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

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THE BOOSTER 1 1 [Continued from page 9] come at me like a Kansas cyclone. You don ' t have to believe it, durn you, but now I ' m goin ' to pull your old carcass up there and show you if I have to take you on stretchers. We started the next morning and that afternoon found us at the lake. It wuz only a mud-hole, about a mile square, and deep. The first evening we stayed at the hotel and talked over our plans with a few old gray-headed liars (natives of the place). The plans were: We would advance in single file, silently and stealthily, to the lake shore, where we would embark in one transport (eight feet long) and pro- ceed to unknown waters (heavily armed, of course). Daybreak found our transport in the exact center of population of the lake, where Jeff said he didn ' t doubt that the fish would knock the bottom out of the boat, try- ing to come up through the floor. I wuz kinder scared, then, that we didn ' t have an adequate supply of life belts. However, I was very thankful for the wireless which had recently been in- stalled upon our boat. Well, I baited my hook and, after offering a prayer, in which I asked that the fish which I hooked should not be strong enough to jerk me clear down to the bottom of the lake, cast in. Four hours later, I wuz very glad that I had made that praver, for it surely was answered to a t. That is, the fish that I hooked was not strong enough to jerk me into the lake. In fact, I was willing for a good fight with any fish about that time. I said so to Jeff, too. Jeff had an ingrown grouch that dav. ' cauz when I says, Look out, Jefne, or that whale you hooked will knock a plank off the hull, he turned and beaned me with an oar. I dodged his second attempt an ' swung my line around ' till it just hooked right into Jeff ' s coat collar. Then I jumped up real quick to jar the boat and before he could recover his balance, I vanked on my line. Jeff knocked a hole in t p lake as big as the entrance to Mammoth cave. I didn ' t send out no S. O. S., but I warped the cable around the bowsprit and manned the oars. I mad° a record in towin ' Teff into the boathouse. Of course, I had to do a little reconnoitering about the harbor before making dock, so as to avoid any possible mine or submarine. However, when I finally did enter the harbor, the whole lakeside population was on hand to welcome me. I heard one old duffer yell: That ' s the first fish I ' ve seen taken out o ' that lake in twenty year. One fellow had a pair of fish scales on hand to weigh the shark. However, owing to the high cost of living and the war in Germany, I didn ' t hesitate any to gather statis- tics. I simply imitated the Flying Squadron in Retreat, and started on a bee-line for the tall timber. Two days later, I made an attempt to return to the hotel, but I saw a man who looked familiar, settin ' on the hotel steps, with a shot-gun across his lap. Every little while he would look up towards the gravevard on the hill and sigh real hungry like. A little ways past the hotel, I saw an under- taker ' s wasron under a tree and the driver sittin ' back on the seat asleep. It was a quiet seen 3 . In fact, too durn quiet for yours truly. A Trip to Masoma. We ' re off for a trip to Masoma ' Club, At Stinson, manv Miles away, It ' s a Newhouse with a Si ackhouse. Whey they will Leiss, they say. And since we feared at Cald rwood, Our slipping feet would Meyer, We took both Buss and little Ford, And now we ' ll never tire. An Auer-bach we passed the gate. Where we had to drop our Tol-in. And now we ' ve almost reached the lane, Where we shall gaily bowl in. We ' re at the door; Fleck off the dust. And Neal with eye Wright at the Locke, For Masoma is Fuller of maidens fair Than lightning is of Shock. Do you think if we ' d Foster our graces, They ' d open wide the door! 1 What good is a peep-hole 5 We want to get in, And we want it Moore and Moore.

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10 THE BOOSTER The B° oster published weekly by The Pupils of Manual Training High School Entered as second-class matter March 30, 1912 at Indianapolis, Indiana, under act of March 3, 1879 INDIANA POLIS, INDIANA 10 cents per copy VOL. XII No. 6 and 7 Ready Friday, May 28, 1915 EDITORIAL BOARD Robert G. Barnhill Editor-in-Chief Sidney S. Aronson Asst. Editor-in-Chief Helene E. Sawyer Magazine Editor Atlee Slentz, Mildred Hein, Assts. Ruth Jasper Academic Editor Marie Mueller, Assistant Halford Udell Science Editor Charles Wagoner, Assistant Charlotte Jacobs Art Editor Robert Whipkus Athletic Editor Mable McHugh, Owen Conrad, Assts. STAFF John Adkans, Iva Beem, Floyd Beitman Gladys Benson, George Bischoff, John Brayton Eugenia Clark, Paul Draper, Clifford Foltz Florence Fullen, Constance Gaynor, Calvin Ger- lach, Fred Glossbrenner, Raymond Freeman Irma Gulley, Robert Hatfield, Prentice Hughel Lillian Jones, Forrest McAlpin, Naomi McKis sich, Kenneth Magers, Norma Merrill, Ross Mullin, Elizabeth Moore, Ralph Proctor, Lavina Riddle, Russell Secrest, Harold Stewart, Gerald Watson, Marie Whitney, Taylor O ' Bold, Charles Rohrman, Manley Spouse. BUSINESS STAFF John C. Davis Business Manager Everett Dunn, Haskle Kersey, Gertrude Link, Margaret McRoberts, Mildred Willey, Assistants. Miss Eleanor P. Wheeler, E. H. Kemper Mc- Comb, Karll Von Ammerman Faculty Advisors. OFFICES :: :: ROOM 26 Au Revoir When this issue of the Booster reaches the hands of the subscribers, the dust will already be accumulating on the desks of the various editors. Never again will the present editorial board publish an issue of the paper. Six of the editors graduate this June, and the seventh will not be connected with the paper next year. This issue is the farewell number. During the school year the various editors have endeavored to improve the Booster in every respect. Wheth- er they have succeeded or not can best be answered by the subscribers. At any rate the paper has not lacked variety: A Halloween number, a Christmas number, an athletic num- ber, a yellow-journalist number, and a senior number. Never before in the history of the paper have so many special numbers been published. To the many loyal students who have been instrumental in making the Booster a success this year, the pa- per extends a vote of thanks. As many of these friends will graduate in June, the Booster editors combine in urging those pupils who remain to support the paper again next year. Let the motto of the Roines Club, slightly changed, be that of the Boost- er supporters in the future: All to- gether, all the time for a greater M. T. H. S. Booster. — R. G. B. Best Of All. We ' ve printed many Boosters here, Of every color, kind, and size, And though we have enjoyed them all This Senior one ' bove all we prize. We liked the Christmas issue, ' course, With all its lively cheer; It helped us think of childhood days And gave us thoughts so dear. And when in basket ball we won The pink Booster came out; Each nose was hid behind the page Of that, there is no doubt. The yellow journal, too, we thought Was just agoin ' some. The jokes and stories made us laugh For several weeks to come. But best of all these Boosters Is this that you now hold, And it ' s good points and merits In words cannot be told. If you wonder why we praise it And boast it to the skies, Just look and see who put it out — Why, ' twas the Seniors, wise! They made it not for them alone But for the school and you, ' Cause they remembered that some day You ' d be a Senior, too; They thought it would inspire you And let you clearly see That a Manual Training Senior Is the greatest thing to be. So if you get discouraged now Just look at this issue And ' member that some day you ' ll be A joyful Senior, too. — Ruth Jasper.

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12 THE BOOSTER HER KID-BROTHER vs. CUPID m By Robert G. Barnhill Smith ' s was agog with the usual after-theatre crowd. Here and there I caught glimpses of celebrities: Au- thors, actors, journalists, poets, and musicians. A veritable sea of happy, animated faces gleamed on every side. The fragrance of Hanavas drifted at times across my nostrils, and the tinkle of ice-filled glasses completely banished all thoughts of the swelter- ing streets below. Dress-suited wait- ers, with heaping trays balanced on skillful fingers, scurried along the nar- row aisles between rows of wicker tables. A low hum of many voices, now and then accented by a peal of gay laughter, pervaded the room: above all sounded the mellow tunes of the little Hungarian orchestra in the alcove. I viewed the scene with a rising sense of irritation: I was alone — com- pletely alone in one of the largest cities in the world — New York. Yet, what else could I expect? An ab- sence of ten years from the city of one ' s birth is certainly a sufficient ex- cuse for the failure of old friends to recognize the returned wanderer. Be- sides, I had added weight to my one- time slender figure, and also my mus- tache changed the appearance of my face in no small degree. Then, too, my skin, browned by the sun of Italy, added to my changed appearance. No, I had no just cause for irritation. Friendships are only kept alive by continual companionship. Ten years, however, had marked no change in Smith ' s. The alcove, the balcony with its load of palms, the tables, the paintings, and the quaint old clock at the landing of the stairs vouched mutely for that. Then, too, there was that well-remembered, sol- emn-faced, old head-waiter standing in his accustomed place iust outside of the entrance. When I saw his fa- miliar face, I was almost tempted to throw dignity to the winds, and to seize his hand in a good, old-fash- ioned, American hand-clasp! I glanced toward the secluded cor- ner where our table had been — the one where we — Helen and I — had had so many joyous dinners. It was still there in apparently the same spot. Stranger still, it was not occupied, in spite of the fact that the head-waiter had apologetically turned several cou- ples from the door. The sight of that one deserted table amid the gayety of the garden awakened all the memories that had lain dormant through all the past years. The events following that last after-theatre supper flashed into my mind. Prompted into action be- cause Freddie Cole, a former college chum, had lately been paying marked attention to Helen, I had asked her to be my wife. As my eye rested upon the table in the corner, I imagined that I could again hear her low- pitched, hesitant reply: Tomorrow I shall send you my answer, a telegram if I honor your offer — your ring if I don ' t. I absently fingered the fatal ring that had encircled my finger since that morning ten years ago, and idly won- dered whether she and Cole were happy. A hand fell rudely upon my shoul- der. You old pirate, bawled a voice, where have you been all of these years? I turned and confronted the subject of my meditation — Freddie Cole. I say, continued Cole, you ' re looking fine and — a trifle enviously — you ' ve made quite a name for your- self. I ' ve read your latest book. It ' s a dandy. Thanks, I said dryly, with a ques- tioning glance at his two feminine companions. Their cheeks were a shade too rosy, and their hair a trifle too wavy. Cole wrongly glance. Come and join We ' ll talk over old won ' t mind. I was about to when I suddenly loneliness. Here was someone with whom I could talk. To be sure, un- der other circumstances I would have refused, but — I was lonely. interpreted my us, he invited, times. The ladies refuse abruptly, remembered my