George E Westinghouse High School - Sketch Book Yearbook (Pittsburgh, PA)

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--la-1 The Sketch B00k -on Martina N an Amish-Dutch settlement near New Castle, Pennsylvania, some years ago, one might have seen a small, dark-haired Amish girl in the Vaughledt house or moving restlessly about the plain yard. Although she was clad in the severe habit of her sect, Martina's piquant face with its crown of almost black hair distinguished her from the usual pink and white Amish girl. She was, in the eyes of the self-righteous farmers, a sinful girl. She would not go to the meeting house unless so inclined, and what was more, Martina danced. This little rebel had, however, one secret admirer, old Peter Vengehl, great uncle to nearly every young person in the settlement. The aged man well remem- bered the brave little French grandmother who had often told him fanciful tales and had crooned little French songs to him when his parents were not about. He saw reflected in Martina the grace and loveliness of her ancestor. One warm spring day after a hard winter Martina stood alone in a little clearing separated from the house by a grove of trees. The Vaughledt family had gone to a funeral, leaving Martina free for a whole afternoon. As she gazed happily about her, she swayed gently back and forth, and then as she grew more and more exultant, she danced a wild dance of freedom as though her soul were released from suppression. Her full skirt of gray cotton material she lifted from the ground to free her quickly moving feet. At the height of the dance, feeling eyes watching her, she turned abruptly, and, as she did so, two women stepped into the clearing. One was small and grace- ful, while the other was sweet and motherly. Martina recognized the latter as a woman to whom her father sold butter and eggs. 'KAre you one of the Vaughledts? she asked. I am Mrs. Martin from New Castle and this is my friend, Mademoiselle La Grise. I have come for my butter and-H Ahl Marief' said Mademoiselle with a gesture ofimpatience, forget your butter and eggs. I want to see this child dance. VVill you? she turned to Mar- tina eagerly. Martina was amazed and very shy, but Mademoiselle soon put her at her ease. She stepped into the clearing and began to dance, timidly at first, then wildly, hauntingly. Jeanne La Grise Watched her, noting the lovely face alight with joy. Finally, Martina stopped, breathless, her diffidence overcoming her again. Mademoiselle thanked her and asked her questions about her life. In her answers Martina unwittingly revealed her dislike fer her drab existence. When the three went to the house to get the neglected butter and eggs, they found that Martina's father and old Peter Vaughledt had returned early from the funeral. Mademoiselle very delicately broached the subject of taking Martina to New York with her, but Mr. Vaughledt's slow mind stubbornly persisted that Martina was good Amish girl and she stay on farm. It was Uncle Peter who unexpectedly pleaded and won Martina's case. That night an old Amish man and a speechless girl sat side by side in the great Syrian Temple at New Castle while the famous dancer, Mademoiselle La Grise, Hitted back and forth on the large stage. The next morning the same old man helpedf Lhe same wondering girl into the train and charged Mademoiselle to take care o er. Some two months later, an announcer stepped forward on a well-lighted stage of a ball-room in New York and said, On account of an accident this afternoon Twelve ---an e 1928 ee 1-9--

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'-4-- l 1 The Sketch Book T f e'- -t a Poems I and jf? ras C 3, ..g, ' XQQ, I :fl A W 1 F ear R. SMITHERS, the eminent biological chemist, had arrived in the city. An upper classman informed me that our psychology professor had arranged an interview for me with the doctor in order that I might obtain some material to be used in a treatise on the work of a fear-ridden brain. He told me that the professor was staying at the home of one of his colleagues in order that some vital experi- ments might not be interrupted. As I was ushered in to the great man's study, he curtly asked me to be seated. He was bent over some foul smelling stuff that emitted red fumes. Suddenly, he became very nervous, so nervous in fact that he could not re- main standing in one position. As is the custom with some experimenters when in the midst of their work, he began to mumble brokenly to himself as if he had become demented. He turned and sharply demanded that I approach him. He then told me to remove my coat and bare one arm. I did not know what to do. I could not cry out, for the very air stifled me. Compelled by his commanding personality, I did as he demanded, even going so far as to hold my arm out to him. The biologist confirmed my fears by filling a hypodermic syringe with the liquid in the retort. He reached out to prick my arm as though I were some animal on which he was testing a new cure. VVhat was I to do? My voice re- turned, but I was calmly informed that there was no one in the house but us. I turned to run from the room, but the biologist pounced on me and forced me back into his study. YVith demoniacal strength he pulled me to his work bench. He picked up the syringe and put it above my arm. VVith a downward swoop it bit into my flesh and its contents rushed into my blood, sending a searing pain up in my arm. I slipped into black oblivion. Some time later, asI regained consciousness, I could see a ring of grinning faces. They assured me that my initiation into Alpha Alpha Kappa had been very successful. The bogus professor had injected only colored water into my arm. Fear, as I found, is a controlling influence. JOHN -I. STUBBS, '28 Eleven ...,., I 1 1928 --- . ..,,..

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---Q--de ,The sketch I300k ?-i f in which our scheduled dancer, Mademoiselle La Grise injured her ankle, she will not be able to dance tonight. However, Hhe continued tonelessly, 'Kshe has provid- ed us with her new understudyf' The audience sat back and sighed with disappointment. VVhen a dainty figure appeared on the stage, the people sat up a little more interest. Martina began to dancedslowly, like a feather wafted by a gentle breeze. Her light, gauzy rose gown floated mistily about her slender figure. Then the dance became more animated and her gown swirled and billowed. Fin- ally the orchestra stopped-and Martina was gone. The audience, which had become more and more thrilled, sank back with an audible sigh, and then all burst into wild applause. They clapped again and again, but behind the scenes poor, frightened Martina clung to her disabled guardian, Mademoiselle, and could not be induced to appear again. Thus was Martina released from suppression and ostracized by her people and thus was one of the countryls greatest entertainers introduced to the stage. JANE BUCK, '29 uquup.. The International House-Painter AIRY tales do happen these days. You cannot boldly set out with a sword and and expect to unearth hidden treasures in a secret cave, nor can you expect to behead great giants and thereby gain a princess and a kingdom. But often an insignificant human being suddenly gains fame and success in just as romantic a way as Cinderella did. This is a fairy story that really happened. Pittsburgh, a great art and in- dustrial center, became the cynosure of many eyes, for this city was the proud host to the International Art Exhibition. Expert art critics had selected the paintings to be exhibited in the Carnegie galleries. Everyone was anxious to know which of the many noted contributors would receive the honor of displaying his work. VVhen the opening day came, the President of the United States led the oliicial party in reviewing the pictures. Every piece of work but one bore the name of some well-known painter. Because of a growing curiosity concerning the identity of the unknown artist, a committee was to send his address. Strange as it may seem, they found him in a little ramshackle house down in the poorer section of the city. He was a common house painter-but I think he must have had an uncommon genius, too. They compared his style with that of Theodore Rousseau, the great French artist, but the poor fellow probably never had heard of him. To- day he is prosperous, and fame is smiling on him. His fortune is made, and suc- cess is literally following him like a shadow. It really is not impossible, then, to have an honest-to-goodness fairy story come to life right beside you. CATHERINE KEPPEL , ,28 Thirteen --Qui .li,- 7 Af 1 9 2 8 :A--, ,,g,..