Petaluma High School - Trojans Yearbook (Petaluma, CA)

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HIGH SCHOOL ENTERPRISE ’0 7. he only had a strip about gn Inch wide, extending from the back of one ear to the back of the other, parted directly down the middle, and combed over his smooth head as far as it would reach. John stole a sly look at those be¬ hind but said nothing. Reaching a picturesque spot on the mountain side, they alighted and partook of their delicious luncheon. The group then parted, each wandering where he chose. Grace went alone, and seating herself on a boulder, sur¬ rounded by the glories of California mountain scenery, she sang softly a song that she loved. She was unconscious that the two college boys had climbed into a tall tree, whose branches overspread a brook a few yards away, to listen to her sweet notes, until—splash! Something happened. She reached the brook just in time to see the robust Bert creep from the water, a radiant smile on his dripping face, at the same time Allen was scrambling from the tree. For a few minutes all stood laughing. How could they help it at such a sight! Before long the party gathered and were soon descending the moun¬ tain at a great speed. The coach was lurched into a rut. The occupants were bounced up and down, back and forth. Our young Berkeleyite was bumped against Mrs. Sales. Just as they were settling back they were launch¬ ed into another rut. “Mr. Coachman, if you don’t cease driving into such holes I’ll get my hat pin to work,” said Mrs. Sales. Peal after peal of merry laughter floated out on the evening air from the coach as it whirled down the mountain side, leaving only a cloud of dust to mark its flight. After dinner in the hotel that evening, the guests were gathered in the parlor. Grace having been asked to give some music, was seated at the piano undecided what it should be. “Would you mind, Miss Grace, singing that song you sang on the mountain side to-day?” Asked Bert. “Yes,” said Allen, ‘that song Bert was listening to when he fell in.” A merry laugh ran round the room. Grace rested her fair brow on her slender hand a moment. Her thoughts ran back to the scene of that song, a little valley on the east side of which stood a solitary mountain range like a wall of defence. From the base, spreading westward, was a level plain like the prairie lands of the Mis¬ sissippi. Across it flowed the winding river, along which came the fresh sea breeze which mingled with the pure mountain air, forming one of the most healthful climates in the world. From this rose the hills, rolling one after the other, farther and farther toward the mighty Pacific. Standing out be¬ fore the rest was dear old Knob Hill where stood Petaluma High in all her majesty. There were the bright faces and ringing laughter of the students. There too, was seen Miss Perkins, standing before her class, as did Icabod of yore, her maxim being: “Teach the child the thing you ought, When he is gone ’twill be forgot.” There Miss Watkins, with her cheery smile, flitted through the halls like a college girl, but was strictly ready for business at nine. There were the highly respected Mr. Newell with his inexhaustable store of knowledge of ancient worlds; the sweet-toned Singer; the happy smiling Way, the com- —27—

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HIGH SCHOOL ENTERPRISE ’0 7. sea of prune blossoms in the rolling foot-hills, each ripple reaching higher and higher till it touched the azure sky. “This air certainly is bracing, and the view is just grand,” began Mrs. Sales. “Beyond words,” put in her stout neighbor on the right. He began to hum. The tall lank fellow listened. What, could it be? N-o- Y-e-s, it was “California.” “And we’ll rough-house old Stanford till she-.” He tried to tune up. He looked over the fields. Finally he got it. “Down in the country of the Cardinal.” “I say,” he broke in, “I am a fel¬ low from Stanford, I suppose you must be a Berkeley boy.” “That I am. Shake hands, old boy.” So they reached across the back of the seat and clasp¬ ed hands. “Well, if 1 am not the luckiest, to get in with two college chaps. Now I want to know,” she urged, punching the Berkeley fellow till he almost jumped, “something about these schools. Now I never could understand how Berkeley, such a large school as Berkeley, could ever let herself be beaten by Stanford, and the state school too. I’d be abashed.” “We won three or four games in succession,” explained the Stanford man. “We won the Rugby game, too. You know this Rugby game is quite an idea. It is worth any man’s money to see. I can’t understand my self, how we always win, but we do. It’s quite an honor you know.” “You play in the team I suppose?” inquired Mrs. Sales. “O yes,” he answered, “I play in the team. But I must confess I haven’t made as good a record as I might.” Having said this, the Stanford fellow, Allen, glanced over to see how the Berkeleyite, Bert, was taking things. Bert had been listening. He bore a look of calm satisfaction, but his heart within swelled with pride, for he knew that old Berkeley had always played to do herself credit. What was the use explaining! It would be proved to the world again as it had been before. Grace, meantime, was looking back over the zigzag road they had been traveling. To her there was a fascination in the moss-grown stumps and broken-rail fences, on which perched the larks, as they sang their greetings. They passed great clusters of poppies, emblems of the sunset state. Well, she thought, did the Spaniards name them when they called them “cups of gold.” Bang!! The horses plunged in their terror. Hunters had done the harm. Altho‘ it was up grade the horses fairly flew, when woe—the sober man’s hat blew off and was left in the dust behind. “John, I told you to hold your hat. It’s the last you’ve got!” screamed Mrs. Sales. “O dear, what can be done?” By this time the team was subdued. “I’ll give any one five dollars that will go and get that hat. It’s the last he’s got and we can’t afford to get another. ’ Allen jumped out and soon recovered the lost article, restored it to the owner, and politely declined a reward. “That’s my husband,” declared Mrs. Sales. “I warned him about his hat, but he’s so funny. The Doctor says he has electricty in his hair. We’re out for his health now. Poor John sat with one hand tightly grasping his hat, while he violently mopped his bald head with the other. “Look out,” roared Bert, or you’ll rub the last bit of your electrified hair off.” Indeed

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HIGH SCHOOL ENTERPRISE ’0 7. poser of songs; the busy little Miss Daniel, bending over some herbs and flowers. With a far away look in her eyes, Grace raised her head, and softly played the opening bars. Her clear soprano voice rang and re-echoed through the old inn. It raised the college spirit of the boys, who joined in the chorus, until all took up the strain: f ‘I will sing with delight of the Purple and White, Of Petaluma High.” LILLIS HEMPHILL, ’09. TRUTH IS STRANGER THAN FICTION A sailor named Taylor was wrecked on a whaler—the sea was about to prevail, When lucky for Taylor the foundering whaler caught up with a slum¬ bering whale “In order to sail her to harbor,” said Taylor, “myself I’ll avail o’ this gale So Taylor, the sailor, the sail o’ the whaler did nail o’er the tail o’ the whale.—Life. ILLUSTRATING THE DIFFERENCE “What’s the difference between vision and sight?” “See those two girls across the street?’ “Yes.” “Well, the pretty one I would call a vision of loveliness, but the other one—she’s a sight.”—Ex. JOHNNIE’S CRITICISM. “Say, pa,” queried little Johnny Bumpernickle, “are you a self-made man?” “Yes, my boy, and I’m proud of it.” replied the old man. “But, pa,” continued the inquisitive youngster, “why didn’t you use a looking glass?”—Ex. The Argumentive Man—But, my dear fellow, I tell you it’s impossible for the moon to be inhabited. When it is full it is all right but when it wanes down to a little cresent, where would all the people go to? —28—