Kemper Hall School - Kodak Yearbook (Kenosha, WI)

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O ff Jig .-. 7 X Q, y ff? ,rl 0 QQ D Eggs XS' '49 tom: cum ma mn nr Rune mv1Nc+ news EYE' Nurse in NR' BOTO My heart is given to a dog, a little redfbrown Cocker Spaniel with long curly hair. His tail is his flag of truce because it is short and stubby with long, wavy, white hair hanging down from the end of it. He waves this back and forth pleadingly when I am going to punish him for being naughty. Speaking of being naughty, he often finds a fascinating hole to dig in and when I call him he pretends to be deaf and if I shout and stamp my foot he jumps and looks innocently up between his paws and waves the flag of truce. Very coy I call it. Since he has been digging in a hole he is very dirty so I give him a bath, and what a job that is! He sits in the water with his nose pointed straight up in the air and his brown eyes roll from side to side to watch every move I make. If I try to reassure him that everything is all right, he pokes out his long tongue and licks my hand. Drying him is still harder because he has decided that it is time to be playful. He dashes at the towel and gets all wound up in it until only his little black button nose is sticking out. This is all very well but there is the problem of unwinding him, so I grab one end of the towel and he the other and after he has unwound himself we have a tug of war. This is usually repeated and repeated until he is all dry and we both are too exhausted to move. When we have both rested a bit, Boto dives under the bed which is quite low and scratches his back by rubbing it back and forth on the bottom of the bed. He shows how much he loves this by giving little grunts and snorts of delight. Boto's ears are so long that they get in his food so I pin them back with a bobbie pin while he eats. He does not realize how funny he looks or he would be too insulted to eat, because he is a proud little dog. Once I made the big mistake of trying to teach him to sit up, but every time I had him nicely propped up he would become just like jelly and crumble into a heap on the floor. I was so disgusted that I stopped trying to teach him. The next day when I was eating he came to me as nicely as you please, and begged for some ice cream, which is his favorite dish besides meat. The little rascal! At night when I go to bed he lies at the foot of my bed and falls asleep at peace with the world. oggngl- . 'N if , 0 Q, Ss g -1, , E an J .ob . 7F9 FREDRICKA WHITING '35 First Prize , - ' T num mow Tnwflf' 'unvmus rms num' 'cans rwueo aux Clnnwfclfnd I4-Sl

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TI-IE LALIGI-IING CAVALIER I Imagine yourself in a poorly furnished garret room in Haarden, Holland. It is the year 1624. Standing before his easel we see Frans Hals, squinting with a practised eye at a young officer of the army, who has seated himself with a pompous air on the opposite side of the room. The officer is in a hurry to see his portrait, and urges the artist to paint faster. II ' It is 1934. The finished portrait of the young man is hanging, among others, in the main room of the Wallace Collection in London. We cannot see it, but the spirit of the young officer is there also, gazing with mingled pride and dubiousness at the form which it once inhabited. It sees two women of doubtful age and character approaching, and draws back to watch them. The following conversation ensues: Hey, Sal- -lookit that gent! Sorta handsome, ain't he? Yea, but my Gawd! Who'd go with a guy totin' a soupfstrainer like that? So they pass on. The spirit stands there, quite dismayed. So that is what they thought of his portrait? He feels sure that there must be someone, somewhere, who enjoys it. With a flash of determination the spirit quits the building, resolved to discover how others regard his picture. We find him first in the library of a home belonging to a very wealthy family. A heated argument is going on among the members of the family concerning where their latest painting is to be hung. The father feels that it would show to the best advantage over the library table, but his wife is certain it should go over the fireplace. Percival, I should feel that my new blue drapes are lost without that picture to set them off! The husband states that people would never notice his hunting trophy unless this picture were near it. In great disgust the spirit leaves the house. We enter the old art shop in time to hear a heated discussion over a beautiful and expensive copy of the portrait. Mn Danielson, argues the shop keeper, you could find no better copy of any painting for your collection. This is correct in every detail and shade of color--I do not see your objection! I know, my good sir, I know-but my collection will be portraits of English men, and this man, I understand, was a Dutchman! More than slightly wrathful, the spirit bursts from the room, and we have difficulty in keeping up with him to our next visiting place. . . We have traveled to the slums of a great city. With the spirit we enter into a room furnished with only the barest necessities. Everywhere indescribable poverty is l49l