Hellgate High School - Halberd Yearbook (Missoula, MT)

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Wrote ardent notes, addressed to some fair maid; The girl who, startled, turns from whispered tales, The inmost secrets of her vacant mind, Imparted to her faithful bosom friend. Farewell to thee, 0 cruel oppressor! and If Jove is sovereign still, we bep of him. To grant our longed-for, but half fearful prayer. 0, may thy tongue be clothed with blackest rust; May dank dust vather o’er thy polished side. May time soon change thy clattering dreaded tone First to a hoarse, then muffled unheard sound. Thus to our under-classmen do wTe leave Our deepest sympathy and brightest hope, And unto thee our darkest, sternest curse. M. GRAY FOR THE HONOR OF THE SCHOOL VILLA COOL, ’13 The hands of the clock in the assembly room of the Rockford High School pointed to the hour of three. The bell sounded for dis- missal, and the next instant a mass of boys and girls poured through the halls, down the stairs, and out into the bright winter sunshine. A group of chattering girls made their way to the girls’ dressing rooms, in the basement, to prepare for. their basket-ball practice. The high school meet, in which the girls were to take part, was only two days off, and the chief topic of conversation was Rockford’s chance oC winning the championship, and, incidentally, the cup. 44Those Alton girls are regular cats.” said Matilda Handel, the outspoken center, frowning into the looking glass. 44Don’t you re- member how, the last time we played them, they nearly disabled us? I came out of the game with every hairpin missing, and my glorious red hair tumbling over my shoulders.” 44If the Alton girls are cats, the quincy girls are—quinces,” spoke up Mary Freek, the star forward. 44I saw a picture of their team the other day. and thev are the sourest-looking bunch I’ve seen.” 44Here, that’s my shoe,” called a big guard, whom the girls called Sally. 44How do you reckon I’m going to smash anybody’s toes if I don’t have two shoes on?” 44Don’t get so fierce, Sally,” replied Mary, tossing over the shoe. 44Don’t waste any of your magnificent strength on us—save it for the tournament. Since the boys have actually let the girls in on this, we’ve got to show them what we can do.” 44And just think of that beautiful cup, girls,” Lois sang out, 44Think of it in a glass case in our assemblv room. Doesn’t it rouse all the school spirit in you?” And, perching herself upon a locker, she began to sing: The Bitter Root Page 9

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below me, softly lapping against the boulders along its edge, and its dark evergreen bank sleeping, as it were, in the moonshine. Sometimes I would hear the lonely cry of a solitary water-bird in some dark inlet of the stream; at other times I have heard the dis- mal hoot of an owl, and always the faint gurgling and lashing rises from the sparkling river and I have pictured to myself canoes of sin- ewy redskins dipping their paddles to a weird chant as they breast the current, a picturesque scene of former days, but now seldom oc- curring except in remote parts of Canada. Such are the scenes that have detained me for many an hour, loitering about the glades and ridges of our camping place, enjoying that mixture of reverie and sensation which steal away existence in such a climate—and it has been almost morning before I have retired to my bed and been lulled to sleep by the murjnuring waters of Quail Creek. ODE TO THE CLASS BELL Hail! to thee, clamoring, endless jangling bell! Hail! to thy ring of merry, spiteful glee! Oft, where the air of spring is balmy, still. When heads bend low o’er desks in calm repose. Thy rude voice oft has roused me from a doze, A gentle slumber filled with sweetest dreams, And wTith a startled jerk hast called me back To stern reality, this weary world. To themes unwritten and detention pads. Or if not dreams, from fond remembered talks, Or tender tete-a-tetes with dear close friends. ’Tis thee that summons me. Thy dull jarring note Sends direst chills thru every student’s spine. Thou art a tyrant, thee we must revere, At thy command spring up and haste away, To torture, and to boredom, close behind Thy wicked rule, among our hated list Of cruel trials. Yet a few weeks and we, a favored band. Will break the chains that bind us firm and strong, And once again be free to flirt and dream. No more shaft thou, frail gong of polished steel, Break in upon our private dialogues. Nor order, with pale lip and quaking knees. And flushing cheeks and shifting guilty glance. The boy, who all the period, should have conned His Latin, but instead with love-lorn mein Page 8 The Bitter Root

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“Here’s to the high school whose colors we wear”—- The others joined in, tying shoestrings and hair ribbons, and crowding in front of the mirror for a last look. The coach's whistle cut short the chorus, and out they trooped into the gymnasium. The last of the line was a chubby, red-cheeked little Junior, who had not entered until the second semester, and had come from a small high school in one of the neighboring villages. Already she was as loyal to Rockford as if she had known no other school, and her great ambition Avas to make the first team in basket-ball, and help her high school to AA’in neAV honors. So she took her place on the sec- ond team and practised faithfully, night after night. Tonight, as she took her place on the floor, AA’ith the high school song ringing in her ears, she wished, with all her heart, that she could do something for the honor of the school, “ Anyway, I’ll play the very best I can,” she said to herself, as the game began. The girls played hard and fast, as they realized how soon they would have to meet the other teams. And AA'hen the practice hour AAras over, and most of the girls had left, Matildy, Avho threAA' the free throws, stayed for a little more practice, and Ivy, the enthusiastic little Junior, stayed, too. Time after time they sent the ball into the basket, and became so absorbed that they did not notice that the coach had entered the room, until his A’oice broke the silence. “Enough for tonight, girls,” he said. “Mustn’t tire yourselves out.” Ivy was following Matilda to the dressing room, AA’hen the coach stopped her. “Good AArork. Miss Gardner,” he said. “Could you arrange to go to Peoria with us as a substitute?” And he passed quietly on. But Ivy walked out of the room. AA-ith every beat of her heart saying, “ Sub-sti-tute, sub-sti-tute. ” Then she“might be able to do something yet, for the honor of the school. sfc . It was the last game of the tournament. The gymnasium Avas filled with enthusiastic rooters, for the basket-ball championship lay betAA-een Peoria and Rockford. As Peoria’s team came on to the floor, they were greeted AA’ith shouts and the waving of banners, but there was not a single cheer AA’hen Rockford followed, a minute later. Matilda, the center, brought her lips together in a straight line, and said to the girls: “The jays! We’ll beat them yet!” The referee’s whistle sounded, and Matilda faced Peoria’s center, determined to get the ball. Up it AA'ent in the air between them, both girls hit it and knocked it to the right, and the game AA7as on. Both sides played hard and well. Mary. Rockford’s star forAA-ard. put in three straight baskets, but Peoria soon tied the score. Matilda caught the ball at the toss-up, and passed it doAA’n the field to Mary. Mary jumped, missed the ball, and fell in a little heap on the floor. The referee called “Time,” and. AA’ith despair in their hearts. Matilda and Sally helped the star forAA-ard off the field. Page 10 The Bitter Root