Petaluma High School - Trojans Yearbook (Petaluma, CA)

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THE ENTERPRISE, ’12 ant whistle and the chug chug of the launches as they go or come from the Lido. Now the night has fallen; many lights gleam out over the canal. Sud- enly there is music. It comes nearer and nearer—now it seems under the balcony. It is the music boat, gay with green and yellow lanterns and fill¬ ed with singers and their accompanists. After each song a rain of cop¬ pers falls into the boat from the different windows and balconies. We hur¬ ry down and ask the portier to call our gondolier. “Una centa quarante otto” (148) he calls, and in a jiffy Kenzo, that jewel of gondoliers, is at the steps and we are comfortably seated among the cushions of his boat. In answer to his soft “Where, Mees?” we tell him to follow the music boat; and soon we aie drawn up with a dozen other gondolas alongside of the singers. “Will they sing‘O sole mio’ Fenzo?” “Yes, if the Signorina wishes it,” and presently a clear, sweet tenor is singing that sweetest of all Venetian songs. We have our coppers ready and gladly give all we have when the leader steps from one gondola to another with his hat in his hanf When we return to the hotel. Fenzo says, “Shall I come tomorrow. Mees?” We had some glorious rides with Fenzo. He spoke English in a soft, pleasant voice. When we asked him how he learned it so well, he said, “Out of a book, ' mees.” One pleasant day we went across the Lagoon and past the funeral island to Murano, an island dotted with pink and yel¬ low houses, where the glass factories are. Fenzo remained at our service during our whole visiR|hd took us to the station the day we left. As we stepped out of his gondola, he slipped a card into our hands. On one side the enterprising gondolier had printed a picture of his gondola and Ermenegildo Fenzo, Gondoliere N. 148, Venezia. S. Agnese 750. On the other side he had carefully written “Please recommend me to your friends and to write at my address before to arrive in Venice.” V e did not say Goodbye” to Venice or to Fenzo, but “Au Revoir.” M. C. S.

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' THE ENTERPRISE, 4 2 ers rakishly set on one side. Grouped around the bandstand are crowds or people—children feeding myriads of pigeons, venders selling cornucopias, filled with corn to feed to these birds; gay, laughing, black-eyed Venetian women, their coiffures arranged with great care and their black silk shawls draped over their shoulders toning down the riotous mass of color. At the tables is seated the population of Venice enjoying its afternoon refresh¬ ment; here is a group of beautiful and well-dressed Italian girls, chaperon¬ ed by mothers or aunts, perhaps,—gaily chatting with their friends; there sit a group of gay, young cavalry officers in uniforms of Alice blue and bright green, excitedly discussing the latest war news from Tripoli. An¬ other knot of older officers stands near by, more gravely exchanging views on the same subject, no doubt. Opposite is a merry table of American girls, sipping their afternoon tea and eating those delicious Italian phun cakes. Gradually, however, it grows darker and the life and color disap¬ pear in the longer shadows. We return to the hotel to the balcony overlooking the Grand Canal. It is evening and the red sun is disappearing behind the dome of Santa Maria della Salute. Slowly the orange fades to pink and little by little the color is gone and the buildings stand out darkly against the dusky background. Now lights appear one ny one, it is very quiet, no jangling street cars, no wagons grinding over pavements; the only sounds that break the stillness are the faint ringing of distant church bells and occasionally the discord- 29

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HEINRICH KIDNAPPED )EINRICH Heine Schmidtlein was howling dismally. He had been very naughty in school, so his hard-hearted and cruel teacher had set him out on the schools steps to meditate upon his misdemeanor, after giving him a se¬ vere beating. “Was ist los, sonny? ' ’ said a kindly voice. Heinrich looked up and wip¬ ed his large china-blue eyes. The tracks of his tears were visible over his dirty little face and his yellow hair was sticking out over his head, making him look like a dandelion in full blossom. It was an old man who spoke. When Heinrich found that he was of the same nationality as himself and that the bag he carried appeared to have candy in it, the little boy cheered up somewhat and began to realize that life might be endurable after all. “You come home with me,” said the old man, “and quit the schule. I’ll see that you are treated fine.” “If I come by you, can I have two fried eggs for breakfast?” asked Heinrich. “Ja!” answered his friend, so Heinrich bade a silent farewell to his school, which he hoped never to see again, and set forth with his new found friend. They soon left the residence part of the city and entered the poorer business district. At last they came to a dark (little second¬ hand store. This they entered after strong protests from Heinrich who preferred the delicatessen store next door where many big fat sausages hung in the window. “This is where du bleibst!” said the old man decidedly and pulled Hein¬ rich in. An old woman came to meet them. “Heinrich Strauss!” said she, “where have you been all this time?” “Sssh!” said Mr. Strauss, “here is the little bub you have been wanting so long and for me he can sweep out the store in the morning.” Heinrich suddenly had a pang of homesickness but Mrs. Strauss was a motherly woman and soon was cuddling him in her lap, with a big piece of sausage in his hand. She had long wanted to adopt a little boy and here was one coming from—she didn’t know where. As for her husband— here was the very boy he wanted to run errands. So all three were satis¬ fied. 31