North High School - Polar Bear Yearbook (Des Moines, IA)

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as he thought of the coming conquest of the Golden Haired One. He sat down on the top of the low bureau and began to kick his heels idly. As he thought of the incidents of the morning, his face lost its bright look and soon wore a troubled expression. ' Tunky ' ' Stephens had rushed to him to tell him of the meeting to be held at the cave, but stopped short in amaze- ment at the sight of Dead Eye ' s clean face, blacked shoes, and combed hair. Yi ! Boys ! he yelled, Looky, Dead Eye. His Maw has washed his face. Wadsworth Jones, ain ' t you afraid to be out alone? Dead Eye made one move forward but Punky had fled, leaving the other boys grinning. Dead Eye offered to lick the whole bunch but they backed away in double quick time. Just the same, the atmosphere had changed. From his nick name which was dear to his heart, they had changed to Wadswor%ft74he hated and despised name which his paronts had bestowed upon him. It was a cruel world, but at the thought of the Golden Haired One, Dead Eye ' s troubled look vanished. Whis- tling cheerily, he started to leave the room. In the threshold his mother met him. Wadsworth, you — , she stopped and looked at him in amazement. Why, why, Wadsworth, my son! Dead Eye mentally groaned. She bent and kissed him. At last her motherly admonitions were taking effect. She always knew if she talked to him long enough he would do as she said. After all, Wadsworth was a dutiful son. During these reflections Dead Eye had made good his escape. He slipped quickly through his own gate and was soon at the Golden Haired One ' s gate. He opened it cautiously and went in. Should he walk up to the house and knock, or should he wait till she came out? Dead Eye debated with himself for a long time but couldn ' t quite pick up courage. He 95

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BOYHOOD AMBITIONS. Agnes Flach. EAD EYE ' ' Jones stood in front of the long mirror carefully scrutinizing his small person. He ran a skinny, uncompromising hand over his curly red hair. Why did a fellow have to be burdened with curly hair, especially if it were red ? It stood up in bunches, giving him a frightened look. ' ' Dead Eye had always been proud of the way it stood up, but now — well — now was a different time altogether. He disappeared for a short time but soon returned with a brush dripping wet. Giving his hair a few hasty strokes, he suddenly paused. His nose wrinkled up in disgust. Oh, Gee! I ain ' t got a chance. Freckles! He sat down on the edge of the bed and buried his chin in his hands. His eye lit up as it fell on the cold cream jar. Dipping his finger into the creamy white stuff he spread it over his face lavish- ly, meanwhile marching around the room in order to make it dry quicker. He took a towel and rubbed until his face was a bright shining red. Seizing a small mirror, he hur- ried to the window. Not a freckle had moved ! ' ' Didn ' t it say it would remove freckles? he demanded of the jar itself. Well, it can ' t be helped, I guess, he said wistfully. Perhaps she ' ll like me anyway. At last it was out. There was a she in the case. Dead Eye Jones the Terror was in love. The day before a new family had moved in next door, and Dead Eye had come face to face with a most wonder- ful creature and best of all she had smiled at him. Of course, she was grown up. Dead Eye the Fighter, wouldn ' t have anything to do with one of those sissy girls that bawled every time you touched her hair. No, in- deed ! She of the Golden Hair had sense. Dead Eye ' called her this because all the ladies in the stories of knights had a name something like this. Dead Eye gave a big sigh and his face brightened 94

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tried to brace himself by thinking of the knights and their heroic deeds, but they weren ' t very good bracers. Of course, if he had really been a knight and wanted a lady, he ' d grab her by her golden hair, sling her across his horse and ride off, but ' ' Dead Eye objected to this plan for himself, at the present. In the first place he hadn ' t a horse and in the second place, he didn ' t see how he was going to get her on the horse if he had one. Girls didn ' t like their hair pulled anyway. Of course, the ' ' Golden Haired One wouldn ' t cry or make a fuss but then — No! It wasn ' t a good plan. Suddenly two figures coming up the street caught his eye. Surely it was She of the Golden Hair and the — Why it couldn ' t be — Yes, it was. It was the shoe clerk ! Dead Eye ' s hands clenched. How dared that insig- nificant shoe clerk break up his plans? He, Dead Eye, the Fighter, the Terror, the Avenger. He ' d lead out his gang. He ' d — He had forgotten. He hadn ' t any gang. But never mind, he ' d challenge him himself. Dead Eye the Avenger had spoken. They would fight a duel at sunrise. Dead Eye lifted his head, swelled out his chest and, grasping his trusty wooden sword, advanced. When he was within a few feet of them and when he was about to issue his challenge, She of the Golden Hair spoke. Why, what a nice little boy ! What is your name, sonny, and does your mother know you are here? Dead Eye gave one astonished gasp and fled. He never stopped till he reached the loft in the old barn. Here he flung himself face downward on the hay. Dead Eye, the Avenger, was crying. And she didn ' t even know me, he sobbed. A nice little boy — this thought was too much for Dead Eye. He again burst forth into sobs. A half hour later he emerged, but his hair, which a short hour ago was brushed so smoothly, was touseled and 96