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

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THE M Beautiful weather, don't you think? No answer. MyI What chatterboxes you children are! Still no answer. They rode in this state until they reached the railway station. The train was just pulling in. Cast your eyes in yon direction, commanded Don with an eloquent wave of his hand toward the station platform. There, to their joy, they saw none- other than Miles Henderson. But their rapture was short lived, A smae11 blond girl stepped off the train, and with a glad exclamation, Miles clasped her in his arms. The girls looked at each other in bewilderment. They had never dreamed that Miles might have another sweetheart. So astonished were they that Don's mischievous smile and sly nod at Miles passed unnoticed. Do you see? queried Don, turning to the girls. They evidently did: for with arms around each other they had already started to walk home. The next day there was an item in the paper, announcing the arrival of Doris Henderson who was to spend the week-end with her brother, Miles. At the end of that time, they were both going to return to the city, Miles' busi- ness being over. So the small blond girl was only his sister, but it was too late now. Jane and Mary had long since reached the decision that sweetheart or sister, no man was worth the price of a broken friendship between them. Girls, remarked sophisticated Don, as he Hnished reading the news item, are awful dumb. They give me a pain. Oh, well- A Group of Verses By ELSIE PETERING, '29 MY SHIP Dream ship Only a cloud Vague and formless, as yet, I watch the horizon for you. In vain. THE FOG Damp breath Of some unseen one Enfolds me clutchinglyz Damp fingers push me on - ,. on In space. SUNSET , At eve Farewell, O Sun Orb of crystalline fire Leave your rosy hues behind For me. l OF MUD Oozy - Slimy and dank, Slippery under foot, A gleamingly treacherous mass Of mud. Page Twelve

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T11 E M A NEAR TRAGEDY By REGINA BLACKOWSKI, '29 Mary and Jane had gone about together, ever since their nurses had pushed them around side by side in their respective perambulato-rs. They had shared everything from hair-ribbons to beaus, and, as Jane ruefully said, even the measles. These two were as unlike as Clara Bow and Lindy, Cnot that they resembled either remotelyj. Mary was as sweet and simple as her name, while Jane was fiery and hot-tempered. But in spite of these differences, they were as close as a Scotchman with a nickel, and well nigh as inseparable. They were both popular with the younger set about town, so it was natural for them to be invited to the Country Club dance. And thereby hangs a tale. This was to be a welcome dance for Miles Henderson, a new arrival in town. No one knew very much about him, but the girls raved about his manly beauty, and the boys rated him a 'Agood fellow -hence the occasion for mak- ing whoopee. It was with many a thrill and with wildly beating hearts that Mary and Jane acknowledged their introduction to Miles. Each secretly won- dered how the movies could possibly have missed him. Henderson divided his dances equally between them Cthey were by far the best dancers at the Clubj. Although he may have been flattered by their evident interest, he nevertheless apparently regarded them as mere children. The next day Mary ran over to Jane's house, her eyes dancing, and her face lighted up. Oh Jane, she exclaimed, bursting into the living-room, where Jane and Don were heatedly arguing, 'AI-I have something to tell you. Little Girl, Don arose and frowned impressively, Hplease do not inter- rupt us. We were discussing whether or not there is a hereafter for dogs and cats. , .,.. .1 . Jane promptly squelched him with a superior glance. Why all the excitement? he questioned. f'Did your great-aunt die and leave you a fortune? Or maybe yofu're in love? Love, striking a dramatic pose, 'Ais a funny feeling you feel when you feel a funny feeling that you never felt before. And- But the girls had left the room already. f'Girls give me a pain, he remarked as he settled down to read a book. Meanwhile, a frosty silence hung in Jane's room, where the girls had gone. Both girls, it seems, had confessed that they were in love. Each had reached the advanced age of sixteen. But the crash came when they realized that they were in love with the same man, Miles Henderson. Jane, of course, staged a fiery outburst, and Mary, after the above mentioned frosty silence, left in a huff. This was the beginning of the end of their friendship. At every party or dance they avoided each other, and fought quite openly for the attention of one man. At first Miles regarded them with the amused tolerance a parent assumes toward an unruly child, but later with increasing uneasiness. At last he consulted Don, who, so he boasted, understood women. and therefore had nothing to do with them. The consultation soon bore fruit. Time passed. One day Don hauled out his Collegiate, and ordered his sister in, then drove to Mary's house. After a period of furious horn-honking, Mary appeared. The chariot waits without, my lady. Without what? questioned Mary nervously. 'fAwright, wisecracker, just ease yourself in next to my beloved sister. At first Mary refused, but at Don's stern command, she Hnally seated her- self next to Jane. They drove awhile in stony silence, then- Page Eleven

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THE MU BEAUTY AND ME By DQROTHY WHITBECK, '29 That heading doesn't mean anything--no one ever associates the two. It's just one of life's paradoxes that I should know something about acquir- ing looks. As this is about human beauty-or lack of it-I've tried to decide whether I ought to start at the legs and work up, start at the hair and work down, or start in the middle and broaden out. The latter I happen to be do- ing personally-but that's another story. I think I'll start at the most im- portant item-the figure, and the reduction of it. You may laugh at woman's dieting and doing the high-kick so that she'll represent a broom handle, but there isn't a man who won't pull his coat tight to show his slender hips, or wear knickers to display his shapely legs--if he has them. Man will never understand the real tragedies of woman's life. I've spent hours rotating my legs madly in air, as I counted one, two, Cpuffj one, two- and do I measure any less in yardage of circumference? I've walked perfect miles on my toes Without resting-are my ankles willowy? I've lifted suites of furniture thousands of time CI may exaggeratej but are my arms tenderly rounded? Now for faces. Sadly I admit that those on magazine covers are in the minority. The only- skin I'd love to touch is that of a fox-around my neck: I've tried to ward off a bad complexion by reaching for a Lucky instead of a sweet, but all I've been rewarded by is a slap on the fingers. My girl friend had been sick, and I went to see her. My dear! I cried at first sight, You're deathly pale-what is it? Anxiety must have been in my face, for she laughed, and told me not to worry. You see, it's only my complexion,-mask. I'm not sure, but I think a better way would be to apply a porous plaster to the face, and when it is pulled off-no skin, no skin troubles. However, I haven't tried it, for I've been more interested in my expression. Honestly, you know, a girl with pearly teeth like mine ought to laugh oftener, but fat cheeks don't improve the picture. I read in the Cogwheel that sleeping on a collar button would pro- duce a dimple. I didn't have a collar button, so I used my finger-I couldn't write for a Week afterward. I've heard surgeons can make permanent dimples -I guess they cut out a patch of skin and sew the hole together. I wouldn't risk that, though, for it'd be just my luck to have them knot the thread, and my dimple would be a wart. Still. if a girl has beautiful hair, that is enough. l've eaten burnt crusts till my stomach is black, and does my hair curl? I got upi courage to have it permanented, and now it resembles the mane of a rocking horse, after three kids with carmelly fingers have been ighting over it. And yet--and yet- you should have seen it before. Music By LORRAINE Gow, '29 Upon the stillness of the night I hear the music of the breeze: It plays upon a mellow harp Fashioned from the leafiess trees. The music of past centuries Soft and low it plays for me- The winging birds add to the wind A lonely, broken melody! Page Thirteen