Oroville Union High School - Nugget Yearbook (Oroville, CA)

Page 33 text:

THE BLACK JEWEL Abu Mengal rode slowly along the desert pathway, on his hump-backed friend. Ahead, nearly half a day’s ride, lay the cool, green oasis where he intended to spend the night. Abu Mengal was proud, yet, if his face had been masked, his pride could not better have been hidden. But had he not a right to be proud? Had not his master chosen him, from a host of servants, to carry this precious jewe. to the Mosque of Cordova? Suddenly his pride vanished. It was noon. Getting off his camel, he washed his hands his face and his feet. Then, kneeling on h»s robe, he faced toward Mecca and uttered a prayer, muttering earnestly at the end of it, “Mohammed, let me fulfi’l my promise. Let me deliver this jewel in safety.” When his prayer was finished, he mounted his camel and started again toward the oasis. This oasis was quiet, damp a d cool. Spider monkeys swung from tree to tree, chattering, sco'ding, and throwing things at anyone who disturbed them. The adults lounged on the ground or in tents talking in low mono-tones, while the children in their queer costume , ran here ■and there or slept beneath the trees. As Abu Mengal entered this tent village, a man rose slowly from the ground and approached him, saying, “Do you want lodgings ” “Only the space,” replied Abu Mengal, “J have my own tent.” After his prayer at the close of day, he went to bed and to 'deep. Abu Mengal did not see the small, black hand that stole under his pillow and out again through the back of his tent, but the next morning his jewel was gone. Abu Mengal was frantic. The people looked :ui prised n.d incredulous when re told them. Three days he : pent at the settlement, searching here and there, beneath the trees ar.d in the tents of the inhabitants. Not a jewel could be found. He then prepared to return to his master with the :ad news, but, while leaving the oas's, he met his master on his annual pilgrimage to Mecca. When he heard about the lost jewel, he immediately suspected Abu Mengal. The poor servant was flogged, starved and tortured, but ha could not tell where the jewel was, for he had not taken it. Finally hi master threatened to have him killed. Abu Mengal said nothing to this. He would rather die outright than to be tortured to death. The morning came for him to be killed. The men, with their spears, lined up and Abu Mengal faced them with a sad, but innocent look on his face. His master was standing at one side watching some boys throwing rocks at the monkeys in the trees. The monkeys, thinking he was bothering them, began to throw things at him. Twigs, dates and nuts were thrown but, suddenly, something hit his face. Glancing down to where it had fallen on the ground he saw, not a rock, not a date, but his own precious jewel which his poor servant was to be killed for having lost. With a cry. he picked it up and ran in a very un Arabic wav to where Abu Mengal was and, showing the jewel to him. motiored the men with their spears to withdraw. “Afcu Mengal,” raid his master. “You have been false ly accused. You have faced death bravely. Now, take this jewel to the Mosque, not as my gift to Mohammed, but a; your own.” 2D ESTHER M ARDEN ’21

Page 32 text:

behind, she ould see the Book Monster pursuing her; there seemed to be no escape. Or. she ran, and then, when looking back again, she saw, not only the Big Book Monster, but several mor» Book Monsters. Red ones, g.een ones, brown ones—ail sizes and colors. There were so many of them, and they were all chasing her! They were all following the Big Book Monster as he chased her on and on! At last Elsie fell—she could’nt run another step, what i hou!d she do? She sank to the ground, she was so tired! Oh, so tired, and the monsters were coming nearer : ad nearer. What should the do? She cou dn’t run any farther, and she feared the Monsters so. As the Monsters approached, Elsie found they had kind face:, and were not nearly so horrible to look upon as sho expected. Yet the Big Book Monster frowned at her as he approached and said, “Well, we have caught you at last, and you shall l:sten to us! You- “No, no, go away,” said frightened Elsie, “please go away and leave me alone. I hate you and I will not listen to you. ” “No, we will not go away, and we are determined that you shall listen to us.” “I will not listen to you! See, I’ll close my ears - 1 will not listen!” “Yes, you will listen and learn and, lastly, you will learn to love us, ard to accept ul as your friends,” declared the Big Book Monster. “No, 1 won’t—I never coud learn to love you; I hate you and I always shall hate you!” “Elsie Whitcomb, listen to me; and no more of that defiant talk, please. If you will accept us, we will help you and you will find us good friends to you; and, not only that, but thru us you will find many more friends.” “How can you find new friends for me? inquire.! Elsie, showing interest. “We will introduce you to authors of wonderful personality and interesting works. You vrixl have Book Friends who will never desert you; Book Friends to whom ■ ou ca.i always turn. You know, Elsie, Books are the best friends one can have. Now, my dear, wouldn’t you like to meet Mr. O. Henry’s Prize Stories? Oh, Mr. O. Henry’s Prize Stories, come meet Elsie Whitcomb. I am ure, Ei. ie you will find him a very companionable sort of fellow, and I know you two will be the best of friends.” • Mr. O. Henry’s Prize Stories stepped forward and made a very stiff bow to Elsie. Then he smiled at her and said “I know Miss Elsie, we shall be the best of friends and .indeed, I shall be very glad to help you in every way I can. ’ Thank you, Sir,” replied Elsie, and she smiled at him. for he did look so kindly at her. “Now,” said the Big Book Monster, “meet Miss Women-Who-Make-Our-Novels.” Miss Women-Who-Make-Our-Novels came forward and kis-ed Elsie. “1 have been wanting to meet you for tome time, and I am so glad that, at last, the chance ha.-: come for me to give you some of my knowledge.” “You are very kind, and I know I shall like you very much, Miss Women-Who-Make-Our-Noveb,” said Elsie. “Indeed, with such kind friends, I know I shall accomplish that which has looked so difficult to me before.” “Now I want you to meet—” “Elsie, it is time to get up, now. Hurry, as breakfast is almost ready.” Elsie awoke with a start at the sound of her motner’s voice, and wondered where she was—Ah! it had been a dream, a dream of short story writing. And now she kne v that the accomplishment of her task was not impossible. Book Montsers were to point the way to success. —DOROTHY STEADMAN, 8

Page 34 text:

“WOODCHUCK” ON ICE “Woodchuck, you nigger, come heah an’ git yo kindlin I cain’t make no fiah wid nuffin’. Yo's gittin’ mos' a.? lazy as yo’ pa.” Then in a lower tone, and apparently to herself, mcm Sally chuckled, “S’po.e he’s been out dar boastin' to dem white trash ’bout goin’ up north an’ skatin' Huh! hain’t never had no skates no how. The next day, resplendent in the Missus’s “summer-be-fore-last-before-last” hat. Mom Sally , with her les.-.c half and Woodchuck, departed for ‘‘way up north.” Woodchuck slept most cf the journey. In fact, he awoke only to eat and to say, in a sleepy drawl, “W bar’s de ice?” Then he would go to sleep again. When they arrived, however, there was ice enough to freeze Woodchuck’s little Southern heart. He found there was sunshine somewhere, though when a large box, addressed to Mr. Woodchuck Washington-Johnson”, arrived. It was from the ‘‘Old Missus” and contained a bright sweater, a cap, skates, and hockey clubs and pucks. “I'se gwine win a hockey championship,” he boasted. “Dey’d give it to yo’ jist on yo’ looks, honey,” agreed Mom Sally admiringly. The next afternoon saw a proud ‘‘colohed gemman attired for hockey, and carrying clubs and skates with the confidence of an old-timer. He did not seem to be quite so expert after being on the ice for a short time. Indeed, Woodchuck came home that night with more bumps, bruizes, and skinned joints than he went away with. He soon learned to stand up, and, on tne day that he coul.l knock the puck across the ice with a •■sU. ? swift stroke he approached the couch of the Blakesville Hockey Team. Want a sustchtute?”, he inquired bashfully. Huh?” grunted the coach, “Come here, Ned, this coon wants to ask you something.” “Misah Ned, I presumes?” said Woodchuck, stiltedly. “Uhuh,” Ned didn’t like niggers “Do you’se want a fust class colohed gemman for a subotchtute?” “No!” said Ned explosively. Aw, take him on, Ned, it’ll be rich,” said another. All right.” In this way Woodchuck gained the goal of a “Hockey Team.” The day came for a match with Hoboken Ned Lamour was skating near the far end of the ice. There was a crack ami splash, a shout, and he was seen struggling in the icy water. After being pulled out, he was sent shivering, home. The team was frightened. Even the coach lost his nerve “We’ll have to play that niger,” he growled. “I’se ready, gemmen,” was the response. The umpire began to count. There was a fla h of 5-jnlieht on the skates, and the game was begun. Woodchuck was stationed near the adversary’s goal line. The block came near him. With one of his fancy shots he made a point for his team. But, alas, he shot over the goal line, ignominiously. A roar of laughter from Hoboken and applause from HO