Grant High School - Memoirs Yearbook (Portland, OR)

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Page 6 MEMOIRS V. P. Grant ........ iled on this impossible old farm without any decent clothes and dim chances of ever getting any more. And they expected her ro learn to like this life—to become a country milkmaid! “I won’t like it! I won’t!” she angrily declared as she kicked viciously at an unoffending rock. Gloria raised her eyes and saw a tall, curly-haired boy with a disturbing smile looking at her. How could anyone smile in this miserable place? One of the natives she supposed. “I beg your pardon, I am David Taylor, your nearest neighbor. I came over to see if there was anything that I could do to help you folks get settled.” “Well, your neighborly interest is not wanted,” she snapped. “I’m sorry if I have offended you, but you see I was talking to your father yesterday about his business failure, and I thought that perhaps I could do something to make you a little happier,” he tactfully explained. Gloria’s eyes smouldered. “You needn’t discuss my father’s affairs as they are none of your business. And I shall never be happy here! I hate it, I tell you. Hate it, and you, too, you—you farmer!” she screamed as she fled into the house. David was bewildered. He had never been rebuffed like that before. But he wasn’t to be daunted. “I’ll bring Jerry over tomorrow and perhaps he can help me win her friendship,” he mused thoughtfully to himself as he slowly wandered down the path between the farms. The next day David came over to the Winthrop’s determined to secure a measure of Gloria’s confidence, no matter how small. He found her lying in the hammock apparently unconscious of his coming. He tip-toed softly over to her and with his most winning smile whispered, “Jerry and I have come to see you.” “Are you here again?” exclaimed Gloria, exasperatingly. “I thought I told you that I didn’t want you to bother me.” “If you’ll only let us stay we’ll promise not to bother you,” David pleaded earnestly. “Oh, I suppose you’ll have to stay. But don’t look to me for entertainment for you and your friend—whoever he is.” “Pardon me. Miss Winthrop. Allow me to present my best pal, Jerry Taylor,” he announced. Gloria looked around disdainfully, expecting to see another boy. A delighted smile spread over her face as Dave drew from his pocket a little brown chipmunk. “Oh, isn’t he darling? Do let me see the furry little thing,” cried Gloria who was interested and pleased in spite of herself. When Dave left that evening he had secured a half promise from Gloria to go with him to the little woods back of the two farms and visit some of his and Jerry’s favorite haunts. He intended to make her keep that promise, too. He chuckled happily to himself as he said, “Say, Jerry, did you hear her call me ‘Dave’?” It was a lovely spring morning when Dave, Gloria and Jerry started towards the woods. Along the way Dave pointed out many interesting things that Gloria's less observant eyes would have missed. They reached their destination before they knew it.

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 Plagiarism MEMOIRS Page 5 PLAGIARISM, as defined by Webster, is “the act of stealing and ■ftVmganothers ideas, words, etc.; literary theft; the writing or other matter that is stolen and used.” It’s a new word, isn’t it? I had not heard of it until occasion called on ne to find the right word, and “plagiarism” suited the conditions. Plagiarism isn't the act of copying other students’ work for our own. There is another word for that. This particular word is applied to literary matter that is copied. Still, sometimes we read and read and re-read a thing until we become so impressed with it, that we forget where we first found it, and so we think it’s our own work and hand it in to be published over our name; we don't think of what the originator might think if he read his words over our name. It seems that the practice of copying another’s words required the services of the copyright of America, not always to keep people from stealing ideas but sometimes to remind a person that somebody, before him, had had the same idea. Even the laws of America forbid a person to steal, not only articles of substance, but also articles of writing. Above all, where is the honor of a person who uses plagiarism? We think we’re honest. We may not think that copying is dishonest, but it is. Let us keep our honor, above everything, and not practice plagiarism. —John Deifell. WHATE this place! Hate the stillness, the endless yellow of the J| fields, the maddening crickets—Oh, Dad, why did we have to fail?” sobbed Gloria Winthrop despairingly. A wistful smile spread over his weary, careworn face as he quietly said, “I guess, Glory, that your old daddie wasn’t made for a business man.” “Never mind. Father, we should be thankful that we have this old farm left,” comforted Mrs. Winthrop. “I know that it is especially hard for you, Gloria, to give up all your old friends and pleasures; but we must all make the best of things. Perhaps you may learn to like it here in time.” “Like it here! Why—why I’d die if I had to live here always without any pleasures or friends,” declared Gloria fiercely. “But surely some of the boys and girls that you used to go around with at the Club will motor out here to see you,” Mrs. Winthrop suggested. “Oh, Mother, be natural! Just as if they’d waste their time coming out here in the sticks and boring themselves to death when they could be dancing,” bitterly answered Gloria as she flounced out of the room. Gloria was especially caustic towards everything that afternoon. She sat on the low steps thinking how she, Gloria Winthrop, a popular member of their exclusive set had been so cruelly deprived of the necessities of life: now that she was exiled, yes, that was the word, ex- Jerry Cracked A Nut

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U. S. Grant MEMOIRS Page 7 “Oh, isn’t this a perfect spot?’’ breathed Gloria ecstatically as her eyes drank in the fresh spring beauty of the velvety moss, the budding trees, the cool, clear brook. “I’m glad you like it,” Dave said simply. “Jerry and I spend all of our spare time here.” The afternoon passed all too quickly for Gloria who was fascinted by the interesting things Dave had told her about the woods. She promised to meet him there the next day. And so this beautiful friendship was started. Day after day they met there, studying and marveling at the botanical specimens that Dave had taught her to look for, and finding new interests in nature that she had never dreamed existed. They found that they had much in common—and so their bond of friendship ripened. One day David had to go to town and Gloria was left alone with her thoughts. Why did she allow Dave to interest her? Could it be that she was beginning to care for him? Why, he was only a country boy, a farmer. She tried to convince herself of this, but Dave’s cheerful, smiling face appeared reproachfully before her. And she, Gloria Winthrop, digging around in the woods for worthless bits of roots and leaves! Why she must have been crazy to do that for all of these weeks! Why she hated this farm! She firmly resolved not to see him again. Gloria was out in the little garden that she and Dave had so carefully cultivated. A car came up the road. “Why, it’s Ed’s car! And there’s Kev and Jean with him,” she cried joyously as she ran to meet them. “Hello, old girl. Thought we’d drag down to see if you were still amongst the living,” called Ed Canby, a dissipated looking youth of the idle rich. Through Gloria’s mind flashed a quick comparison between Dave and Ed. Ed did look sickly beside Dave, she thought to herself. After the girls had exchanged greetings Gloria asked, “Won’t you let me bring you something cool to drink if you haven’t time to come in?” “Sure thing, but rush the order as we have a date to keep, called Beverly Gordon as Gloria turned to go. “Gloria’s getting to be quite the farmerette,” laughed Jean Faulkner, sarcastically. “Yeh, I guess she’s just like her old man—made for the farm. Dad says that Winthrop has about as much business ability as a farmhand,” cuttingly rejoined Ed. “Oh, I guess it’s just as well we dropped her when we did. The gang was getting tired of her anyway,” said Bev cattily. “Hey, look at the village cut-up coming up the road,” mocked Ed as he pointed to Dave. “He must be our fair Gloria’s suitor and—” Ed stopped. His face blanched. “Lo-ook,” he stammered to the girls. They turned. They gasped. Gloria stood there, her head thrown proudly back, her fists clenched, her eyes blazing. “So, my fine friends, 1 am quite the farmerette and my father, a farm-hand at business. Oh, we were all right when you could use us, our cars, our servants, and our home. I don’t care what you say about me, but I won’t tolerate any slander against my father, my home, or