been Pinky ' s home. Later, when he returned his face was streaked and grimy, but composed. The father who faced Billy across the table that night could have seen — had he taken the trouble to look — that his son ' s eyes were no longer implicitly trustful, blindly worshipful, that hero worship was replaced by watchful criti- cism, that the priceless confidence of the ichild was gone. The first seeds of cyn- licism were planted, for Billy had receiv- ed his first lesson in selfishness. The veneer was indeed removed and the true clay idol exposed. The child ' s mind was filled with mor- bid thoughts, rendered more bitter for their repression. Why, Dad gobbled what he gave me, thought Billy, Exact- ly like Pinky bolted cabbage hearts. But the father noticed nothing and Billy held his peace, though he did not forget. In Lit and Comp I ' ve striven hard! To win two C ' s upon my card, But now, in spite of all I do, I fear I ' ve met my Waterloo. Tomorrow ' s task, an eight verse rhyme — A monthly would scarcely give me time; I ' ll give it up; I ' m not a poet. I ' ll turn this in that you may know it. — ' Clyde Harris 4. „ „ + The grey sky is close to the grey-green ocean, whose level is broken by little, white capped waves. Now and then a larger wave hurries them toward the jutting, moss-brown rocks and the bleached sand beyond. Out in deep water, a white speck of a sail boat rises and falls. Over all is a film of thick, grey fog.