Girls High School - Journal Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

Page 22 text:

Finally, as the room seemed fading away into oblivion and only the bright, star-like eye of his strange visitor remained fixed to his gaze, the masked man spoke in a voice that seemed to make a vast ocean of sound out of which only a word or two could be distinguished now and then. Have come from far awaylv the voice began and went on over endless rivers of sound while McArthur's tired brain tried vainly to follow his words. Into a great country- the voice went on. Here McArthur became more drowsy and, at last, as he was sinking into the delicious nothingness of oblivion, the final words of the masked figure stole into his cons'ciousness: will lead you there, and the voice ceased. McArthur turned over on his side, smiled a last weary smile, and followed the intruder to the Great Country of which he had spoken. The smile still remained on his pale face when his housekeeper and only friend, jolly Mrs. Polly Sands, entered the room and found him lying there. I FRANCES I. FRIEND, June '20. ' Q We're Like the Rest Oh, we are like the rest, And to Girls' High we're true, i Then though we were the best, Three-thirty made us blue. So thank you Dr. Scott, And Girls' High Faculty, We love you now a lot, For like the rest are we. 'T was three o'clock then, and many a sigh, A half hour more and many could die, Now three o'clock comes and sighs are no more, For at the three o'clock bell, we dash for the door. DOROTHY MORGENTHAU, '21 GEMS leigh Q: nnl I Page Twenty JDU N Ei ngtgraag

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11 , 1 -. Y Q N 1 x ff.. 'l l tl I '.--: .-Q 1 g......,.,rV - -- v I l +-.I ...,, 5 li ...,,..gi Q- ' XEQ 2 ...Xi , ll if xy sr '1 L.-Lg' ci K. XX, ' rl 3, .. H 1 C-V 7 JQ Y x, S I z l T, .. , r r l i 'ii I . ' V mx i - 1-. NA .. Why? Putting aside the novel he had been reading, Alexander McArthur turned ever on his side and looked out of the win.dow beside his couch. He was sick and fretful, when at his age he should have been strong alld healthy and enjoying himself. lt was a sultry sort of day and there was little sign. of life either up or down the long tree-bordered avenue. McArthur stretched himself and sighed wearily, and just as he was about to pick up his book again he heard the regular tattoo of a policeman's shoes against the hard cement pavement. He watched the otlicer, as he came up the street, with interest that contained not a little envy. He envied the policeman's strong, well-built body and sighed again as he thought of his own. position as a helpless invalid. ' Soon the policeman, Kelly by name, came abreast of McArthur and, seeing him peering from the window of his room on the second floor, called up to pass the time of day with the invalid. Every officer in the district had heard the story of McArthur's accident. How he had saved a little girl from being run over by a train and, in hurling her to safety, had been crippled by the engine and condemned to pain and suffering for the rest of his life. If he had been a villain of the deepest dye the punishment could not have been miore severe, but instead he was suffering merely for having done what seemed in his own eyes to be his duty. McArthur smiled a tired smile at Kelly, who went on his way wondering why a good young man like that poor McArthur was compelled to stay at home while any number of thieves and such creatures were allowed to roam around at will and incidentally to cause him a lot of trouble to keep track of them. Kelly shook his head in a puzzled manner and gave up wondering at the ways of Providence. ' After Kelly had left him, he turned away from his window in a resentful frame of mind. Suddenly he became unpleasantly aware that the door at the further end of the room was opening very slowly, almost stealthily, he thought. He wondered in a half dreamy fashion who this visitor, whose entrance was marked with such stealth, might be. , Meanwhile the visitor had fully entered the room and had advanced toward the invalid, who -suddenly noted a queer fact about his appearance. He was masked! The mask covered the upper part of his face. His eyes were dark and bright and twinkled steadily through the holes in his mask. McArthur thought they looked like twin. stars shining a long way off. The lower part of his face was uncovered showing his thin, firm lips and square, stubborn chin. But, in spite of the appearance of alertness on his face, he looked very melancholy in his severe, black suit. The intruder drew a chair up to the sick man's bedside without waiting to be asked and gazed at McArthur in a speculative manner. McArthur watched him, fascinated and yet repelled by an intangible something in the man's appear- ance. However, McArthur voiced none of the surprise that was slightly tinged with the horror which he felt, and merely awaited his visitor's pleasure to have the first word. As he waited he seemed to grow more and more drowsy, although he fought hard to keep awake. To his surprise the pain in his back and legs seemed to grow less as he became more sleepy. His horror of the man in black had fallen. away with the pain and soon he was left only humanly curious about his mysterious visitor and his purpose there in his house. G5i1tI5 leigh QIZDIJUI Zlnutitlal - J U N E, 1 9 1 9 Page Nineteen

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fsill, i1l T' A Buttercup gurl A little yellow buttercup Stood laughing in the sun, 'l ,x1'Ki X lun The grass all green around it, X Nu The summer just begun., Its saucy little head abrim 'V Ui With happiness and fun. MF Near by, grown old and gone to seed, A dandelion grew, To right and left with every breeze His snowy tresses flew, He shook his hoary head and said, I've some advice for you. Do'n.'t think because youire yellow D The golden days will last, I was as gay as you are, once, But now my youth is past. This day will be my last to bloom, The hours are going fast. Perhaps your fun will last a week, But then you'll have to die. The dandelion ceased to speak, A breeze that capered by Snatched all the white hair from his head, And wafted it on high. His yellow neighbor first looked sad, Then cheering up she said: If one's to live in fear of death, 1 One might as well be dead. The little buttercup laughed on, And tossed her yellow head. JULIE WHITE, December, '19. :nal 059:15 leigh Qcbnnl Qlnurnal fj 1 Q J U N E, 1 9 1 9 Page Twenty-one