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

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Homeward Bound The roaring brook rns oed madly, Doivn to the wide spread sea, It gurgled and gushed and leaped In seeming joyous glee. It reached the first line breakers And mingling in the foam It nestled in the curling crests, Where at last it found its home. — Jane Armitage, High Seven. BELIEVE IT OR NOT! Gone! Gone! The words raced through my brain hke a cyclone. With icy fingers I clutched the bed for support. My throat was dry; I almost choked. They can ' t be, the words stumbled out of my mouth and formed the sentence. Over and over again I repeated it while the real truth kept pounding in my head hke a hammer. Once more I glanced at the small, black, leather box, but only the smooth, white satin lining of the box greeted my searching eye. It was true! The fear that had seized me only five minutes before had given way to reality. The jewels were stolen! After regaining my composure I searched frantically in every nook and cranny in a vain attempt to recover the beautiful diamond necklace. The search was for naught! I could scarcely comprehend this astounding acknowledgement. I stumbled blindly out of the cabin to get a breath of fresh, salt air. The motion of the boat sickened me. I felt giddy. I swayed mechanically as I groped my way to the rail. A small, dark ob- ject darted across my path causing me to stumble. The catastrophe, which might have happened, didn ' t occur as a Mr. Randall, a passenger on the ship, passing by at the crucial moment, steadied my arm and aided me to regain my footing. Mr. Randall gallantly tipped his hat and pointedly smiled at me. I looked around to see what had caused the disturbance. To my astonishment I saw the retreating figure of my pet monkey, Jocket, disappear around a corner. I could not suppress a giggle as I recalled the timely appearance of my benefactor. Then I recalled his apparent joviality. Something mysterious lurked beneath his mask of friendliness. This little incident, unimportant as it was, brought me down to earth with a bang and left me with a mind clear for action. The next most logical thing to do was to confide in Captain Whalton, explain the entire situation, and take his advice as to the next step to recover my stolen jewels. Tremblingly I walked up the stairs and knocked on a door. Large

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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.

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gilded letters, forming the word Captain, stood in sharp contrast with the heavy oak door. In answer to my knock Captain Whalton admitted me to his office. Captain Whalton was a large, portly man, having iron gray hair and a moustache. His Irish blue eyes were shaded by gray, thick eyebrows. The impression was altogether favorable. After relating my complete story. Captain Whalton ' s face relaxed into a quizzical smile. I shall certainly do my utmost to solve this most baffling mystery, again his smile broadened. Now this Mr. Randall is but an acquaintance of mine. I have never had any reason to mistrust him; however, he will be closely watched. I deem it advisable to let the matter be kept from the public until we have a more definite light on the situation. The remainder of today will be spent to good advantage by my detectives. I am quite sure that your jewels will soon be located. In the event that they are not, however, we shall be right on the job, his blue eyes twinkled, his delightful smile spread across his face, lining it with merry wrinkles. Confident and hoping that my worries would soon be over, I returned to my cabin with a somewhat buoyant step. Opening the door, Icarelesslv glanced into the room. My face froze; then the ice broke. I cannot recall how long I stood in the doorway and laughed. Jocket was sitting on my dressing table coyly powdering her face and daintily fingering the beautiful diamond necklace around her neck. Elaine West, Low Nine. The Butterfly As down the garden patio I strolled, I sail ' upon tloe wall, A little loome of fairy mould, Wloich lay, so still and small. So day by day I watched it th ere, Until at last I saw ' . Instead of ugly greyish ivalls, A thing to fill with awe! A butterfly with painted wings. Upon a leaf nearby. Had left the now deserted home. Out in the world to fly. — Marjorie Larmour, High Eight.