Polytechnic High School - Polytechnic Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

Page 26 text:

THE POLYTECHNIC William Hardc.rave Paterio Bisquf.ra Robert Baker Harold Hadley Allan Wyatt Walter Sk rock i Akio Ujihara Harry Whitfield [ 22]

Page 25 text:

I' H E POLYTECHNIC Stephen Dean Edward Rea Schuyler Cati.ktt Frances Carroll Jack Altshuler Arthur Spitzer Jeanette Shefsky Ruih Lundquist Lambert Becker Gustav Riga Elise Peusch Lyle Anderson Vincent Whitney Vincent Detwiler [ 21 ]

Page 27 text:

THE POLYTECHNIC STORIES La Pi Qui Chante Journal Prize Story odrique laughed. They were, as yet, but at the first steps of the stairs, and here was Laurence already puffing. You see, mon ami, he said, shaking his head, “you were not made to be an adventurer; you should content yourself with the role of bon vivant. At this hour you should be dining in the Cafe de Paris with plump, correctly gowned American ladies, instead of climbing up a queer little street, on your way to a notorious Montmartre cafe in the company of an impossible artist person. Tais-toi, replied Laurence good naturedly. 1 am every bit as adventurous as you, even though my waist band does exceed yours, and I am not as light on my feet as a young gazelle. Besides, how do you know that I am stopping to get my breath? Perhaps it is the view. Look! Far to the southwest, one can see against the midnight sky, the towers of the cathedral at I ours. The view from the crest of the little street was indeed magnificent, especially on this luminous summer night. All Paris lay at their feet in a symphony of light, from the golden blaze in the Place de 1 Opera to the tiny pinpoints of silvery light in the surrounding villages. If one w'ere possessed of a good imagination, one might see, even as Laurence did, the tow'ers of Tours in the distance. Rodrique smiled and slipped his arm around the shoulders of his friend. I take it all back, my dear American, you have indeed the soul of an artist, you who paint with words. I’ll wager your soul is a gay, dashing, devil-may-care sort of a fellow, a veritable Pierrot. Laurence shrugged his shoulders as he replied, Perhaps so. 1 think our souls are expressive of the things we love and not the things we are. I think, if you do not mind my saying it, that your soul, my debonair friend, is not, as you think it, a merry butterfly but rather a sleek, well-fed creature that loves warmth and com- fort, even luxury. I ll wager that if you become a great success as an artist, that in a few years’ time you will be an artist no longer but a jovial dilettante, 't ou will no longer take pleasure in poking around in quaint little corners; you will be an habitue of the smart salons, a little stouter, perhaps, but a lion among the ladies. At this point he was interrupted by the subject of his diagnosis, who put a silencing finger upon his lips. [23]