Lincoln High School - Cardinal Yearbook (Portland, OR)

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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

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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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THE LEDGER IfSeventeen LOOKS ARE OFTEN DECEIVING VIRGINIA WINCIIELL Say, Slim, whereya goin'? asked Freckles of his chum. To the old mine. Wanna go 'long? f'Sure, justa minute. Soon the pair were on their way to the deserted coal mine-a place they had no right to enter. But they were just boys and in search of adventure, at that. On their arrival they looked carefully around to see that they weren't watched, then, with a hur- ried scramble, they were inside. O-o-fl groaned Freckles. Who've I run into? Say, guy, lay off! lt's me-Fred! Oh, I beg your pardon -this respectfully from Freckles. He recognized the voice of the preacher's son, the toughest kid in the village. Whatcha doin' in here? This question simul- taneously from both. Just lookin' 'round. Come along, answered Fred. The three scamps wandered around for about an hour, and didn't realize that they were lost until they tried to find the entrance. At first, they all put up a bold front-Freckles was the first to break down, then Slim. Fred was hard-boiled for about an hour, then suddenly startled his com- panions by dropping on his knees and praying- something like this: Oh, God, please let me get home! I-I--I'll never be bad any more. What'll my mama do? O-o-o-o-o-o, but it's dark-pie for supper! Ah-h-h! I wanna go home! What'd I ever-r come here fur? Oh, please show us the way out! l'll not play hookey any more. My dad'll pray for me, too. God!-oh! oh! oh! I wanna git outa here! Help! Help Help Help! He was finally hys- terical-scared stiff4so to speak. During the course of this prayer, Freckles had wandered ahead about fifty feet. A triumphant yell startled the other two into running. Their pal had discovered the exit from the old mine. As soon as they were safely out and used to the strong light, Fred turned on his friends with clenched fists and his noted 'ifighting mug on. Say, you two kids keep mum, he growled. 'Alf you ever dare tell anybody I got 'soft' in that mine, l'll knock the daylights outa you! You know I can. Now, shut up--remember! With this speech, he thrust his hands into his pockets and went whistling down the road, fol- lowed meekly by the dumfounded Freckles and Slim. To the Devastators KENNETH L. COLLINS Why devastate the forests, The rivers, and the sky, Of their many little citizens? Why try to make them die? They were put here for a purpose, just the same as you and I. Harm them not, ye devastators, We'll be lonely if they die.