Paris High School - Arena Yearbook (Paris, IL)

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A LESSON IN ANCIENT HISTORY HE class in Ancient History was wearily digging into the “Past” exhuming battles, dates, governments, statutes, and men. The usual bright pupils had recited and the routine had settled into a succession of monosyllabic replies which the teacher extracted from the pupils as a dentist pulls teeth—with effort on one side and pain on the other. Now and then the teacher, for she was just from college, and very wise, soared skyward on some theory, leav- ing the class on the ground gaping after her, or watching the dogs play on the school ground. The radiators sputtered cheerfully and the drone of recitation was soothing and rest inspiring. Hunched on a chair in the back row. absorbed in a football annual. Jim sat. tearing holes in the enemy's line. Like all mediums, his gaze penetrated space until it reached a spot—the football field. Casting his practiced eye over the field, he noted the X yard lines gleaming in white, the masses of people and color, and then he was dressing in the room under the grandstand. Here in the air thick with the smell of sweat and dope” he drew on his battered armor and walked onto the field. The signal practice, toss up. and kick off passed like a dream. He was in the thick of the scrimmage, in two places at once, blocking, tackling, or rushing short bucks against the weak guard of Charleston. His twisting run, corkscrewing through half the team, brought the crowd to it’s feet, and made the side blossom into a mass of orange and black. During the second half, despite his sui erhuman efforts, his team was pressed back relentlessly. Shouting himself hoarse, he tried in vain to rally his exhausted men. His efforts were unavailing. Slowly but surely, the big “full of Charleston hammered holes in the worn out line. With three minutes to play, and the ball on their fifteen yard line. Charleston tried an end run; the ball somehow 01 other rolled out of the scrimmage and. diving on it. Jim started for the opposite goal.

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noteworthy of all the receptions given by any Junior Class at any time. A word in conclusion. Has 11 fullfilied her mission? Has she been faithful to the performance of her duty? A glance at the past will answer. Who can look upon the matchless beauty of her past history with an eye that is not enraptured? Who can behold the Class of 1911, radiant amid the glories of her many vi tories, more numerous than the objects painted upon the shield of Achilles; who can gaze upon the stars of her crown, before the brightness of which» the star on the brow of the night grows pale, and the dia- monds of Brazil are dimmed; who can behold all the unspeak- able magnificence and not appreciate her brilliancy and success? For brilliant and successful has been our career thus far. and brilliant and successful shall it be to the end. Vive la ’ll. —Herbert Sheltenberger. ’ll. □ □ □

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Dodging, twisting, he gained the o| en with only the quarter back to intercept him he ran as for his life. Nearer and nearer Jim sped, the little squatty quarter waiting like a bull- dog. for the attack. Suddenly it was all over. Shifting the ball to his left arm. he met the quarter with a straight jolt from the shoulder. The quarter's fingers gripped his trousers, missing his hips, but a savage jerk set him free. Then fifteen yards brought him between the goal posts. The crowd went wild. Rushing over the field they caught him on their shoulders and with Rah! Rah! West” ringing in his ears— James.” “Yes. Ma’am.” “Describe the battle of Marathon.” “Well-um-their iine-up was pretty heavy, but they were slow and the forward pass had them guessing—” Just then the bell rang. —Elmore Alien. '11. □ □ □