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

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:Qu 1928 .-X few days more, our high school life must endg Our varied ways before us now extendg That peace and honor may our lives attend, W'e ask Thy grace. Our journey here was mingled joy and paing W'e leave it never to Come back againg That these four years may not have passed in vain, Wle ask Thy grace. The school we leave has been to us most dearg So, as into the time to come we peer, That it may grow and prosper year by year, Wle ask Thy grace. Our severed paths we each must seek aloneg W'hatever Chance or fate to us is shown, That Thy great strength may still uphold our own W'e ask Thy grace. -lrhe sketch HOXXTAARD Pos'rc.A'i'i5, T28 NQIEIQ-. If If raindrops were diamonds Wle wouldnlt wear jewelsg And icicles, sabres W'e'd have lots of duels. If sunflowers warmed us W'e wouldn't want heatg If snowflakes were sugar W'e'd like nothing sweet. W'ere water expensive W'e'd all have a thirstg W'ere balloons of cast iron, Weld want them to burst. HARRIET HlfI,I3Ell'l', '28 Seventeen 13.555-ii5?+- I' 7'f' 19 2 8 1 f' W ' ,-aging

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--4-f The Sketch B00 ..g... signs of being a poor man, but still he had walked up-right. Here he was, however, with a white beard and with crutches. The singer concluded that the beggar had been in an accident, which was true. As he passed the old man, he heard, Howard,', in a strangely familiar voice. Oh! It could not be! But perhaps! It was impossible! He had now been dead for over live years. VVelton turned to the man and offered his assistance. No, again the voice brought back recollections, not with money. But please, may I be permitted to hear you sing? Only once. Wlill you grant me this? What a peculiar wish,'! thought Howard Welton. Then he answered, Of course, come in with me. Choose any seat except the box seats, for they are reserved. Instead of taking an orchestra seat, the cripple went slowly up the stairs to the balcony, where he chose an end seat in the front row. Again thought the singer, What a peculiar man. Perhaps he feels out of place down here, dressed as he is. The program opened with several orchestral selections followed by the popular singer. Each song was applauded more and more. As the final encore, he an- nounced he would sing a song that had been taught to him by his father before the latter's death. Everyone remembered the death of Howard Welton, Senior. His body had been recovered on a train track badly mangled and would have remained un- identifled had it not been for a card bearing his name. The audience was hushed. At the end, no one applauded, the song had touched them deeply. In the balcony, however, the stranger arose slowly, ex tended his arms upward and in a choking voice cried, 'KGod bless you, my-sonf' The next instant the man fell across the railing, the ushers preventing his falling to the first floor. The audience was in a turmoil! Everyone had heard the exclamation, My sonln The cry had carried over to the singer, who rushed from the stage, his fears justified. He elbowed his way through the crowd into the emergency room, knelt at the side of the couch, gathering the frail body into his arms, and with tears streaming down his cheek, sobbed, Dad, oh, Dad! Speak to me, please! In a weak voice, the father related how he had struggled with his assailant and had crawled from the tracks as the train came shrieking forward. The body found had been the thug's. The card probably had dropped from Welton's pocket during the tussle. But dad, why didn't you return home? inquired the son, kissing the worn face of his father. The dying man gasped faintly, Do not think that I cruelly deserted you. I had to go. I had done wrong-what it was does not matter now. The death of the thug made it possible -more faintly he spoke- for me-to-bury- myself. I-have watched your career- -Forgive- --. His story ended in a whisper. Breathing heavily, he whispered again, For- give and closed his eyes. MARGARET PAGANI, '28 Sixteen ...,.. 1928 i- - ig...

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1w The Skgtgh Bg0k Eighteen To a Daisy Quaint little daisy, so Winsome, demure, Lifting your chalice of gold to the sun, Making the light of the sunbeam so poor That shamed, it returns with its duty undone. VVorn little daisy, so drooping and dead, The golden glow gone from your face sadly sweetg- So, with the storm has our own beauty Hed, And left us, bewildered, hurt souls incomplete. HELEN JENKINS, '28 ugjnlgy.. Your Brother Does your brother give you his trousers to press, And his socks with huge holes in the heels? Does he ask you to find and sew buttons on shirts, And make numberless other appeals? Mine does! Does your brother write just the briefest of notes VVhen youlre dying for news of his team? Does he mention the prom and fraternity pins W'ith never a touch of esteem? Mine does! At Christmas, does your brother hand you a check Instead of a gift with a card? Does he brag of his room-mate, but never suggest That you might want to meet his best pard? Mine does! Does your brother lend you some cash when you're broke, And forget if itls never returned? Does he give you a grin when you feel pretty low, And build up the bridges you've burned? Mine does! And when you're in bad with the rest of the world, Does your brother stand by and smile? Does he buck up your courage and give you the strength To show them you're really worth-while? Mine does! lVIARY MCFADDEN, ,28 dn ge 1928 L