Palo Alto High School - Madrono Yearbook (Palo Alto, CA)

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been unconscious for seventy-eight hours after the battle, and all that remained of the unfortunate man I went to rescue was a blood spattered stateroom and the tattered shreds of clothing. From a seaman on duty, I learned that just as we were passing the exact line of the equator, a huge black figure had jumped overboard. He had called for the ship to stop and the boats were lowered, but no remains of anything mortal could he found, so the ship went on its course again. Mr. Waldrua had left no clue of his horrible disappearance behind, so as I tell my experiences I feel that they will be rejected as false, as 1 have no substantial proof. Even the passengers of the ship lost their respect for me and even went so far as to say I had probably murdered the man and then threw him overboard. —Gustav Offekman ’23. jur THE CHRISTMAS MYSTERY It just makes me sick to hear people say that they don’t believe in Santa Claus. Of course they believe in him. I hey must. They have been brought up on that belief and they could not change it if they would; they only say that Santa Claus doesn't exist because they are afraid that other people (who feel just the same) will laugh at them. I don’t see anything to laugh at. Once 1 thought I had found mv mother playing Santa Claus and it made me feel unhappy for a week. I happened to see the grocery bill and it had an item for a special kind of fruit that we had at Christmas. But of course that was only because Santa was out of it or because there had been a blighting frost at the North Bole. Still I never look at the bills just after Christmas, and I suppose there are others who wish they could say the same. One time 1 actually saw Santa Claus. At any rate I thought I saw a red heel vanish through one door just as 1 opened the other. At one time I suspected my father of lighting the candles hut he was just as anxious to catch him as 1 was. In fact he always found him first and called me in to show me that he had been there. I don’t think that Christmas would be any fun at all without Santa Claus, and if other people don’t believe in him they ought to keep still about it and not always he taking the joy out of life. Anyway if they don’t believe in him they ought to, because there is something wrong with any one who can’t believe that the person who gives him presents really exists. Why, half the time the man who says that there is no Santa Claus is wearing a Christmas necktie! —Dennistoun Wood 23. AT TO THE SKY Oh pure and spotless, spanning, summer sky, How can I dare to look you in the eye. You are in Nature broadest, deep and free, Yet all of you and more was made for me. While I, my virtues are but slight and few, A speck unseen, compared with all of you; Not broad with depth, or even half so free, Could it have been, perhaps, that I’m for thee? Paul Carey, ’22. [241

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THE STRANGE CASE OF MR. WALDRUA His very presence seemed to create a feeling of repugnance and fear among my fellow passengers. What it was that produced this feeling toward my unfortunate friend I cannot say. He himself seemed to be aware of his dual personality, and yet he could not overcome it. I had become acquainted with him at the outset of the voyage and yet, even though I may safely remark that 1 was the only one in whom he put confidence, he was still a mystery to me. At times he was a most agreeable companion, and then again he was sullen and morose, and ignored my attempts at friendship. When he was in his natural condition he struck me as being a very well- bred man. To listen to his conversation you would be struck with diverse feelings. Sympathy and hate for the man were aroused in your innermost feelings, and yet you could not substantiate either of your feelings. Lately, however, his actions had become very mysterious, and his appearance among groups of passengers would instantly break up any attempts at sociability. I took all these occurrences as a matter of fact until one exceptionally weird performance took place when the captain announced that the equator would be passed in twenty-four hours. The very next morning my friend appeared pale, or rather with a strange look of fear upon his face. During the night I had heard several seemingly unnatural sounds in his stateroom, as it adjoined the one I occupied. '1 he partitions were of a single thickness, with a door which was locked, connecting the compartments. I dispelled the thought of his haunted look, and greeted him with a hearty “Good Morn- ing.” His response was rather feeble, and when I inquired as to his health I received a very evasive answer. That day he seemed to be in very low spirits, and toward the close of the day I thought he might be losing his mind. A passenger happened to he standing near when up hurst Mr. Waldrua, and uttering a fiendish scream, ran as a crazed man to his room. He remained in the room the rest of the afternoon, and did not make his appearance at the evening meal. That night upon retiring, I lay for a long while unable to sleep. My thoughts wandered to the most unpleasant stories. 1 recalled with remarkable clearness every detail of a book of horrible murders. In fact, they seemed most natural to me as I lay in the dark. I reviewed the death stiuggle of a certain Monsieur Bibet as if I were a spectator of the encounter. A cold sweat had broken upon me, and some ill-omened feeling of disaster seemed impending close by. 1 had just been musing about the feasibility of a novel where a murdered man was entirely decomposed by a terrible chemical. The horrible details of his death seemed to haunt me with a peculiar presentment. Then again such thoughts as being buried alive came into my mind. Suddenly I thought I heard a shriek from the next room. Seized with fear, J listened in the death-like stillness and again the wild cry of a soul in despair rent the air. I jumped up, and with a superhuman effort forced open the door connecting the apartments. The sight which greeted me caused me to step back in horror. A huge black amorphous figure had the unfortunate Mr. Waldrua in his grasp. The look on his face as he struggled with the monster seemed to embody all the forms of physical and mental torture a man could endure. Upon my entrance this huge black figure released its victim and rushed upon me. With an instinct of self-preservation 1 battled fiercely but to no avail. 1 he very breath in my lungs was being slowly crushed out. Slowly I felt my strength being sapped from my body, and then all was black. When 1 came to, I found myself in the ship surgeon’s room, with a host of atten- dants gazing on me with a look of astonishment. For days I was too weak to utter a word, until one day I found my voice returned to me. I plied the people who- visited me with all sorts of questions as to Mr. Waldrua. I soon learned that I had [23]

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A DAY IN PANJASANG GORGE After spending the night at the quaint Nipa Hotel in Panjasang in the Philippines, we starred lor a trip up Panjasang Gorge. At the bank of the river we were met by the banqueros and their bancas we had engaged for the trip. Each banca, a kind of canoe, was paddled by two banqueros. As we ascended the river it became narrower, and gradually became a gorge with many rapids hurrying on their way to the mouth of the river. Ihe water was not very deep, so occasionally, when we came to the gushing rapids, we would get out and stand on the big rocks while the banqueros got our and carried or hauled the bancas into calmer waters. The sides of this tropical canyon were almost perpendicular and were densely overgrown with tropical growth. I he monkeys in the trees scolded at us as we passed, as if they thought we had no right to invade the territory that belonged to them. At times we caught glimpses of the long-tailed dwellers of these cliffs. Sometimes when there was an especially inviting rock lying in the sun, we could see an Iguana, one of those monstrous lizards, sunning himself there. All was lonely and quiet in this tropical gorge except for the chattering monkeys, an occasional song from the vanqueros, the running water, or the humming of a distant waterfall. In due time we arrived at a waterfall which the banqueros said marked the end of the trail. After watching the surging water at the foot of the falls for a while we decided to return home. The return did not take nearly so much time as the ascent, for we shot down the rapids. It was great sport. The banqueros handled their boats with remarkable skill, guiding them in and out among the boulders with ease. A great rock would loom up m midstream, and just as we were bolding our breaths in expectation of crashing into it, the boat would swerve in its course, and dash past it only to point toward another one. There was always the danger of being upset, though little danger of drowning. Each received his share of the spray. But what did that matter? Had we not seen one of the most beautiful places of Nature? Surely we were satisfied. —Mary Cox ’25 £. JKT HOW IT BEGAN My heart got caught in Bobby’s hair, (Oh, Bob’s a wily fairy,) She’d spread it out twas hardly fair— To trap a chap unwary. “Oh! Give me back my heart,” I cried, “Ev’n though you lose your tresses!” “Oh, that’s all right!” young Boh replied, “My hair an awful mess is!” We hied us to a barber chair, Where heart and hair were parted, And thus was bobbed fair Bobby’s hair, And so the fashion started. Jack Franklin '22. [25]