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

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All day Spot and his new found mate roamed the streets cooing like two newly mated doves. They strolled through all the alleys, and at noon they feasted at a very nice school, but refused all coaxing to go into the school rooms by rewarding the coaxers with the sight of two highly held Httle tails marching away. About three o ' clock that afternoon they minced once more towards the street on which they had first met. As they reached the corner they heard a deep, bass growl. Wheeling about they came face to face with a massive bulldog. At the sight of him Fluff was terrified. Spot was imme- diately in front of Fluff all set to ward off the attacks of the enemy. Inside. Spot was really quaking but outwardly he was a regular fighter. He repelled several of the attacks of the enemy, but after a bit he was down, and the bulldog walked off with the glamorous Fluff, who after seeing Spot beaten, had sent him a withering scornful glance and had gone happily by the side of Nig, the bulldog. About nine that night a battle-scarred, trembling, heart-broken, little dog crept in the Scott ' s woodshed. When he was let out the next morning he was fed and caressed as much as possible. He never forgot his humilia- tions and never ran away again. Peggy Booth. FOOTBALL IMPRESSIONS A clear blue sky with just a few fluffy white clouds here and there. The white of the huge stadium against the brown of the hills that roll back of it. Eager, red-cheeked crowds dressed in sport clothes thronging the entrance. The tang in the air that early fall brings, a tang of gay colored leaves, wind-swept valleys and curling smoke. Now the laughing crowds are in their places. The bands march in and the teams run out, their jerseys making a bright splash of color on the green field. The people cheer their favorite team. The kickoff . Thrilling plays are made. The people on the edges of their seats cheer lustily. The end of the half. Boys in white coats pass among the crowds selling the familiar peanuts and candy. The second half is on. More excellent plays. The score — o to o. One minute to play. Suddenly one of our players makes a breakneck dash for the goalpost. Suspense. He sidesteps another player and dashes forward again and the gam.e is over. People swarm down over the field congratulating the players and the hero of the day. The bands play All Hail as the sun sinks behind the rim of the stadium. The players march out. The tired but happy throngs mill after. Great game, they shout to one another. The stadium stands silent as evening shadows creep over it, waiting for the next game. Ruth Hurt, Low Nine.

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Mr. Cimbell answered briskly, tut, tut, my boy, it was worth it. And he thrust the check into the boy ' s unwilHng hand. Then Mr. Cimbell looked at the boy keenly, Have you a job? he asked. No, replied Mervin, I haven ' t. Well, said Mr. Cimbell, I have been looking for an assistant to my bookkeeper. So you want the job? It ' s only thirty-five dollars a week, but it could do for a start. All Mervin could do when he got outdoors again was to thank his lucky stars that the pawnshop had been closed. Patricia Bowman, HigJj Nine. SPOT ' S HUMILIATION Put him in the woodshed, came the fatal sentence in Mother Scott ' s stern voice, so Johnny picked Spot up with a gentle hand and put him in the woodshed. Unaccustomed to the darkness Spot gave vent to his feelings with a very ungentlemanly howl. Was it his fault if little sister left the parlor door open and he had some fun with the drapes and the cutest little pottery cat? Here the thought changed as he recalled the fun of the three hours just passed that had rewarded him with a sound spanking and the disgrace- ful dumping of him, the best looking dog in the neighborhood, in the woodshed. Jurruph! Maybe the fact that there was some way of freeing himself crossed his mind as he turned to the nearest wall and started digging. A ray of light finally rewarded his frantic efforts. A few more hasty scratches and he was free, but no longer was he the best looking dog in the neighborhood. He was now the dirtiest dog for miles around. Trotting over to the fish- pond he plunged in and cleaned himself, and then jumped out, shook him- self as dry as possible, and was on his way. Free at last, he took it upon himself to wander over the town and see the sights. Thus that morning the people on their way to work were honored by having an inquisitive, bright, little fox terrier trotting after them. His bright eyes were taking in every happening and his cocked ears not only lent him a saucy look, but allowed him to hear every sound. Finally tiring of this, Spot turned to the residential section where after half an hour of meaningless prattle with every strange dog, his bright eyes took a sudden bulgy look as he glanced upon a ladylike Pomeranian picking her way down the street with dainty steps. Leaving his new made friends he walked across the street and made a few gentlemanly sniffs and was rewarded with a distinct rolling of two eyes in his direction and a dainty toss of his lady ' s fluffy brown head. After a few nose rubs, they continued on down the street together. Even Spot and Fluff admitted they were the best looking couple on the street.

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Ferry Noises Oh, the racket on the ferry when the cars begin to start. To distinguish one ' s oivn thoughts amid the din is quite an art, There ' s the loud and raucous crackling of the little old tin Ford, (It takes all one ' s Vocal power to get in one single word ). And the loiu melodious purring of the elegant sedans, (With all the noise it sounds like someone beating on tin pans) And when they start to honk their horns in getting off the boat, The noise is just enough to split your head and get your goat. There ' s the shrill and high-up chatter of tin lizzies and their kind, And the low deep-throated clatter of the trucks that are behind; There ' s the loud insistent bleating of the stately limousines. And the sporty roadsters ' bugles, hailing men of wealthy means. Oh, the racket on the ferry ivhen the people go ashore. As they honk their horns in screaming notes, to make that deafening roar. Betty Lou Howard Low Nine. Autiiinn Thoughts I The leaves are falling from the trees; Gone are the busy humming bees. The north wind luhistles as it blows; The crops are in, dusk ' s fire glows. II The pumpkins on the dark earth lie; As gaily children scamper by. The turkeys strut and corn stalks blow; As if expecting luinter snow. Faith Franklin, High Fight. The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe (Gordon Harding ' s version) There was an ancient adult human female, who Fstablished her domicile in a buskin or shoe. So numerous were her descendants, vociferous too. She but feebly determined what course to pursue. So she nourished her genera, both branch and root. With fluid from the flesh of a vertebrate brute. Quite unaccompanied by portions of the staff of l ife, And then in desperation, the distracted old ivife. She castigated them effectually, promptly arose. And dispatched them, weeping, to a couch of repose. Gordon Harding, Low Seven.