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

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HQPEL-M.A.H.S.--1-HQHQ Jeanne was the recognized woman ten- nis champion of the city. Grace played as well as the average player, but usu- ally took advantages from Jeanne. To- day, however, brilliant player though Jeanne was, the brilliancy of her game seemed offset by an energy and surety of stroke in Grace. For two sets they played a game of give and take, neither taking a great lead. Both sets had been deuce sets and nothing but the sheerest luck had sent one into the hands of each. At the beginning of the third set, however, the strain of keeping up with Jeanne's exceptional playing began to tell on Grace. Her smashes cost her the utmost energy. Her aces became fewer and farther between. Neverthe- less, although the more demanding strokes had become unstable, she still maintained control over the more sim- ple strokes. But these could not avail her much with Jeanne on the opposite side of the net and she, realizing this, became discouraged. Jeanne, used to strenuous playing, scarcely felt any effects whatever, but knowing her own superiority in the game, admired her friend the more for her show of tenacity in this game which would decide if she were to be the one to promote girls' athletics in the high schools of Helena. The games stood four-five, Jeanne ahead. Unless she won this time, she she lost the match and with it her pur- pose. If she won this game, she still had a chance of victory. It was her service, and as she started to serve the first ball, she attempted to pull herself together. She lifted her racket with an effort and served the ball into the net. The second ball was likewise a net ball. Love-five. The next balls were served wildly out of bounds until the score stood love-forty. She could not lose the next point! The match practically depended on it! As she stood on the base line prepar- ing to serve the next ball she had a feeling that she could make it and served a swift, low ball into the service court almost on the alley line. Jeanne was there to meet it and lifted it neatly just over the net. Grace ran swiftly forward and after carrying it just over the net, ran back again to meet Jeanne's return ball at the base line. Jeanne still covered the net so she lifted a beau- tiful swift lob over Jeanne's head to the boundary line, scoring the point. She felt uplifted, but knew she was still playing on the edge of a precipice. One bad stroke and she would lose! She served an easy ball which Jeanne drove into a far corner. When Grace reached the ball she gloried in the fact that she had a strong back hand. De- termining to kill the ball, she swung her racket back and with a sweeping back hand stroke drove the ball a full yard clear of the base line, out of bounds. She had lost and merely because she was too eager to kill the ball! She walked a trifle grumpily to the net and grinned wanly as she held out her hand to Jeanne. Jeanne shook hands and with a bow and a benevolent smile said, You winln Ye-ah! Like so much ln You played a Fme game. And you played better! You played without any advantages. I notice you didn't have any, your- self! As I said before, you win! As I insinuated before, win what?', Why, what we played for. Uh-huh! I was just thinking that we didn't mention the stakes of this contest, but, come to think of it, now, I had decided that if you lost, I'd speak to Miss Flem- ming about this fool notion of yours. You've no objection, I hope! Anticipation By Sara' Tenenbaum A tree stood lonely, cold, and bare Awaiting Spring's arrival there, With buds and leaves and birdlingis nest All snuggled closely to her breast, With soft green grasses at her feet, And nodding daisies in retreat- To stand there swaying in the breeze! Ah, soon to know these ectasies Instead of dreary, dismal days That know no light of joyous rays! Page Twelve

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FlgFlgiM..A.H.s.-1--FIQFE PLAYING FOR STAKES By Marian Dickman As Grace Lee dived easily into the water from the spring-board at the Y, she glimpsed the face of Jeanne France, her chum, and shouted laughingly, yet with the air of one earnestly pursuing a subject, Will you? When she had emerged and climbed again to the platform, Jeanne was bal- anced lightly on the edge of the board and as she too dived she called teasing- ly, with a rougish grin, But why? After this fashion they had always carried on a conversation, debate, or otherwise, Grace earnestly and with an end in view, Jeanne laughingly, and gently but effectively parrying. This difference in their characters combined with a surprising similarity in their tastes had always kept them friends and perhaps would forever. Chums and neighbors from childhood, they had gone to the same grammar school to- gether. A certain desire for novelty had prompted them each to attend a different one of the two high schools of Helena which had long considered them- selves bitter rivals. Grace had always felt very strongly on the subject of girls' athletics. When she had first joined the G. A. C., of which she soon became president, she had joined with the intention of pro- moting them. Until this, the end of her junior year, she had seen no oppor- tunity for the development of her plan which was to put girls' athletics on the same footing as those of the boys'. Heretofore girls' competition had been limited to that between athletic clubs. She felt that girls, too, should enjoy the thrill of lighting, not merely for a game, but for a cup, in other words for the honor, the reputation, and the name of their school. Surely the joy of inter- school competition should not be denied girls! She and Miss Nelson, the adviser of the club, had discussed the subject pro and con, finally deciding that the time to begin was during the tennis season. No one could say that tennis was not a woman's game. Without a doubt there would be com- petition from the various private schools but the venture would never be a success and the contestants would never play full-heartedly unless West High, their real rival, turned out a team. The G. A. C. would undoubtedly have a team but for the lasting effects of their venture the West High team must be a school team-not a club team. To this end Grace had for a week tried to reason with her chum, Jeanne, the president of the West High Athletic Club, but with no particular success. Jeanne was perfectly content with the present plan and saw no need of change. Equally immovable was Miss Flem- ming, the West High Athletic Club's adviser, who argued that such a move would draw attention from boys' ath- letics. However, Grace knew the power Jeanne had over Miss Flemming and realized that all would be well if she could sway Jeanne to her side and have her speak a word to Miss Flemming. Hence for a week she had been reason- ing with Jeanne, sometimes for hours at a time. Their greeting was merely an urgent, Please, will you? and a teasing, But why? They continued the argument between dives at the pool, one eagerly, the other jokingly. As they went into the dress- ing room later Grace started, Jeannie, haven't you decided yet? Please, won't you speak to Miss - Oh, for the love of Mike, Grace, interrupted Jeanne, beating her hands against her ears, please can it! Why, you've driven me dizzy! Will you! Will you! Will you! I'l1 go nuts yet! I absolutely can't listen any longer, so I'll tell you what we'll do. Tomorrow morning at six bells I'll meet you at the courts. We'll play it off Grace clapped her hand over her mcH.1th in sheer joy and gasped, You wi ! Jeanne threw a towel at her in ap- parent disgust, yet with a twinkle in her eye, and said, I will-play it off. I just know I can beat you, Grace said excitedly, even though you are about six times as good a player. I feel it in my bones. It's just possible you may. Of course, you'll have the advantages as usual - You just bet your neck I won't have the advantages, my girl. Not this time! And I'll beat you, too! The next morning shortly after six an earnest game of tennis had begun. For an hour all that was heard was the twang of the rackets as they hit the balls, the scuffle of running feet, the bounce of the ball, an occasional excited exclama- tion, and a cheerful Love-live or Thirty-five. Never had two been as evenly match- ed as these two were this morning. Page Eleven W

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Fl-jFEiM.A.H.S.---:-FI:'F-E CAW - CAW - CAW! By Clifford johnson The amusements and events that break the monotony of farm life are few and far between. An enjoyment that the hardy tillers indulge in weekly is the night crow hunt. We had just finished the evening milking when Eric, the big Swedish farm hand, came sauntering through the barn. He stopped beside me and bend- ing over he whispered in my ear. Ven you finish the work, I'll meet you by the granaryf' Winking know- ingly and concluding, he added, A crow shoot. I was to be one of a privileged group, consequently I was in such a hurry to get through my chores that in emptying my pail into the milk can I gave a nearby cat a luxurious milk bath. In the granary we took inventory of our weapons and found we had two shotguns, an old squirrel gun, and a revolver to divide among four brave hunters. To my lot fell the ancient squirrel gun. It was an antique. It loaded from the barrel and in place of cartridges, powder and shot were used. Along with the firearm I inherited a horn of powder and a pound of shot. The other accessories I acquired were an old raincoat, a pair of size twelve boots, and an old Sam Brown hat. Thus bedecked, I followed my equally strangely costumed comrades to a tama- rack swamp a mile away. The sky was opaque and covered with storm clouds. The moon burst forth for a fraction of a second, now and then, only to redive into the inky black- ness. The tamaracks were swaying in the chilling breeze and forming grotesque shapes. The night hawks were soaring about their tops, tempting a shot from us. We entered the swamp from the north, spreading out so as to cover more territory. We had planned to go dead south, meeting at the other side of the marsh. Eric called a halt after we had gone forward about two hundred feet. Upon a fallen tree, that was worm-eaten and insect-infested, we held council. Many were the bugs I felt crawling up my spine on exploratory trips, during the following fifteen minutes. Finally, Eric and Jim, the two lead- ers, agreed, and we went on our way. Their plan was to place about one hun- dred feet between each two hunters, thus forming a fan, driving the crows before us, and killing them as they flew. I found myself at the extreme right which, I later discovered, was the wet- test and wildest section in the country. The ground was covered with a yellow- ish green mud that made my feet as heavy as lead and into which I sank almost to my knees. The wind had blown away the clouds and the moon dominated the scene permanently. I sat upon a log to load my trusty musket and scrape ten or fif- teen pounds of earth off my seven leaguei' boots. I remember from my reading of fic- tion how a fellow had, put too much black powder into his gun with dis- astrous consequences, so I used my horn sparingly. No sooner had I started on my way than a crow soared over my head land- ing in a tall tree. I cocked my cannon and aiming at the bird, I pulled the trig- ger. Instead of a nice nhe-man bang, the gun just popped and the ball landed at my feet. I The crow cocked his head to one side, eyed me disdainfully and slowly winged away. I muttered to myself as I re- loaded the gun, this time using about one-half of the contents of the horn and putting in two balls for good measure. I tramped on my way for about an hour without seeing an animal. The ground became boggier than ever, and in one place I sank almost to my waist in the green mud. While I was trying to get out, two crows alighted in a nest on a branch of a tree just above me. I lifted the gun to my shoulder and fired. The gun had been loaded a little too much and the impact drove me deeper into the mud. To cap the climax a lavish supply of eggs came down from the crow's nest, pelting me on the head. I dragged my- self out of the bog and turned my at- tention to the gun. The over-charged shot had not been the best thing for the musket. for the barrel had curled up at the end and had given up the ghost. Thoroughly disgusted with hunting, especially crow hunting, I broke the gun to bits on a tree and muttering to myself I went home. As I turned into the barnyard a big crow circled over my head, jeeringly shouting, Caw-caw-caw! Page Thirteen