Mechanic Arts High School - M Yearbook (St Paul, MN)

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JUNE, 1925 T I-I E HM!! After the Happy Ending By MARTHA Krorz The happy ending has been the accepted style for authors since the world began. Wil- liam Shakespeare himself conformed to con- vention when he failed to write the sixth and final episode of The Merchant of Ven- ice. His mistake is here corrected by the author. From time immemorial success has turned people's heads and Portia was no exception. Her success in Antonio's case led to a decision to increase her fame as a lawyer. As Bassanio sat in the garden one evening, Portia came toward him, looking very lovely in a blue gown that exactly suited her golden Qhennaedj hair. CShe worked for effectsj. Good even, my lord Bassaniof' are the words which Shakespeare would have put in her mouth. But Portia was a lawyer and used direct language. What she did say was Nice night, Bass, old timer. Got some good news to tell you. Bassanio winced as from a blow. In other words he knew what was coming. When Portia wore a blue dress and called him 'fold timer instead of fool something was likely to happen. And something did hap- pen. I've decided, Portia said as she seated herself, to take up the profession of law seriously. Everybody is trying to attract attention and I think I can if I dress as I did the other time. You haven't anything to do, so you can stay at home. This is the day of woman, she finished warmly, so what is a woman without a career? Certainly, certainly, her husband mur- mured, feebly. Don't sit there and say 'certainly' like a dumbbell. Tell me what you think of it. All right, all right. Don't repeat yourself. And you needn't say you don't like it because I'm going to do it anyhow. I should think you'd agree with me because some day you'll be only too glad that you did. She paused for a moment and Bassanio, annoyed, broke into speech. UI didn't say I liked it and I didn't say I didn't, I didn't say anything. You were going to. 'AI was not. , You were, too. How do you know? You can't read my mind. I certainly can. Everybody can read a blank. Then I wasn't going to say anything. You were. You said my mind was a blank. For goodness sake, keep still. The short silence was broken by a triple howl. Bassanio rose, Portia forgotten, but the children's measles recalled. Oh, Bass, Portia halted him for a mo- ment, there's a case tomorrow. Don't ex- pect me till you see me. ak at :sc ak ff So it was mutually decided that the law should profit by Portia's talents. All Venice agreed that never had there been a lawyer who fitted the law and her clothes any better. Bassanio felt that never had there been a more efiicient housekeeper than he. Portia voiced the same opinion. Honestly, you make a dandy cook and children's nurse. I couldn't do it. It takes patience, the housekeeper said modestly. 'Alt sure does. I'm glad I'm a lawyer. xo- nf wk if wk For two years thereafter Portia and Bas- sanio saw each other only for an occasional brief moment, and then only long enough to compliment each other on his work. No quarrels marred their family peace. All was harmony and understanding. lk 41 ak ak lk Then one day a dreadful thing happened. It was during one of Portia's infrequent stays at home for recuperation from her battles in court. Bassanio was taking his youngest daughter for an airing when he passed two old dandies. Ah, there goes Mr. Portia. Quite the henpecked husband, remarked the more ob- noxious creature. Bassanio stopped, then, giving, a mani- acal yell. he dashed for home with his daugh- ter clutched in his arms. i

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14 TH E M JUNE, 1925 Free Verse By THEoDoRE scHM1TT With the coming of night, The lake stretches out Like a tired gray creature. Bright pin-heads of light Spot the deep night Like fallen stars Chained. Black night, Like dark velvet, Soft and thick. Pk Pk Dk Dk Dk I found a hidden ravine, Shaded with tall deep shadowed trees Damp and dark--with bare floor, Of springy turf Musty and cool Smelling of rotting wood and dampness. Pk Dk Pk bk lk Across the lake from me, I can see, A clean-greened, full-grassed hill, With a slash like from a mighty dagger, Slashed and bleeding The blood lies dried upon the beach Beneath .... Open and gaping. ak x wk :sf sk Green, high-piled hills. Silver glistening sheen of water. Yellow, heavy, ripe grain, Checkering the valley in the misty distance. The blood red sun, sinking. I Spills over from its crimson body Vivid crimson flame into the lake Rippling and flashing. The wide expanse grips you like a spell. The high, close-packed, fleece white clouds Seem but arm's length away Ethereal Silence, Magnificence. :sf ff if we wk A lone rower on the windy lake, Struggling and pulling. Ever being pushed back By the thousand hands of the waves. Pk HK Pls Pk ak A pyramid of flame, Fantastically colored Leaping upward Like the red point of a spear Dripping red. all bk elf Bk ak Still, quiet trees Motionless and calm As though life had suddenly vanished Prom the earth, and the trees destined to stand. Forever at mute attention through the count- less ages Fragile and lovely in their stillness, Disillusionment By ADOLPH JOHNSON I dreamed that all the world was gay: All the earth rang: Sweet voices sang As sprightly as the birds in May. I laughed-and all the joys did call For I was King, was King of all. I woke and all the world was sad. An inky pall Hung over all, A shroud to make the gamesome mad. No pleasure came, though loudly I did call- I was not King-not King at all.

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16 THE M JUNE, 1925 Portia sat in the garden, dreaming gently and complacently of future triumphs. Sud- denly a raging fury charged into the garden. Peace was no more. So, said Bassanio in a terrible voice, 'lsol So, what? asked Portia, trying to keep her courage in the face of such wrath. USO, resumed the outraged man, 'Tm Mr. Portia, am I? I don't care what you call yourself. She said it bravely. Call yourself whatever you want to. Bassanio disregarded her interruption. lVlr. Portia, he said bitterly. You haven't enough with being a lawyer. You've got to grab my work from me. I don't want your work. Keep it. Why do you let people call me Mr, Por- tia if you don't? Can I help it? Yes, you can. Trying to take all the credit for running this house and bringing up the kids. l won't stand for it. l'm go- ing away with them. You can't have them. 'AYou're welcome to 'em. l'm sorry l ever married you. It isn't your fault that you did. Could you help it that you eeny-meeny-miny-moed the right casket? l wish you'd got the skull. When would you have become a lawyer if I had? Huh? , You win, Portia laughed. Then as Bassanio walked away, l'll send money reg- ularly. Honestly. The Garden of Allah By NEIL BOARDMAN Deep in the Garden of Allah A perfumed fountain Howsg And the dreams we dream by the fountain Are sweet as the scent of the rose. They carry us over the tree-tops, And over the garden wallg Back to the sea and the desert, With the hot sun over all: And there we dance with our fellows. And there we drink and eat: And there we light, and suffer! .... Ahl Life is bitter--yet sweet! V Life in the world of mankind! We hate and we love in our turn: And ohf 'neath the sun of the desert How the fires of passion burn! Life in the world of mankind ls a gamble, and never the sameg A laugh and a groan and a prayer- But ever a chance-and a game. There's peace in the Garden of Allah: There are flowers that blossom and shine: And my dreams are the dreams of the old world,- With its loves and its hates-that are mine.