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

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I saw her in there, I thought I would ask her if I could go fishing with the fellows. She was standing in front of her dresser and when I spoke to her she stuck something into the drawer real quick and looked awful guilty. Days passed and the very worried Sherlock Holmes found no further clues. Finally he declared, We'll give her a little more time and then we'll ask her about it. The following day was a great occasion in the entire household. Mr. Dan Curtis was to celebrate his seventeenth birthday. He almost forgot about the great cloud upon his young mind as he devoured a little more than his share of the dinner and afterwards sat down in the parlor to play checkers with his father. His mother sat darning a large pile of stockings. Do you like your tie pin, Son? she asked. 'LI should say so, Mother, was the reply. NI had a terrible time to keep it hidden from you, she continued. You came into the room where I was looking at it the other day and I just had time to stick it into my dresser drawer. I bet you thought that I looked rather guilty. Oh no, he lied glibly, I didn't noice it. Over his father's head he winked at Maxine. Mrs. Curtis had taken her purse from the table and opened it. I just happened to think, she exclaimed, that Uncle Henry gave me some cigar bands for you to paste on that old jug you are covering. She handed them to her son with a smile. He accepted them with a sheepish grin and a lighter heart than he had had for days. Maxine cleared her throat loudly. Two explanations, but what of the cigarette paper? She was not to know that night, nor the next. Indeed it was three mornings later that she was walking with her mother in the front lawn. Her mother walked along slowly, her eyes upon the ground. Suddenly she stooped and picked up an empty cigarette package, remarking as she did so, If those workmen don't stop throwing their trash upon our lawn, am going to hold a private conference with them. I don't know how many I have picked up from here. I put one in my pocket one day and forgot all about it until the other day when I was in the kitchen and I Twenty-seven

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such a privilege. Dan alone kept his eyes on his plate after the first glance. The girl felt that he was worried deeply about something. As she was doing the dishes he sauntered into the kitchen and leaning against the wall gazed at her meditatively. Do you like my hair bobbed? she asked. Yes, I guess so. Mother looks awfully well. Doesn't she? Yes Well, out with it Dan. What is the matter anyway? she asked him at last. Nothing . Don't tell me that. Cut with it right now. Well, it's Mother, he said. Put your hand in that apron pocket of yours. She did so curiously. The apron was one that her mother had worn that day. Suddenly she drew forth a brightly colored paper and gasped as she looked at it. Upon it in brilliant letters were the words, Chesf terfields. They Satisfy. It was nothing less than the empty package of cigarettes. How did you know about this? she asked him breathlessly. u. Found it in there when she asked me to hang it up for her this noon.' What does it mean? Oh, I really can't imagine, he replied sarcastically. You mustn't think of such a thing for even a moment, she exclaimed. Well, you don't look exactly happy yourself, he ventured. 'Tm not. I found something today too. I-Ialtingly, she told him of her discovery. Don't dare say a word to anyone about it, Sis, he warned. We'll do a bit of detective work and see if our Mother is-fl The sight of his mother on the porch hindered him from finishing his sentence. They worried along for a week in this way. Dan, ever watchful, discovered but one thing to convince him further of his mother's guilt. He reported this to his sister in the following words: I was walking along in the hall by the door to her room, and when Twenty-six

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felt it in my pocket. If any of the neighbors had seen me with it, no telling what they might have thought. ' 'LBut Mother, some of the women do it in New York. Don't they? Smoke, I mean. Ixlaxine looked up into Mrs. Curtis's face. Muriel Marne told me so, she finished. Yes, dear, they do. Many women smoke, but always remember, my girl, ladies never do. And that means ladies in the truest sense of the word. Dan, glancing up from the flower garden which he was weeding, saw his sister softly form the words, Thank goodness, Dan. Mum is the word for always. And he replied, You bet your life. I HOW TO BECOME A SUCCESSFUL POET There are two distinct types of poetry- the type with delightful metrical form and little meaning and the type with deep mean' ing and fierce meter. I present a third type, Roger Waltefhouse which has not only profound meaning but enchanting poetic beauty. Undoubtedly this is the highest form of all three types. Strange to say, by the use of the formula which I print here any one of us can write poetry of the highest order. When Rudyard Kipling and john Maseheld see my formula they will most likely look upon it as infringement upon the venerable profession of poets. Mr. Lesley Bates, the faculty poet, has already demanded to know what license I have to publish such a formula. I answer him, poetic license. The formula is as follows: First, write an essay or a narrative with as deep a meaning as you can devise. Second, divide it into any number of stanzas. Select the number of syllables you wish in each line and mark them off. For instance, if you decide upon alternating octosyllabic and hexasyllabic lines, count off eight or six syllables in each line. Then put parenthesis around the Twenty-efgflt