Prescott High School - Hassayamper Yearbook (Prescott, AZ)

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T II K II ASSA YAM l'EI LTTEUATORE Page Twenty-seven

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T 11 K II A SS A V A M 1» K H THE CLASSES (Lois E. Poe apologies to Edgar A. Poe) Hear the giggling of the Freshies— Silly Freshies! What a world of merriment their giggling foretells! How they giggle, giggle, giggle, When they think they’re out of sight! When the teachers are a scolding. Their giggles they are holding, With a mischievous delight. They keep smiling, smiling, smiling, With their lessons higher piling. As studying we sit, how they tire us with their wit; Oh, the giggles, giggles, giggles, giggles,— Giggles, giggles, giggles,— Oh, the wriggling and the giggling of the Freshies! Hear the chatter of the Soph’mores,— Noisy Soph’mores! What a world of chattering their talking does foretell! I am told that it’s a fright, How they chatter all the night ! — Oh, from this ever sounding chatter! Take me (where?) it doesn’t matter! How it swells! How it dwells! On the future,---how it tells. Oh! the sorrow it compels— Of the talking and the chattering, Of the chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter, Chatter, chatter, chatter! — Oh, the talking and the chattering of the Sophomores! Watch the flirting of the Belles— Junior Belles! What a tale of broken hearts their petty flirting tells. Really it’s a sight, How they flirt from morn ‘till night! They watch with jealous care. So, boys, beware, beware, Of the “vamps”! They are good “kids” we’ll admit, ’Till they get a flirting fit! Then they flirt, flirt, flirt. Ah, they many hearts they hurt! Oh! the belles, belles, belies, belles, Belles, belles, belles! This forever flirting of the Junior Belles! Watch the studying of the Seniors— Studious Seniors! What a world of solemn thought their studying foretells! In the silence of the night, We see their burning light; And hear the melancholy of their tone; And the teachers.----ah! their teachings, They dwell upon the preachings, Of the Senior Class alone; Who are neither man nor woman. Who are neither brute nor human. They are Students! Their ambitions are all A’s. Alas, it pays, pays, pays, pays, Pays, pays, pays,— This constant grinding study of the Seniors! Page Twenty six

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Til K II ASS A YAM PER OUT OF THE NORTH PRIZE STORY The far off sun descended behind the mountains, leaving a desolate waste of white as far as the eye could reach. They gray gloom thickened and the distant peak rose higher, mightier into the sky; it took on the blackness of night itself and crouched, waiting, to gather to its bosom the helpless creatures of life who fought and died under its merciless glance. Stumbling thru fresh fallen snow, a human form plunged on into the fast deepening night. The face was scarred and ugly from the freezing cold, yet in the half blind eyes there lurked the light and hope of youth. There was a determination about the lips and chin, as of one who loved the fight even while losing it Under the hard sceptre of the North many fall and only the strong live on. To win, a man must be strong and brave and noble of heart and mind, but when a man wins he is mighty, and even the North yields him support. «« Sid Graham guided his dog team with well trained hand, hurrying them with shouts and whip homeward. He was late but he had a great carabou on the sledge which would last him a good while against the sudden fall of winter. Reaching his cabin he unharnessed the dogs and set about removing the carabou meat. He had nearly finished when, hearing the dogs quarreling over some object, he approached them, whip in hand. He beat them off and found the form of a man, half frozen, lying in the snow. He carried him into the cabin before the rude fireplace. After a fire was roaring there he turned again to the helpless form, and took off the heavy coat and cap. The face was not recognizable and he set about to faring him back to consciousness. Several hours later the weary eyes opened to Graham’s, and the lips moved in a vain effort to speak. Sid Graham bent closer and then with a start, moved swiftly back, —there was strange familiarity about the brow, with its light brown hair curling back, the eyes were of a self same blue that brought old dreads and longings back again. He fan his hand quickly over his thick beard and fingered its concealing mass on his left cheek. The scar could not be seen, he knew, and if this was the man he feared, he might escape unrecognized. In that instant many thoughts rushed through Graham’s mind. This mail had come to the North to seek him out,—yes, even to kill him in the reckless vengeance of youth. He knew that discovery would mean a struggle which could only result in the death o ‘ one of them, yet looking down at the helpless figure Graham felt a rush of strength and pity, —he was Her brother. His laps set firmly, he would save this lad at all costs. The form moved again and the lips were uttering unintelligible sounds as Graham bent near. “Lola,—” Graham felt a sudden tightness in his throat at the name. “What it is, faoy?” he asked huskily. “Don’t grieve so, sis dear,—I’ll get—him—” The older man turned away quickly. He ran his hand over his head, and there were little beads of perspiration on his forehead. “If it had only wounded him,—instead of killing him,” he said for the thou sandth time. In a few weeks young Hob Donald was almost his sturdy self again. He helped Graham about the cabin, he had learned to drive the dog team and to save and preserve the meat of the carabou. One day he had driven to the little mining camp across the valley and told the anxious miners how he had been found after getting lost from the hunting party. He had decided not to start out on his quest until spring, as he still suffered from the effects of his narrow escape. Page Twenty-eight