Eastern High School - Punch and Judy Yearbook (Washington, DC)

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16 NEE BASTERNER The Poets’ Corner SONG These things I covet .. . Under a blue heaven, A garden, all of Phlox and columbine; : A little house that knows no step but mine; The hushed, cool solitude of summer even; A small bronze Pan, to set among the flowers, In all his impish pathos; an old well; But most of all the musty, homelike smell Of loved old books in happy leisure hours. i E.ise ScHar®, ’27. A WORD-PORTRAIT To Beryre Epmiston You are like a young birch tree— As straight, as slender, S clean-cut, as passionless. You move like a birch tree in the wind, With a slow rhythm that is almost languid. The oak is Majestic; The pine, friendly ; he poplar, aloof; But the birch tree is proud, And the grasses round it pay it homage. Ettse Scrarr, '27. A MAIDEN TO HER LOVER You're not a member of a “frat”— Bootleg you neither buy nor sell; Your ties are tame and mild; your hat Is irreproachable as well. You do not have the cosmic urge; You stay, contented, where you are; And folk will never sound your dirge For speeding in your flivver-car. You're surely not collegiate ; You're oft mistaken for a hick; It takes a deal to penetrate Your skull, because, alas, it’s thick. With all your faults, I love you still; T could not do without you, for— Although you seem an awful pill, You certainly are not a bore, You don’t know what to talk about— So conversation’s on the shelf; But still your praises I can shout— You never talk about yourself. Elsie Scharf, ’27, A SONNET in French, with various tenses, nk test after test, lose to fas eae i though I’m doing my best terrible work, the ane Olt in a Spanish ae Wishing ™ bs aren't so hard, nor homework so long, Where vb have the ghost of a chance to pass, ieee ie ugh you must ride a “pony” along; een these thoughts my French teacher almost e ee aia id then my grad d ass a test—an Y grade, pS eerionieet at break of day arising ead ixty to one hundred in the shade ; aaa es sweet French remembered, all. troubles vanish, s Rape to change my French for panish. That then I scorn Shi Nears ats hen struggling, ate and flu ‘And come pretty ¢ THE INVALID very.ill® Tray, I hear, has been very i + Hes led to swallow many a pill; However, he’s getting better now, f He'll soon be able to say “Bow-wow | leverest doctors, I hear it said, Riaatet his paw and shook his head— 7 And vowed, in sad tones, that the complaint He suffered was extremely quaint ave it a Dog Latin name, a word That ae mother never before had heard; But when she’s asked, in solemn tones, She only replies “Stuff—too many bones,” Rut ABELMAN, ’29, PROPHECY The world is still In its early morn, And uncounted ages Yet shall be born. After my days These things shall be, Yet who may say That I shall not see? For I shall roam Where spirits are And I can watch From the nearest star. And I have faith That it will be so, For I saw the day-break Long ago. —Ruth Bell, ’28.

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THE EASTERNER 15 A Street Car Episode By Vircinia K. SLOANE, ’29 It’s quite a common thing to ride street cars. Hundreds of people do it every day. But to me it’s a grand adventure, trying at times, and laughable at others. I start out for school in the morning, run- ning, because I am late as usual, and arrive at the car stop just in time to see the car doors shut, and a car resume its way. If it isa warm day, I am forced to wait an interminable length of time with King Sol’s relentless rays beating down upon me. If it is a cold day, I try in vain to devise some means of preventing my- self from freezing, as I impatiently watch the car track, At last a car condescends to approach with the speed of a funeral march. It arrives in due time, and I eagerly board it, along with a crowd of people, late like myself, to discover that there is standing room only, and very little of that. Next I peer into my pocket-book, and see that I have not a token. This means I must purchase a supply. I now discover that I have not the exact change; so I hand the conductor a bill. He shells out the tokens and change with surprising carelessness. My suspicions are aroused. A conductor not only short-changed, but also short-tokened my chum the other day. Why could not one do me the same? But tak- ing into consideration that there is a crowd, and that I carry books, pocket-book, and lunch, counting money is an impossibility. I give the conductor a sharp, inspecting glance, decide he looks honest, and let the matter drop. Just as I have obtained an Avenue transfer the car stops, and I realize that the first part of the journey is finished. I look through the window, and see a Seventeenth and Pennsylvania Avenue car at the platform. This causes me to make a hur- ried exit, nearly knocking several people over as I go. Then I sprint across the Avenue, breaking all the laws against jay-walking that were ever invented, amid the loud protesta- Hl tions of the policeman whose attention my swiftly-moving figure has arrested, and narrow- ly escaping being run over. Coming across the street is a young gentleman whom I have never met, but just about now he and I meet with force not to be forgotten immediately. I can’t stop for a little thing like this, however, when my punctuality record, or rather the remains of it, and that of my class are in jeopardy; so I resume my race, reaching goal just in time to see the doors close and the car begin to move. Now that I am actually standing still I awake to the realization that as a result of my encoun- ter with the young gentleman, I am out of breath. I am a little embarrassed to find that everyone on the platform is regarding me with unconcealed amusement. I gaze down the car track, and to my vexa- tion and sorrow, not a street car is in sight! I wait, and I wait, and then I wait some more. At last my waiting is rewarded. Far in the distance is an object which comes nearer. At last it is close enough for me to read the sign, “Eighth and F Streets, N. E.” A car I can’t take, of course! Now for the second period of waiting, only to be rewarded by a second “Fighth and F Streets” car. Right behind it is another car, “Peace Monument.” As this car would leave me about a mile and a half to walk it doesn’t seem advisable to take it. My small supply of patience is now nearly exhausted. I pace the platform in mental agony. At last my delighted eyes behold “Navy Yard.” With a sense of relief, I board the car, hand the conductor my transfer, and de- mand, “Eighth Street transfer, please.” (Continued on page 30)

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THE EASTERNER Ww It Served Him Right By Emity May, 27 Professor Snod was a very set man in all his actions and beliefs. The most emphatic of his convictions was his contempt for America’s younger generation’s lack of adventurous spirit. Since Professor Snod had done some exploring in his younger days, and once, I be- lieve, he had shot a bear, he held his head very high and a contemptuous grin wreathed his fea- tures when he viewed the boys of his college, and their harmless amusements. One day Professor Snod was requested to give a speech to the student body. He deliv- ered it mincingly and drew up his conclusions in such a manner that his last words were: “Youths of this generation are cowards. They have lost all sense of adventure.” He gathered up his notes, and stepped from the platform. The boys were sullen. Mr. Snod had been very emphatic. He had not hidden his contempt for these ‘“‘namby-pamby youths.” That evening the professor sat in his room poring over examination papers, and sprinkling as many deficients as possible among them. The window behind him slowly began to rise. A black clad limb was thrust inside and then another followed. The professor heard a board creak. He turned slowly and met the unflinching gaze of four pairs of eyes behind four black masks. The intruders said not a word; neither did the professor. Slowly they advanced; soon the professor was surrounded. They grabbed him. He struggled. It was no use, for he was done for. His eyes were bound with a cloth, and he felt himself carried through the win- dow, out onto the fire-escape. After a jostling, uncomfortable journey, he was deposited on the ground. His eyes were uncovered, and he looked around him in con- sternation. The lake lapped at his feet. He started up, but fell back because his legs would not hold him. Good heavens, trembling ? was he The four silent kidnapers stood around him rigidly. He looked at them. He looked at the lake, Finally he looked at the woods in back of him. Oh, horror! What were those ghastly lights? By jove, they were wild animal eyes. Peering at him, gloating for him. He arose and began to run. The masked visitors grabbed him and calmly tossed him into the lake. “Help, help! I’m drowning!” he cried. The desperate man tried to swim ashore, but the lake bottom got in the way and he found it would be easier to walk out. As he stumbled ashore, the villains grabbed his coattails, but, unwilling to be detained, the professor slipped out of his coat and began to sprint. He arrived at his room three minutes and nine seconds later. He securely locked both his door and window, undressed, and jumped into bed. The next day Professor Snod was an irrit- able old gentleman with a bad cold. On arriv- ing at his room after classes he found a bundle awaiting him. He opened it and beheld his bedraggled coat. An enclosed note read: “Have the youths of this generation lost their sense of adventure, Snoddie, old dear?” FORGETFULNESS By Paut Horn, 216-2 Forgetfulness is one of the many obstacles in people’s lives. Many successful men become paupers through their forgetfulness. Many people have lost their jobs, and many have lost their lives through this great fault. Forgetfulness is one of my sins. Many times I have forgotten to do my homework, and many times I have forgotten to bring my pen to class. This, of course, has not cost me my ioh. nor has it cost me my life, but it has surely cost me a string of d’s on my report.