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

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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.

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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 The Blue Goose TT There the great moose crash through the underbrush, and the wolves howl through the long, star-lit winter nights, a hunter crouched on the shores of a wilderness lake. The smell of wet earth and bursting buds was in the air, and as the man listened, there came the “honk, honk of wild geese coming north with the spring. Nearer and nearer came the flock,, flying low, and the hidden man became tense. He intended to shoot the big leader flying at the point of the wedge, but as he watched the bird over the gun-sight, he gave an exclamation and lowered his weapon to stare at the goose. Where the ordinary wild goose is grey this one was blue, and the early sun gleamed on its wild blue wings. The hunter smiled. Go on. I 11 not touch you. He raised his gun and fired swiftly at the nearest gray in the flock, which turned over in its flight and fell to earth. The blue goose screamed and fled up and away on flashing blue pinions so swiftly he left his flock behind. 1 he man laughed after him and retrieved the dead grey. Walter Allenfrere was among the first to answer the call of war. He went as an aviator and before long he was considered one of America's best aces in the air. He had brought down a number of enemy planes and had been chosen several times to go over the enemy lines when it took a very good pilot indeed to bring himself and his plane back to the home field. When he went out, they knew he would get what he wanted before he came back, and they were confident also that he would come back, for he knew how to handle a plane like a master. After the war, he became a government flier piloting the mail planes across the conti- nent. Walter was a cheerful, happy-go-lucky sort, loving excitement and being a firm believer in the saying, Variety is the spice of life. He had once said that some day he would build a plane. He would make it himself and when it was done it would run away from the fastest plane the government owned. It would break the French and American speed records, and win the great air races. In short, it would be one of the fastest planes ever made, if not the fastest. Walter loved a fast plane. One of his companions had said with a smile, What'll you call this dream plane w'hen you get it done? Walters eyes became deep with recollection. A faint smile softened the line of his mouth as he thought of a wilderness lake where the wild, blood-stirring honk, honk” of the geese sounds as they wing northward with the spring. I ll call it the Blue Goose. Walter left the service. They had said of him that he was a born flier and could not get along without a plane. They shrugged when he left and said he'd be back, aching to get into a pilot's seat again. But Walter knew better, for [ 30]