Garfield Junior High School - Gleaner Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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spring in the Embryo Feathery green tree, Background against the dijfident blue of the sky. Plebeian sparroivs chirp coarsely. A sprig of greenery pokes shy around the red brick luall, Clothing the soft red brick, Looping loosely around it. And entwines it, lovingly. The air hums absently, Considering abstract problems. A bird of doubtful origin and dusty, bedraggled feathers, Lights upon a telephone wire. Another darts beside him; They chat sociably. Then fly erratically aiuay. The air hums, Takes to itself rare perfume. Becomes laden ivith nectar, drugged with incense. The sun ivarms everything — . — Joel Lee, High Nine. NEVER AGAIN Say, have you ever ridden in an aeroplane, Gertie? No? Well, take my advice and don ' t do it! Why, it ' s worth your life, such as it is. I went for a ride in one of those infernal bird affairs yesterday morning and have just now gotten up. I thought I would collapse if I dared to trust myself on my feet even for one minute. When we were over the lake I walked up to our pilot. I asked him what would happen if something went wrong in the engine. He said to me, ' Lady, we ' d never hear of you again. ' And then he said. And if a wing should fall off, you ' d never live to see my beaming countenance again. ' Then he made an awful grimace at me and told me to ' go sit down, ' I might fall out of the window! Imagine! Speak- ing to me like that! After that he proceeded to do a lot of summersaults with that bird of his. I was on the floor on my face half of the time! See my nose? It ' s all black and blue. What a man! — Phyllis Wisecarver, High Nine.

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Pa grew to be quite fond o ' him, Ma loved him on the sly; Sis showed him off to all her friends, While pride glowed in her eye. One day he gamboled on the tracks, A train came whizzin ' past; I screamed to him in terror, But poor ' ' Chris had breathed his last! Sis locked the door of her bedroom, And her eyes ivere red, that night; Pa couldn ' t read his paper, And complained of the awful light. Ma cried ivhile gettin ' supper. The smoke was fierce, she said. But I missed him more ' n they did, ' Cause he slept with me in bed. — Jane Malmgren, High Nine. MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY— GOOD-BYE I TRACE MY ANCESTRY back to the English, As a matter of fact, I was hving when the Mayflower sailed. You human beings who boast of having ancestors who came over on it have nothing on me. I came over on it my- self. When I was a boy, I didn ' t like my long name, God-be-with-you, so I shortened it to Good-bye. Much better, don ' t you think? My father and mother, Fare-well and Adieu, came from fine blood. Although I am used generally now, I was known by my old name until I was nearly a young man. My mother, Adieu descended from the French. My father, Fare- well, descended from the Anglo-Saxon. He used to have another name like mine only it was Fare-you-well, which means go-you-well, but he, like me, changed it. I guess it runs in the family. I think I shaU have to change my name again, or name my son, So Long, See-you-later, Toodle-loo, or some one of these slang names by which you call me. This would be a disgrace to my family, as we have permitted only good blood to enter it, and I fear this would mar our good record. I would rather be called by my old name, God-be-with-you, than any of the afore mentioned names. Take pity on a poor, abused, word! — Mary E. Rieber, Loic Nine.

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THE MAN WITH THE BLACK SATCHEL Edward C. Johnson was spending a week with his uncle, Mr. John J. Brinkwater, at his home in Fairview Highlands. Ed walked down the stairs toward the garden, but he stopped before he was halfway down. He heard a man say, Be sure not to let any one know about this. Remember to be here at 9 : i 5 o ' clock this evening. Mr. Brinkwater will not be here then. He then saw a mysterious man with a black satchel leave the grounds. When he saw his uncle alone the next time, he told him what he had heard and seen. Well, it looks like someone is planning to rob us, said Mr. Brink- water, but I never would have thought that Henry would do such a thing. Ed commented, Do you think we can go to the Brown ' s and then come back and catch the robber in the act? My friend, Mr. Burns, the detective, may be able to help us in this. That evening they went ot the Brown ' s house, but they did not stay. They and Mr. Burns went to the house next door to Mr. Brinkwater ' s house. They waited till they were very weary. Finally, the butler came out of the door and looked around. He then signaled to the man with the black satchel who went into the house. Later, Mr. Burns, Ed, and his uncle quietly went into the house. As they went up the stairs they heard a bang — the sound of a heavy piece of metal falling on the floor. Mr. Burns, with gun drawn, stepped into the room. Mr. Brinkwater and Ed followed him. To their amazement the butler was standing by the door very much startled. The other man had just removed part of the floor heater and was reaching down into it. The black satchel was lying by his side with a crowbar, wrench, and several other tools in it. How can you explain this? demanded Mr. Brinkwater. I — er — ah — well, it was this way. I dropped your favorite pipe in the floor heater. I didn ' t want you to know about it so I had the plumber come when you weren ' t here. — Fred Wood, Low Nine. The Brooklet Rushing and gushing down the glen , Swirling and twirling ' round tJoe bend, Singing and ringing o ' er roctiy rill, Wanders tloe brootdet, down tloe hill. Lying tJoere in a pool so still. Now hurrying, scurrying toiuards tJje mill, Then out in the sunshine, and past the mill. Wanders the brooldet, down the hill. — Betty Garges.