Lincoln High School - Cardinal Yearbook (Portland, OR)

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Ponce de Leon's Search for the Fountain of Youth QPrize Poem, SIEGFRIED ROSEN A poor pathetic man he was, All broken down and feeble bent, Whose mortal days were almost o'er, Whose death was cruelly imminent. But yet he had the common fear To leave this irksome place of care, In favor of some doubtful world Of which he knew not what nor where. He heard of some strange Indian myth: That somewhere in the Land of Truth, Unknown to white man, there existed A Fountain of Eternal Youth. He had the true adventurer's spirit: His age, like scales, from off him fell. He rose, consumed with seething fire, To find-and thus elude Death's knell. He sailed about Bahama's Isles, He sailed New Florida around, He sailed about the ocean Wide, He sailed past many a forest ground. Unwelcomed by restoring founts, Unwelcomed by a second youth, Unwelcomed by astoundedness, Met only with that ugly truth- Old age returning, evermoreg Inexorably dragging each Limb down till such a time As clawing Death should soon him reach Discouraged, he returned home, To perish on his native soilg But there he found a newer clue, And came again, to search and toil. He sailed about America, Searching carefully as he wentg He sailed about the Indies West: No second youth to him was sent. As weary as a wilting flower That knows full well its end is near, He lay upon his couch and prayed The tinkling waters yet to hear. Ah! Ponce, a foolish man thou Wert, To cry against harsh fate, alack! When He that gladly gave thee life But merely asked thee for it back.

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Fourteenil THE LEDGER O L D A N T H O NY SIEGFRIED ROSEN Hello, I said to my friend the druggist, after I had returned from my journey. And where's Old Anthony? I asked in feigned anxiety. Aw, yu don't need to be a-tryin' to 'pear so troubledf' squeaked a falsetto voice from behind a dirty green curtain at the rear of the pharmacy. I know you're back an' I'll be out in a jiffy ef you are reely a-dyin' to see me so. I winked merrily at my friend, who grinned in return. We started a conversation, but were soon interrupted by a painful screech caused by the violent backward jerk of a dirty curtain, the rings of which plaintively traveled along its rusty iron bar. A tall, gnarled, white-haired old man made his sudden appearance. His colorless face was narrow and his thin, sharply curved nose stood out as promi- nently as a tree stands on an otherwise barren field. His dull grey eyes were almost expression- less and his lips were pale. His was the voice that had uttered those welcoming words in that strangely piercing tone. He concentrated his eyes upon me and, having satisfied himself, advanced slowly. Can't even be alone five minutes without bein' pestered and-well, why don't yu say something? he demanded querulously. Don't yu know an old man's time is waluable ? You didn't say hello, after my long absence, too, I said in apparent injury. I did. I said hello. I said it five or six times. I 'member hearin' me say it, he prevaricated. But I didn't hear you, I complained. Well, I'll do it again, then. Hello! he said grudgingly. Now, are yu satisfied ?', I nodded. Ef yu ain't nothing 'portant to say I might as well go. I can't afford to waste my time, he piped insinuatingly, and then chalrically stalked away. I heard the dirty curtain angrily jerk and the old chair into which he evidently had thrown him- self creakingly object. I smiled at the druggist, who gravely regarded me. Probably he was mystified because I had not lost my temper at the old man's irascibilityg prob- ably he was deliberating whether to impart a secret to me or not. I guessed the latter. Whatever it was, I saw that as he was in this mood of deep meditation, it was an opportune time to ask him something that had long perplexed me. I first made sure, however, that old Anthony could not hear us. You once told me that you had hired Anthony about five years ago because you were badly in need of an assistant. Surely of all men, Anthony is the least helpful. He is exceedingly old' and lament- ably weak. It is even ihhuman to permit him to labor more than slightly. I know he is no relation of yours, nor has he a claim upon you. Why, there- fore, have you retained him this long? I did not need a man for manual work or I should not, of course, have employed him. All that I required was a person to assort herbs, and as this was an easy task I thought I might accom- modate him. Assort herbs! I exclaimed. He assort herbs? How incongruousl He can't see well enough to distinguish the differences between them and even if he could discriminate cautiously, his trembling hands would not allow, him infallibly to separate each from its fellows. His help, however sincerely given, would be obviously worthless. I stopped short. Suddenly a thought came to me that revealed everything. U Ohl I see it now. You are giving him charity. You know that he would not accept it if he were aware of it. He is so haughty and takes such pride in being what he believes, independent. He once loftily boasted to me of that fact. Therefore, to quiet his scruples you engaged him to do this and thereby allay any suspicion of his that he was ac- cepting charity. My friend blushed as guiltily as if he had been convicted of some great crime. He deprecated his action and sought to turn the subject. But I was obdurate. Hasn't he any relatives? I asked. Yes, he is continuously disturbed by a wealthy Eastern relative whose conscience refuses to allow him to see an aged kinsman of his laboring for sus- tContinued on Page 503

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Sixleenil THE LEDGER THAT ROMANTIC AGE EVELYN BARMETTLOR In the breakfast room of a smart colonial man- sion in a smart suburb of Richley sat Mr. Dennis, a stout, portly man of middle age, who was quite prominent in the business world of Richleyg Mrs. Dennis, a large lady of the same age, who tried to be very prominent in Richley's social affairs, and their flapper daughter, Celeste, a rather pretty girl of about eighteen. Well, remarked Mrs. Dennis, as she looked through the neat stack of mail that was by her plate, here is an announcement of the engagement of Miss Alice Travers to Mr. Walter La Verne. As she said this she mentally checked off Mr. La Verne from her list of promising young men for Celeste. Mr. Dennis merely grunted, but Celeste turned pale, choked on a morsel of food and abruptly left the room, as her mother finished speaking. She went to her own room, where she threw her- self down on the bed. It was a pretty room, fur- nished in gay colors. A thick soft rug lay on the floor, and softly shaded lights were placed about the room and thin silk curtains fluttered in the breeze of that lazy Indian summer morning. Why, what's the matter with Celeste? asked Mrs. Dennis. Don't know, mumbled Mr. Dennis from the depths of his newspaper. He did not seem greatly concerned about his flapper daughter. Just then the door bell rang and the butler admitted a slen- der grey-eyed girl of about Celeste's age. There was a tiny hidden laugh in her wide set grey eyes, and a distinct charm about her made her a general favorite with people. Mr. Dennis' greeting to her was warm, more so than Mrs. Dennis', because she recognized the girl with her beauty and charming manners as a dangerous rival for Celeste. Good morning, Jean, he said, did you just get back from the beach? We've been home for about a week. If you should like to see Celeste you will find her in her room. After talking a while, Jean left the breakfast room and ran up a broad flight of stairs and knocked at the door of Celeste's room. On receiv- ing no answer, she opened the door and said, gaily, Hello, Celeste! . The still form on the bed did not move, so she crossed the room and sat down on the wide luxurious bed. Why, Celeste, child, what on earth is the matter? Still no answer, but something that sounded suspiciously like a sob shook the girl. Jean then lifted the dark, tousled, curly head and said in a motherly tone, Here, child, dry your tears and tell old Jean all about it. That will make you feel much better. Oh, Jean-Jean, Roger is engaged to that- horrid Alice Travers! The hidden laugh in Jean's eyes now became very evident and she found it very hard to keep the laughter out of her voice, but she succeeded to say in a sympathetic, grave tone: Roger-oh, you mean-Roger La Verne, whom you met down at the beach-Mrs. Dixon's nephew, theione who found and carried you down the mountain when you sprained your ankle, and sent you flowers and candy when you were illg who said you swam like a mermaid and danced like a fairy. Yes, Jean-oh, I'm heartbroken! He was aw- Oh, fully handsome. He had the keenest eyes. Jean, I simply adored him! Everyone did. I was that little empty-headed simp of an Alice Travers ever captured him! Oh! oh! this world is a dreary blank for me. There is no other man in this world for me! With this she buried her face in Jean's arms. Jean smiled a knowing smile, for she knew Ce- leste rather well, and knew that these outbursts were not infrequent. When she could control the merry laughter in her voice, she said in a very tragic tone, Oh, what a cruel world! Listen, Celeste, you'd better get in some decent clothes, because Bob and Terry are coming up for a set of tennis. What, Jean, not Terry Deland, that boy whose folks moved into the great new white house on the hill? All the girls are wild about him. Hurry, Jean, help me get into this new sport suit. Don't you think it is becoming? Hurry, Jean, if he's com- ing I must look nice. sure he liked me. I can't understand how