Emmerich Manual High School - Ivian Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

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The Race IT IS the day of the shell race between the reds and blues, the two factions of the school. Lined along the banks of the river from the start to the turn are crowds of graduates and school boys, excitedly waving banners and ribbons and vociferously prophesying the result of the race. At last the shells are slid carefully into the water and the rowers take their places. But where is Brown ' , the captain and stroke of the reds ? Fletcher is in his place. The boats are now by the judges ' raft, the crews in position, the coxswains alert, all waiting for the signal. A crack of the pistol and the shells are off ; like machinery the rowers move back and forth in their seats, taking long, even strokes; the oars flash in the sunlight and cheers rise from the onlookers on every side. The blues have pushed a yard or two ahead, but Fletcher of the reds keeps up his steady stroke. He is nervous and has a wild desire to quicken the stroke, but holds himself down. He must keep cool and steady or lose the race, for his men are anxious and discouraged without their regular captain ; they are not sure of him ; they know he is capable but inexperienced. He must show them, must keep them steady. They are nearing the turning place, the blues are turning now, the reds just behind as both crews with great care and dextenty turn the shells and with renewed energy start off, the blues shooting ahead, taking advantage of their turn and using a quicker stroke. But Fletcher at his seat is not discouraged, they have made the turn more slowly as it was too dangerous — it meant too much to run any risks. Little Spades, the coxswain, is scolding and encouraging the boys together. Grad- ually he quickens the stroke, counting steadily to himself. n We are gaining, but faster, boys, faster, they are a quarter ahead, shouts the little coxswain. He feels the criticism of the crew, the desire to spurt ahead, but he knows they miist save their strength for the finish. There is only a quarter of a mile to cover and the blues are nearly four lengths ahead. The blue partisans are jubilant, sure of victory, but the reds shout encouragingly to their crew. They must make up almost twice as much distance as the blues. Can they do it ? With grim determina- tion they row with quick, strong strokes ; like a streak goes the boat through the water. See, they are gaining rapidly. Like one, row the crew, steady, strong, their faces tense. The judges are almost reached, the blues are half a length ahead but with powerful strength the reds pull even, then ahead ; the race is theirs. MABEL AYRES iiib Felinus (Translated from the ancient Latin. Showing why a cat has nine lives. ) A cat sat on the fence one night Singing maeow, maeow, maeow-waow. It would have made your hair turn white Or run away from very fright And leave your cranium bald quite To hear that maeow, maeow-waow. I found kind words of no avail To stop the maeow, maeow, maeow-waow So seized — (but nay, my voice would fail And you, O Reader, would turn pale If I should tell the horrid tale, How I tried to stop the maeow-waow ! ) I struck so quick he never knew But kept on singing maeow-waow. So when his soul to Hades flew It raised so great a hullabaloo, That Tabby Charon was scared blue To hear the maeow, maeow, maeow-waow. Old Charon turned in fright to row, Escaping from the maeow-waow, Then kitty left that world below To try avoid eternal woe By getting killed again more slow- Ly while he sang his maeow-waow. Nine times he wandered there and here Singing maeow, maeow, maeow-waow, Till at last old Charon lost his fear, And rowed him o ' er — but yet, I hear, He still flees eight times when his ear Hears a ghost sing maeow, maeow-waow. ELMER ADAMS

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Making Connections TWO YEARS ago, I started for Kansas on a visit all alone and had to change cars at the St. Louis Union Station. The folks at home had repeatedly told me what to do and I was real brave until I stepped off the train. The station is perfectly arranged and one could hardly get lost or mixed up if he is at all cool-headed. But I was not cool-headed. Which way should I go ? Where was my train ? It was not due for two hours, but nevertheless it seemed to me that it ought to be there. I stood helpless and ready to shed tears of anguish when a porter came by and said, D This way, lady. Please move on ! Wretch ! Where could I move ? Blindly I started on, reaching the gate, and there again stood dazed. This way, lady, said a kind conductor, and I made a dive for the gate pointed out, all the while trying to see if I couldn ' t see my train, until I bumped bang into another porter, who, grinning like a villain, pointed out the waiting room and told me to pass on. Scared, indignant, and feeling decidedly D green, I sought out a seat and arranged my numerous parcels to my satisfaction. I had rested a minute when the idea seized me that my train must surely be in. I rushed to the door, then remembering that some greedy thief might take my valise, I rushed back to my seat. A whistle sounded. That was surely my train. I grabbed my things and hurried to the gate. n Ticket, lady, said the man. I showed it to him. n Your train ain ' t due for nearly two hours. Crestfallen, I went back and arranged my bundles again and sat still for just a minute when that insane desire seized me to see if my train wasn ' t coming. But it wasn ' t, and nervous and scared I haunted the information bureau until the keeper put out a sign, Gone to dinner! I poked my ticket at the gateman until he told me not to come again until he called me. How I ever existed until the train arrived I do not know, but it must have been with sighs of relief that the man at the bureau, the gateman, and the porter saw me climb gingerly on the train, which, even after the gatemen, porter and conductor had assured me was the right one, I was sure would take me either to New Orleans or Boston. LILLIAN PEELE Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet Of cucumbers eating a lot, But the organs within ' er, disagreed with her dinner And now she ' s tied up in a knot.

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Precisi ecision One night, while I was sleeping, I dreamed a funny dream, Precision was the hero, His wife, the heroine. Their home was in the backwoods, The road, an only path, To seek it, in the daylight, Would cause to rise, one ' s wrath. Deep in the tangled wildwood O ' er rocks and boulders high, With trees so tall about it One could not see the sky. Along this rugged pathway The weary pilgrims go, The few, that find Precision, Reap more than what they sow. He rewards them with the gift To say just what they mean : His wife puts in the beauty And makes the finished theme. In the midst of all my dreaming, A voice fell on my ear It whispered, Listen, hearken, To what you now will hear. Now, seeker, take this warning, To find him and his Frau. Don ' t ever get discouraged But go and seek him now n J. ROSCOE MdNTOSH Twinkle, twinkle football star, We wonder what you think you are, Up above the world so high In the vision of your eye. A is the letter that stands for Ayres, He ' s a guy without any cares; His sleepy smile can always be seen, And he looks very much like a freshy green.