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

Page 17 text:

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

Page 16 text:

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

Page 18 text:

Fl-'FHllVI.AH.S.iPC'FE JAQUE AND JILL By Lorraine Goff All heroines, by unwritten law, must be small, dumb, and blondg so, just to be original we'll make Jill Illingsworth tall, dark, and one who looks wise even if she isn't, as she gazed in rapture at the Taj Mahal in Agra, India. The hour was twelve 'cause twelve comes after eleven-so the freshmen tell usg and the guards were closing the gates of the gar- den surrounding the Taj. jill wriggled delightedly as she heard the heavy, pon- derous gates clang which meant that she was shut in the garden with the Taj Mahal, a tomb of a long dead empress, -disconcerting that! But she really wasn't alone. She just thought she was. You see, gentle reader, our heroine must have a hero and vice versa, so, we'll stick a nice great big blond hero in the other side of the gar- den and call him jaque Thompson Cisn't that a nice way to spell Jack? J Reread for practice, now go on with the story. jill-lovely girl-threw back her head, caught it again and tripped lightly out into the silvery moonlight. Suddenly she felt herself lifted up by two C23 strong, sinewy hands-lovely feeling! Really, said Blond Jaque, if you persist in hopping into alabaster lily pools, you must expect to have drastic measures used upon you! In his arms Jill couldn't have escaped had she tried. So she didn't try. Gazing up she found herself looking into a pair Put your hands where they belong and they don't belong to me, smiled Jill. Thanks for saving me, Handsome, I'll reward you some day. You're welcome, Beautiful, but don't gog you can't anyway 'cause we're lock- ed up and I crave conversation. Thus persuaded Jill stayed. You're as exquisite as the seven deadly sins, murmured Jaque looking down at herg and- Just a minute 'til I call the orchestra. We should have music with this, laugh- ed Jill, when suddenly the soft strains of a reed instrument floated on the per- fume-scented air. Enchanted, Jaque and Jill heard the tune gradually quicken to a wierd haunt- ing melody instilling into the pair the desire to dance. As if by instinct his arm encircled her waist and they began to dance like ones possessed. Faster grew the melody and faster they whirled in and out of the lacey shadows. Suddenly the music stopped as it be- gan. That wonderful dance also stopped and Jaque Finding his lips dangerously near those of his exquisite companion's swiftly bent his strong handsome head and-. Fooled ya! jaque woke up to the haunting melody of his merry Baby Ben and profanely expressed his opinions. Moral: Always retire early if you of-you guessed it-eyes. Of course, like most eyes they were under his eye- brows, but, oh, how different! would have time to complete your dreams. The Brook By Evelyn M. Winslade I ramble oft in pastures green Down hill and dale and valley ways, Sometimes in fragrant woods I'm seen A-bubbling ,neath the sun's bright rays. The children love my rippling song And laugh and shout and play with glee. And often they will linger long Until the night has hidden me. All thro' the dark my course I run While all the world lies still in sleep. Sometimes my sound may startle one As I roll on o'er mountains steep. I travel fast from dark to dawn For always there's the urge in me To follow, ever follow on And rush on toward my goal,-the sea. Page Fourteen