Hunter College High School - Argus Yearbook (New York, NY)

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Editor-in-Chief . . THE AIQEIJI HUNTER COLLEGE HIGH SCHOOL LOUISA M. WEBSTER, Principal New York, June, 1929. STAFF Associate Editors .... . Art Editor ..... Annex Editor . . . Clara R. Steinhardt Alice Kalousdian Grace Glanz . . . .Carolyn Baumbach nonanaeon nan. Annex Business Manager . . . . . . . Business Manager BUSINESS STAFF :caanaoeaaouuaouanoanauqso .nn Circulation Managers . . . . . . . Advertising Manager . . . . . Cornelia Newton . . .Dorothy Berger . .Felice Brenner Marie 0'Hara Goldie Margolis Rebelyne Wirnpie Lucille Cohen . . . .Nettie Barbash Bertha Sherman Gertrude Polin Louise Ruhl Assistants ..... - - - Sophie Keller Lillian Mac Nulty Dolores Cash FACULTY ADVISORS Literary . . . ............................. Iona M. R. Logie Dorothy L. Bush Financial . . . .... Elizabeth Draper Page Four

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THE FATHER NEW Czar ascended the throne, and it was ordered that this solemn event be observed through the cities and towns of Russia by fitting celebrations, tokens of the people's joy. Little Marie sat in her comer, moping. It was the third and last day of the Coronation Celebration and more than anything else in the world she wanted to go to the town, four miles away, to see the fireworks and all the splendor. She knew there was no possibility of her going. Everyone was much too busy to take her. Yet she hated to see the dark creep up slowly and gradually extinguish the foolish little hope that would persist. To be taken to see the celebration meant a great deal to the little girl. The Russian winter is long and monotonous. Nothing ever happened. Oc- casionally Marie would get hold of some fairy stories, but this was so rare that her thirst for romance and light and beauty was never really appeased. From the time her father had first told her that there was to be a Coronation Celebration, from the time he had first prophesied its glory and brilliance she had been able to think of nothing else. Her whole being was filled with the desire to see it. So now, on the evening of the third day Marie sat in her comer watching the dark come slowly, all the childishness draining out of her face, her hands at her throat, trying to keep back the sobs. The candles, placed in the windows of every house in all the Russias in honor of the new Czar, flicker in the faint gusts that come through the cracks of the door and windows. They throw strange fingerlike shadows on the bare walls and are reflected again and again in the row of brightly polished copper pots hanging above the huge brick oven. The elaborately sanded floor glows in the ruddy firelight. Marie's mother, a big woman with great natural intelligence written on her high forehead, shrewdness in ber eye, and strength in the well-developed. muscles of her arm, stands over the fire stirring some broth. Except for the crackle of the flames and the sound of the iron spoon grating against the side of the pot, the room is still. Footsteps crunch on the gravel outside of the house, and mother and daughter raise their heads. The door swings in on its hinges, and Marie's father and three stalwart brothers enter, weariness showing in every line of their bodies. The boys, like their mother, are tall and strong. The father is a small man. He teaches the little boys of the neighborhood and leaves the tilling of the land to his sons. His eyes are dark and round and scared, his nose thin and acquiline, his sensitive mouth almost hidden by a long beard. This, surely, is no fit mate for the mother. lt is true that Marie's mother despised weakness and she often teased her husband because he was so small and puny. Yet she loved his gentleness. She felt a fierce pride in his learning, and even in his lack of sense for the practical. The father was a scholar, and this austere uncultured woman was proud of it. Now as he came in slowly, he was utterly weary. The little boys had been very trying and his head ached miserably. Page Six