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

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T HI- POLY T ECHNIC The Wife of Henri'Pierre Jr WAS a lovely summer afternoon in beautiful Milan, but the most exclusive part of the town was practically deserted; people were not in town at this time of the year. However, one of the big palaces of the Piazza del Duomo was open, and the few peasants and street-venders who passed there wondered a little. Above, in the little tea room of the palace, two lonely members of society were sighing and wishing they were at the seashore, in the Alps, at Monte Carlo, anywhere but here. I think it's perfectly disgusting, my dear Silvia, to be here in this suffocating heat when every one is away, sighed the Countess Violanti, but then, when one hasn't the means! But Bianca, you were here last summer, and you told me you had a perfectly lovely time, replied Silvia. Ah, last summer! sighed the Countess. Last summer at this time half society was still here. Last summer, yes, last summer....Oh, well! Last summer there was someone here, someone whom 1 could take around with me, in order to arouse the envy of all my friends. I here was one dear boy over whom I had all the power in the world, one who would not dare say 'No' when 1 said, Dear Hen— dear Someone, you are taking me to the opera tonight, and tomorrow we will go for a walk, for my dog is getting fat and my friend the author has left town! Ah! I hen it was lovely to stay in town, and society stayed behind to watch and envy me. If you are talking about Henri-Pierre, my dear.... 'f es, 1 m talking about Henri-Pierre, our beautiful Henri-Pierre, the man w'ho is more handsome than....oh, I don't know. But he was beautiful, Henri- Pierre. Of course, he had no mind of his own, the dear boy, he had to have some- one to tell him everything! My dear, as 1 was telling you, said Silvia, rather timid before all this ardor, as I was telling you.... Ves, I know’ what you were telling me, interrupted the Countess Violanti, you were telling me that now he is posing for our friend the artist, or that our friend the poet is writing sonnets about him. Oh, but you won't listen, Bianca! said her friend. I wanted to tell you that Henri-Pierre is married! Married! Henri-Pierre married? Yes. He married a little street girl, a girl of the people, said Silvia sadly. Poor boy, he never did have any sense. But Silvia, cried the excited Violanti, 1 must go and see her. Maybe the marriage can be annulled or something. It may be that we can save him yet! It was early the following afternoon that Bianca, Countess Violanti, was shown into a beautiful panelled room, richly furnished. In the dim light, Bianca [28]

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THE POLYTECHNIC Suddenly Laurence leaned forward with an exclamation. The blouse ol Lucia's peasant costume had slipped from her shoulder and revealed something which looked like a large court plaster beauty mark. Laurence trained his opera glasses on the singer, and after a few moments scrutiny exclaimed, Jove! I thought I couldn't be mistaken; it is a black rat!” Then he jumped to his feet and left the box without a word of excuse. Rodrique sat up and blinked. Really! what's got into Laurence?” he murmured. He would have been even more astonished if he could have heard his recent guest saying over and over to himself as he hastened down the corridor to the Green Room, La Pi,—La Pi qui chante.” Helen Growney, '24. ■% $' $ •$ Maybe So Maybe yes, maybe no, 1 am lazy, maybe so, For 1 hate to do my work, All the hardest part I shirk. 1 would rather, pensive lie On the grass neath God s blue sky, In the hills beside a stream, 'Neath whisp'ring trees, and think and dream; A distant cow-bell tinkling clear, A white-tailed rabbit without fear, A song-bird with its honeyed notes, And floating leaves like fairy boats. These things all I hear and see, Ar.d wonder why the folks like me Are always chained to office chairs, Or caged in towns like captured bears Oh, I love the open hills, Running water, singing rills, Boundless sky and sweet, clean air, And wand'ring trails through meadows fair. Oh, I love the forest deeps, The whispered secrets that it keeps, The solitude and beauty, too, Of places haunted by the few. At my desk is waiting work. How I wish now I could shirk. Maybe yes, maybe no, 1 am lazy, maybe so. M. H., ‘24.

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THE POLYTECHNIC saw a beautiful girl standing before a big carved chair from which she had just risen. She was young and sweet looking, yet with a certain dignity and poise and air of pride in the little dark head, that made her look as much of the class as the countess. She came forward timidly and extended her hand. “1 have come to congratulate you, said the countess, on having married Henri-Pierre, the beautiful Henri-Pierre! A bright smile illumined the pale face of the little bride as she answered, Oh! Yes, I realize that I am fortunate. For is not my husband the best, the kindest, the noblest of men1 That may be, said Bianca, but what no one can deny is that you have married the most handsome man in Milan. Oh, said the wife of Henri-Pierre, with a little gesture of impatience, that to me is nothing. I am blind. Frieda Kuhl. A Sunrise Expedition Know, gentle reader, that it is neither my habit nor my pleasure to get up at five o'clock of a cold spring morning for the mere purpose of enjoying a self-conducted tour of blossom-dotted hillsides. However, not many days ago, 1 did that very thirg. The wind was blowing coldly from out the very sunrise as I ascended the side of the hill that was to be my hunting ground. Suddenly, 1 saw that very bit of gold that 1 had been praying for,—a johnny-jump-up! W hat inward joy and increased expectations! Where one was, others must be, soon I climbed, gathering a poppy here, a buttercup there, wild sweet peas in the rock crevices, and johnr y- jump-ups wherever 1 happened to find them. At last I reached the top to see a soul-stirring panorama of early morning beauty. To the east lay great banks of morning mist with the swiftly changing colors of the sunrise playing upon them. 1 he sky itself seemed to be made of layers of color that changed from pure gold, through all the shades of green gold, to deep blue, shading near to purple in the west. And there, rising from the darkness of the shadowed valley, was a gray-blue wisp of smoke veilirg the olive-green forest behind it as with a bit of delicate chiffon. That wisp of smoke made me lose my feeling of aloneness, and so 1 turned my course toward home, my arms laden with the gold of the spring time, and my heart with the gold of the sunrise. [ 19] Louise Atwell, 'zj.