Girls High School of Brooklyn - Blue and Gold Yearbook (Brooklyn, NY)

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mischieT in lv1aTT, which gave him speed and nimbleness when They were needed Tor his own good, snaTched him Trom his Tear and made him iump quickly To The door. Taking The key Trom iTs place on a small nail, he ran ouT, locking The door behind him and Throwing The key aimlessly inTo The plie of snow. Then, pockeTing his hands, he whisTled his way across The bridge To The village. l-le was The picTure of innocence as he walked down Main STreeT, whisTling wiTh his head high as if musing on The probable weaTher. On his way he passed Mrs. Widibble, moTher oT The A-l boy oT The school: and when she inquired why her son was noT yeT home, he answered direcTly, Well, BurTon weren'T so very knowing To-day, likes as he always is, neiTher was The resT, so The masTer ThoughT as iT were besT To keep Them in and give Them a liTTle more schooling. ThaT's whaT iT were. How come They leT you ouT? Mrs. Widibble asked indignanTly. BUT lvlaTT did noT Think The quesTion needed any answer: so he iusT resumed his whisTling and Trudged along. His ruse did noT lasT long, however, Tor The TownsTolk, missing Their children, wenT over To The school-which was separaTed from The village proper by a bridge -and released The prisoners. MaTT was duly rewarded ThaT evening when The news reached his TaTher. Fly did noT go back To school The nexT day buT gave The Spider Time To cool down a liTTle beTore 'facing him again. ATTer ThaT maior crime, iT seemed ThaT whaTever MaTT did, MasTer Abercrumble always popped up To see The worsT side of The deed. The Spider's ghosT sTood beTween MaTT and good behavior, and MaTT did noT hesiTaTe To blame The Teacher Tor his wickedness. He had ThoughT oT running away once, buT when he reached The bridge, There was The l-laTed One coming Towards him wiTh some Tree branches which he used Tor The naTure sTudy. MaTT Turned down The road and walked despondenTly home. lT was no use. l-le would iusT have To live Through wiTh iT unTil ThaT impeneTrable. inhuman sTrucTure called MasTer Abercrumble, Tinally weakened under The sTrain of aTTempTing To Teach village children: and he would have To leave The counTry To re- cuperaTe from nervous breakdown. Then and only Then could MaTT really become a good boy.

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Tl-ICDRN IN l-IIS SIDE ZlTA Cl-lESl, Grade EighT T seemed ThaT no maTTer where MaTT Hamon Turne:l, he was sure To run smack inTo Trouble wiTh The village school-Teacher, MasTer Abercrumble. ln TacT, he soon became known as Fly l-lamonq and The school-boys called The school-masTer Spider when his back was Turned. lT goT so ThaT poor lv1aTT was Tinding Things in Tumbledale raTher unbearable. This unlovely Triendship beTween Spider and Fly had sTarTed quiTe some Time ago, when The old school-masTer had surrendered The school To lviasTer Aber- crumble. The gray-haired, nervous old man had handed over The keys To The new Teacher, and The look on The reTiring pedagogue's pinched Tace was one of com- passion. The new Teacher's abiliTy, however, To command discipline and meTe ouT punishmenT soon won Tor him The Tear and obedience of all The pupils. MaTT was no excepTion, undersTand. l-le, Too, Trembled when Mr. Aloercrumble's sTern eyes were Turned on him. BuT unTorTunaTely, FaTe was unkind To lvlaTT. EveryThing he did was Torever being sTamped mischieT. Try as he mighT To be good, he was sTill ThaT good-Tor-noThing l-lamon boy. One day, school was going on as usual in The low, one-roome-d school-house. The TirsT grade in The TirsT row reciTed Their alphabeT aloud, while The Third grade chanTed The Two-Times Table, and The TourTh grade pondered over a hisTory ex- aminaTion. The snow was piled high and soTT around The building. lTs reTlecTion lighTed up The usually dark room and Threw a pale lighT on The Taces of The school-children. From his seaT, lvlaTT dreamily waTched The TourisTs sTaying aT Tumbledale who were skiing on The hill opposiTe The school. While waTching one daring skier Tly swiTTly down The slope, MaTT suddenly jumped ouT oT his se-aT and shouTed Wowl l-le was soon broughT back To earTh, as he TelT The Teacher's sharp eyes on him. l-le Turned his Tace slowly Towards The Torm ol: MasTer Abercrumble. The TirsT- graders were making a sorry aTTempT To reciTe, while Their eyes and mouThs widened wiTh alarm and expecTancy. lVlasTer l-lamon, come The deliberaTe, Tear-imparTing words oT The Spider, did I noT Tell you noT To look ouT oT The window? l-le reached his hand slowly back To The side oT The book-case and Took a long ruler Trom iTs hook. MaTT sTarTed walking slowly backwards as The Teacher began approaching him. Suddenly, The Six

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STYLED BY AlNIATCDI.E VIRGINIA WOLFENBERGER, Grade EighT UCI-I has been wriTTen by such people as Cornelia OTis Skinner and The provincial lady abouT Their ''proTessionaI-peopIe-pho- bias. I recall a delicious biT by The Tormer abouT her dreadTuI experiences wiTh The oTTiciaIs oT an empIoymenT agency, and a Tew paragraphs by The laTTer abouT The TerriTying salespeople one encounTers when in search of a parTy dress. BuT why hasn'T eiTher OT Them or DoroT'hy Parker wriTTen someThing enTiTled NighTmares in a BeauTy Shop, or I-Iellish I-Iairdressers ? Is iT because none oT Them connecT a session in a beauTy salon wiTh nighTmares, TorTures and agony? I can'T be The only Temale who goes To ThaT seaT Iso horribly like a combinaTion oT The eIecTric and denTisT chairsl wiTh a peTriTied hearT and The blood Trozen in my veins. Perhaps I am The TirsT To Take my courage inTo my hands and cry ouT in proTesT againsT This dreadTuI sysTem. By The same law oT coincidence which Tinds one in The baThTub when The Tele- phone rings, or cold cream on one's Tace when company calls. I am always wearing The mosT unbecoming Trock I own when keeping an appoinTmenT wiTh The hairdresser. I am received by a sophisTicaTed individual wiTh orange hair and green Tinger nails who sneers aT me over an enormous desk. She has a grudge againsT humaniTy and asks in an angry voice il I wish any parTicuIar operaTor. For a TIeeTing second I consider summoning up my courage and asking Tor some one new. BuT insTead I ask in a Teeble voice Tor AnaToIe. I have been asking Tor AnaToIe in The same Teeble voice Tor years, and aIThough I am TrighTened To deafh oT The man, iT is only in momenTs oT madness ThaT I even consider Trying any one else. The creaTure wiTh The orange hair asks me To waiT and indicaTes a beauTiTuI plush chair inTo which I sink graTeTulIy. BUT iT is only a Tew momenTs beTore I am aware ThaT because oT The peculiar angle oT The seaT, I am pracTicaIIy on a parallel wiTh The Tloor. This is in iTseIT disTurbing enough, buT combined wiTh The knowledge ThaT my skirT is noT adeguaTe To cover me in This unnaTural posiTion, I am reduced To abiecT humiIiaTion. I hurriedly regain my perpendicular and choose The soTa, where I siT sharply conscious ol: The dusTiness oT my suede shoes againsT a luscious Turquoise carpeT. IT is here ThaT AnaToIe Tinds me. I-Ie greeTs EighT