Polytechnic High School - Caerulea Yearbook (Long Beach, CA)

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LITERARY MY KINGDOM Eva Richardson '20 Musing tonight, my memory strays, Back to my childhood home; And I wonder who's wading my streams. And roaming where I used to roam. I wonder who's climbing my flovfring hills So high, so straight, so steep! And Pd like to know whds fishing now, In my river so wide and deep. I wonder whose youthful laughter Shrills on the wildwood air, If his feet which tread my moist brown earth Like mine used to be, are. bare. Who's using my 01' swim hole? Or climbing my whisp'ring tree? Now what fellow is walking my woods. Seeing what I used to see? Who's picking my dcw-kisscd blueberries. Feasting on them today? Is he chasing the birds and squirrels That I used to tease in my play? I wonder who rules my boyhood kingdom Back in the fragrant pine; He may hold it today or tomorrow- In mcm'ry Twill always be minel

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l 6 CAERULEA 20 We! Wei I thought resentfully. Why doesn't he speak for himself? I think she might have. sent her old money without com- ing out here bothering us all to death. Mother and I heard their footsteps on the porch. Mother smoothed down a stray lock of my hair, and gave a tug at my plain blue serge dress. The door creaked. Mother gave my hair another little pull. The door opened. Mother ran her fingers vigorously thru my long-suffering hair, making it stand out Uather wildly I fearecD. Aunt Emma entered and I gasped as I saw her and imagined my dreamed-of gay years at Stanford slipping away. Her hair 0h: first thing I noticody was drawn straight back and was crowned by a severely plain beaver hat. Her shoes were squarehtocd and flat- heeled. Her dress was perfectly straight and untrimmed. How do you do, my clears P 5112 said brightly, and is this my little Katherine? Well, well! I knew right from the start that you are. an unusual girl, she continuzd calmly. And that hairll Yes, that hair! I thought. THAT hint Will finish all my hopesl . Of all ways of combing hair I ever saw. continued my eccen- tric aunt, II consider Dutch cut the mostFeh-the most sensible, my dear. Let me see, was it Stanford you wish to attend? Well, yes. Stanford. You shall go there. Such a nice sensible girl as you are-I could tell the iirst instant I saw you, my dear. Beauty sacrtliced for comfort and case! And that is remarkable in one so young. And now, my dear Clara, she went on, turning to my aston- ished mother, Hhow have you been and what are you doing for the great Woman's Movement?

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WWIWWWWWWWWW WW WWWWWWI WIWIWIWWWIWIWWIWWWWI WWWW WW WW WWWWWanIFWmW WWW WWW WW. f . ngWW WWWWWWWWW WWIWWWI WWW IWWWWW WWWII WWWW llIWIIIIIWIWWlI W. .. LWWWWWWWWW William Corey Even today, on the great Antelope plains, some of the glamour and romance of old, some of that swagger and daring still clings to the drivers of the desert and mountain stages, especially to the mail- stage driver, for thru him, connection with the outside is kept. On the desert, the arrival of the maiI-stage is THE event. The driver of the maiI-stage on the Bakersiield-Lost Hills run was the only living thing that had ever touched Little Yellow Dog kindly, and because of that the cur worshipped him as greatly as a small dog could. With so little animation that he disregarded the countless swarm- ing flies, Little Yellow Dog lay in the shadqw' in front of old CapWs saloon, watching out over mile after mile of sage- -brush and sand for the daily mailestage from outside . He was small and gracefully slender, of a light tan color, with pointed ears and nose much like that 01 a iox. His eyes were small and bright. Save for the buzz of flies, a dead silence enclosed the desert. All about and among the scattered shacks of Lost Hills the mid- day heatedevils danced crazily. The scorching rays of the sun Were reflected by the alkali and sheet iron in a blinding glare. A11 life was held in a coma, and the air was saturated with the spicy tang 0f the sage-hrush. A whistle blew at a faraoff oiI-camp as Link: Yellow Dog sighted.