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

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Tfwcnty 'ly l' 1, Y H' Masters of Art Some girls of today are artistic: They've studied their paints from the start. Though few seek diplomas from VVellesley, All aim to be masters of art. In each dresser drawer that's opened Are numerous boxes and jars Of powders, rouges and lipsticks- Such stuff that must make, or it mars. In this type of art as in others, Professional painters are rareg And she who would make herself pretty Must know how to handle with care. For facial expressions are ruined By plucking the eyebrows too thin And leaving fine lines on the forehead To show where thick eyebrows have been. Now faces, they say, have the power Our innermost thought to impart. We'd better intrust them to nature. Ol' else IJCCOITIC l'1'l21StCl'S of aft. E I i::a.b Suppose I am a queen with jeweled crown, With regal court and gorgeous gown, With noble birth of great renown- All this, you know, is just suppose. I am an idol of the screen, The center of its vivid sheen, With world-wide fame at seventeen- All this. you know, is just suppose. I am a very puzzled girl, Confused as joy and sorrow twirl Me quite about in life's swift whirl- And this. of course, is not suppose. efh Piuckney Elfisabcflz Sfru0'z10 - 'Y in 1,71 ig' 1 -1-'. 'Y

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1.7 -r .4351- Sf ,-ar- J .Y Suddenly a step on the stairs startled her. Who could it bel She knew she was the only one in the house. Who is there ? she called in terror as her eyes tried to penetrate the semi- darkness. No answer. Another step! Then another and nearer! Suddenly a chill breath extinguished her candle. Screaming, she ran up the steps and out of the house to the field. Marial cried her mother, You look like a ghost. INhat is the matter ? There are spirits in the house, panted Maria. It is but your imagination. No, no, I heard them. They blew my candle out. Together they hurried back to the cantineg lo, it was Hooded with rich red wine. Maria, in her fright, had forgotten to close the spigot. By all the saints in heaven, cried Donna Angela, Is there no end to the curses upon us! In the middle of that night Don Eduardo wakened with a start. He strained his ears. every nerve a-tingle. A muffled step approached the head of his bed. Who is there P he shouted. ' No answer. But in the darkness he felt a presence leaning over him. He leaped to his feet and lighted a match, but a cold breath over his shoulder blew it out. Don Eduardo was a brave man, but now his courage failed him. Carefully he lighted a candle and peered into every corner. No one was in the room as far as he could see. Did you hear anything, Angela F Yes, she whispered, I am afraid. He returned to bed and waited sleepless as night passed into morning, but nothing else unusual happened. The next night they were again wakened by muffled steps. A door slammed in the hall. Surely there is some one in the house, moaned Donna Angela. Suddenly a white figure appeared. Slowly it approached them with an ac- cusing outstretched hand: Don Felipe passes, what about my masses ? Don Eduardo and his wife were almost paralyzed with fear. Nearer and nearer it came until it almost touched them. Then Angela screamed, Yes, yes. In the morning! Instantly it vanished. Angela, Angela! accused Don Eduardo, You are a good wife and mother but a poor keeper of promises. What in the name of heaven made you fail to arrange for the masses as usual at Easter-tide P The loss of the sheep and our savings. moaned his wife. I kept putting it off until the harvest, and then came the drought. Money became scarcer and scarcer. But an oath is holy and we must fulfill it at any cost. I wonder- What ? I wonder how much of our hard luck is punishment for our negligence. Oh! wept Donna Angela. I am at fault for giving in the keeping of another my own responsibility. In the future I shall order the masses myself. After a sleepless night he hurried to the church where he paid his obligations. And again peace settled over the villa. It was a great relief to Don Eduardo when the twenty years of masses were completed. He vowed never again would he make such a promise as long as he lived. That he has kept his vow I know, for Maria is now my mother. Laura Colucci. If H KK Nineteen ,LA-f 7 ,Y .7 -,ar 'K Afavf'

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, -1 .lr- The Gold-Digger Thar ain't a single person in this wide, wide worlcl of ours Who don't have an opinion of a' place to spend his hours. Y' know, his final ones, I mean-a place to rest an' such. But whoa! I'm jest ramblin' on an' ain't a-sayin' much. Go on, you say? Wal, lissen then, an' I will tell you why I'm lonesome hyar an' out of sorts an' fool enuf to cry. A pretty home lies in th' hillsg thet little home is mine, An' yet I'm down hyar huntin' gold. Why, I'm jest a-wastin' time. 'Twar in the fall, I recolleck, thet I wuz up thar lastg Th' leaves wuz jest a turnin' like they do when SLIIIIIHCIJS past. Th' trees wuz all a-glowin' an' th' hills wuz all ablaze With yaller, red, an' golden brown. Oh, them wuz happy days! Now take out hyar: th' sun shines down, an' things is dried an' black With scorchin' heat thet goes right thru the shirt thet's on yore back- An' doesn't stop, but goes right thru an' presses on yore soul. An, bleachin' bones lie in th' sun at ev'ry water hole. I'm jest a fool fer stayin' hyar in all this heat an' sweat. Why, feller, in thet little shack's a fortune better yet Than all the gold thet's hid down hyarg an' I'm agoin' back An' end my burnt-out lifetime in th' coolness of thet shack. Herbert McCollum. The Church Service A solemn voice reverberates throughout the hall 5 VVith deep amen it halts, creating silence that Is broken not by sounds of those within the doors. With mingling of the unlike voices from the crowd And organ's thund'rous throbbing notes, the worshippers praise Their God, and give thanksgiving for the right to live. The service ends with muffled pad of many feet In harmony with meditating minds that trust In that mysterious One who reigns supreme o'er all. Adolfvll Clrfjvlix. Twenty-one 1 . 4' ' ' . .i .Ira ' :Y T-