Humboldt High School - Life Yearbook (St Paul, MN)

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HUMBOLDT LIFE had cracked through a window, splin- tered a bird house roof out in the yard and sped its way through the basement window of a neighbors house to shat- ter a bulb, ricochet off the furnace, and smash the lock on the door, little harm was done. The Redwyns decided to call it a day when they built a bonfire of perfumed letters in the back yard that evening. It is said that the local museum has added an old Colt's 45 pistol to its fire arm exhibit, but I haven't had time to see for myself as yet. l Dropping-Dropping LL during the period Mr, Billing had been scolding us for not being quiet. What a noisy study hall this is, he cried over and over again. Time after time he had carried some unfortunate boy's or girl's books up to a front seat, and many unlucky students had been sent to the office on reluctant, dragging feet. Half the period has disappeared and at last, to Mr. Billing's great relief, the study hall had grown quiet. Silence, sweet and golden, reigned. Then-a dreadful thing happened, I heard a crash as of mighty thunder, or as of rumbling rocks in an earthquake, and, coming out of my trance, I dis- covered, to my great horror, that my pearl necklace had broken and that the beads were falling like hail upon the floor. After the first gust they con- tinued to drop, drop, drop, one by one, like undecided icicles slipping from the eaves on a late winter's day, Mortified, I sat in all my shame, alone and friendless under a gigantic, awful battery of eyes which came near- er, then slowly receded. I sat there in the enfolding silence, a silence which may have tried to hide my misery but seemed only a light to make it worse. If only something would happen-any- thing, anything to stop that aching in my heart and that horrible, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach-and then, O sweet, O dear relief-the bell rang. Lucymae Kent. Nightfall By T ERRENCE HENDRICKSON The Northern pines are whispering sweet and low, As twilight creeps upon the sullen woods, The moon begins to blend its cool grey glow With stars that form the forest's nightly hood. No sound of living beast can now he heard, The moon and stars have lulled them all to rest. A shuflie now and then of restless bird Proves, that they, too, have gone to roost and nest. The wind has gently slowed its daytime speedg And now is but a breath upon the air: The dew drops lightly on each bush and weed: To duplicate this, mankind does not dare. If in your life you have not known all this, It's something I can tell you not to miss. Page Scum

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HUMBOLDT LIFE Bow wow! barked Louise. Bobby strutted to and fro like a miniature pirate. As he strutted, he suddenly saw the wig. Quickly he put it on. A bushy beard and moustache unfolded and slipped into place,.giving Bobby a little sur- prise and Louise a genuine shock. 'lOh, Bobby, she exclaimed, you look like a li'l ole man! Bobby lingered the beard thought- fully. l'How did this get here? he asked. Daddy ain't lost his whiskers. He strutted up and down and all but stumbled over the pistol. Let's set the trap an' catch a mouse, he suggested as he picked it up. I'll be Robum-sing Cruso catching a bear. Again he examined the pistol. 'Guess you gotta pull that thing back so it'll catch the mouse-I mean bear, he re- marked, referring to the trigger. Louise forgot to be a dog as she watched Bobby's futile attempts to pull the trigger. He held it between his feet and strug- gled with it. He rolled on the floor as he tried. It won't come, but I'll get it yet, he muttered to Louise, who sat by the trunk watching him. He walked all around the attic search- ing for something to pull the trigger with. At last he opened the door. There on the door about four feet from the floor protruded the head of a ten penny nail. Holding the pistol out before him, Bobby placed the trigger guard over the nail. Grasping the handle of the pistol in both hands, he pushed forward with all the strength of his puny body. When Frank Redwyn reached home, his face was so crimson that his wife was alarmed. Why, Frank, she asked, what is the matter? Nothing, but these, he said. He Page Six placed a large handful of letters on the kitchen table. Why, what are they? asked his wife. Mr. Redwyn stared at her a moment in silence: then licking his lips he asked huskily, Don't you recognize them? It was Mrs. Redwyn's turn to blush, I think I do, she said, Hour-our letters. Prank nodded. He looked his wife squarely in the eye, then blushing a deeper red he looked away. The kids passed out a whole parcel of them, he said, passed 'em out to the neighbors. Mrs. Redwyn wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. She merely sat and looked out of the window. 'AWhere are the kids, now? asked Frank. They've been up in the attic all afternoon, replied Mrs. Redwyn. Frank jumped to his feet. That ex- plains it, he cried: they've opened up that old trunk up there and-- Boom! The roar of a pistol reverberated through the whole house. From somewhere above them came the screams of two children. Frank dashed up the steps four at a time. There, before the attic's open door, hanging on a nail, was his old pistol, smoke still curling from the barrel. Somewhere in the attic the two chil- dren were still screaming. But when Louise, frightened but unharmed, was led forward by a queer little old man who was Bobby, Mr. Redwyn's relief was so great that he sat down on a pile of magazines and laughed. Mrs. Redwyn coming up a second later laughed with him. The children quite brave, now that their parents were with them, found themselves laughing, too. Aside from the fright of the children and some damage from the bullet which

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HUMBOLDT LIFE Some Folks Study BY FRANCES ERLING R. BILLING, may I go to my locker? Mr. Billing, how do you spell emancipation? Mr. Billing, may I change my seat? Many are the students in Mr. Bill- ing's kingdom, and many are their at- titudes. First there are the studious people. They are absorbed in their tasks, they realize the value of time: they are the perfect students who cast those sneer- ing glances at the noise makers. They are the ones who accomplish things. They get good marks while in school and really know something when they graduate. Another type are those who are al- ways doing some errand for some teacher. They enter and leave the study hall with a look of importance and also much noise. Another set are the dreamers. It is true they leave their books open before them, yes, open, but yet unseen. By some trick they find a multitude of at- tractions outside or in the rear of the study hall. They are usually eaves- droppers on conversations. Mr. Billing, did you find a good Parker pen? Mr. Billing then looks again, as he has many times that day, through a sorry lot of broken fountain pens, worn out overshoes, gloves, and pocket books with a few cents in them. He is very sorry, but nothing like that has been turned in. Yes, he'll let you know if it is. Miss How's visits are also a source of interest to the dreamers. 'lHave you seen Harold Zavotsky? queries Miss How. Mr. Billing sighs as he says No, He fears for the worst. Page Eight W . 4117 ? I-I ' ,f , , f 4940 ,A ati' MR. 821 We l, r X 1 ' Q N I N E is :IQ img., ! mvoamarionx l 0 - 9, M ' i A C' N ,M , 1 f - Jax' H, N , - , i 5,951 N 'W fs ilfflilgr If ,, Hg V' i I 4 Si Q Li, I Q XZ I il .iw f f V 4 Y fl' '- Ii. AA v 'lil' fi -L ' I 5 - Af r 'ga 1. gg f g- bf fu' ' i c Of course, in the study hall as in every other place, pests exist. These, perhaps, are the reasons for Mr. Billing's weary, haggard look as he trudges out of the school at twenty minutes past two. The pests, I think, may be di- vided into four classes: locker fiends, athletes, interrogators, and those who would study together. The locker fiends spend three-fourths of the period trying to think of some- thing they could possibly get from their private cubby-holes. After they re- ceive permission, as they sometimes do, they wander about in the halls, go to their lockers and get some book, and return to the study hall in about flve minutes. They wonder sometimes why permission to leave is not always granted them. Mr. Billing, I need a pair of tennis, or I can't play in that game tonight. The athletes who need a pair of ten- nis, or perhaps some piece of football equipment, are a source of trouble and interest. They are a trouble to Mr. Billing and an interest to the students. You see, anything to divert attention from books is welcomed 'by those who are not studying but are'lwasting time. Mr. Billing, what's wrong with this sentence? Miss Heinemann told us there was something wrong math it, and it must be so.