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Page 22 text:
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12 THE CHRONICLE Well, who’s going first?” she asked. “Ladies before gentlemen,” he replied. “Well, here goes!” She started down the hillside, her speed ever increasing. He watched her in amazement! How perfectly at ease she seemed, how skillfully and gracefully she swooped down the slope, how expertly she glided along the snow, like a bird in flight. No wonder she, an expert, had thought his clumsy attempts funny. She must have been brought up on skis. She was now-approaching the bottom of the hill. The slope was leveling off. but she had not yet started to slow down. Ah, but then her skis caught on something and she fell heavily. “Well,” he thought, “even experts fall once in a while.” He waited for her to get up, so he could ski down. She tried to pick herself up, but evidently she couldn’t. Something was the matter! She must be hurt! Quickly he put on his skis and started dowrn the hill. He just had to make it this time. He thought of nothing but her safety. Perhaps she had broken a leg or an arm. Never had it seemed to take so long to ski down the hill, but at last he reached her. “I’ve hurt my leg,” she gasped in pain. “It must be broken, for I can’t move it.” He unfastened her skis and helped her up. She couldn’t stand on the injured foot. “C’mon,” he said, “I’ll carry you.” He picked her up and began to carry her to the nearest farmhouse. “It’s a good thing you’re not veiy heavy,” he said, “or my skis would sink in the snow and it’d be tough going.” They reached the farmhouse, where he telephoned for a doctor. Her leg was only badly wrenched. “Well,” she said, “you made it — without a spill.” Charles Upham, ’39 — o — Night In the stillness of the night I climbed on a moonbeam To the sky And sailed on high among the clouds. I touched tiny twinkling stars Of scarlet and azure and gold. Sparkling fairies round me danced. Gently sprinkling a silvery dust That slowly, slozvly enchanted the air And wove a magic spell of sleep Over the darkened earth. Amelia Pascale, '38
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Page 21 text:
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THE CHRONICLE 11 be forced to stay after school and probably wouldn’t see the game at all. If he did get there, he was sure that he’d be late; therefore he sank down in his seat and pretended to be studying diligently. While sitting there, he felt that he would not enjoy the game as much with that incident bothering his conscience. While all this was going on in his mind, the teacher was still trying to find the offender. When Tom had weighed both sides of the story, he slowly raised his hand. lie was somewhat discouraged when he heard the expected verdict of staying after school. After the class was dismissed, Tom remained alone with the teacher, expecting to get the customary “bawling out,” hut instead the teacher lauded him for telling the truth and dismissed him immediately. Tom went to the basketball game, happy because he had told the truth and because he had a clear conscience. This happening brought to his mind a wise saying, and he found out how much truth there is in the adage, “Honesty is the best policy.” Francis Gannon, ’38 — o — Ski Trails Cross “Well, I’ll make it this time — I hope,” he thought as he started again. He skimmed down the snowy slope, gaining speed every second. He flew past groups of skiers climbing up the hillside. He was going pretty fast. Maybe he could make it this time without taking a spill. But no, he struck a rough spot and lost his balance, making a nose-dive into a snowbank. He picked himself up, brushing the snow from his jacket. “Ha, ha, ha!” giggled someone behind him. “Excuse me, but that was so funny I just couldn't help laughing.” He turned around quickly. It was a girl. She wore a blue snow suit and carried a pair of skis over her shoulder. “I don’t see anything funny about it,” he replied, “and besides, I notice you have quite a little snow on your clothes too.” “I’m sorry,” she said; “please forgive me.” “All right, everything’s forgiven.” “Thanks.” “Are you going back up to the top ?” “Why, yes. I’m going to try my luck.” “Mind if I come along?” he asked. “Why, of course not. I was just wishing for some company.” So they trudged along together, chatting merrily. When they reached the top, they stopped to rest.
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Page 23 text:
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THE CHRONICLE 13 Coincidence It was recess, and Joan and Judy were discussing the results of the essay contest. The prizes had been given out and Judy was the proud holder of “ticket and all expenses paid” to Hollywood. “Too bad I couldn’t have won the other ticket,” said Joan. “It would have to be Fay. Everyone knows you just don’t hit it off with her. I can’t see what you have against her though.” “We’ll leave it right there, Joan,” responded Judy heatedly, for it burned her up to have Fay discussed. “I have to start packing if I’m to be ready for the morning train. Come along and help me like a nice little girl. I want you to see the new dress I bought. It’s sure to be smarter than any of Fay’s, for the clerk said it was the only one in the city. The packing was finished and Joan was ready to leave. “See you in the morning, Judy. So long,” said Joan. “I do hope she will get along with Fay on the trip,” she pondered as she walked down the hall to her own room. “They are both too nice not to be friendly.” The next morning everyone was gathered at the station for the grand send-off. Fay and Judy were already on board and were waving last good-bys, for the train was off, bound for all points west and Hollywood. The two girls having the same compartment couldn’t last very long without speaking. At last Judy said, “Fay, I want you to see the new dress I bought the other day.” “Why, that’s just what I was going to say,” said Fay, very much surprised that Judy should want her to see anything. Both girls took off their coats at the same time. “Why—!” cried Judy. “Oh—!” cried Fay. Both sat down and rocked with laughter, for they had exactly the same type dresses! Betty Dunn, ’38 — o — King of Storm The snowy down that falls each year in winter’s cold and strife Is God’s gift from heaven above, the giver of all life. Lest we forget He watches all and knows the right from wrong. We should appreciate his work, and hail Him king of storm. Kenneth Buongirno, ’38
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