Red Bank High School - Log Yearbook (Red Bank, NJ)

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TITE ROUND TABLE 11 pounce on a frail and timid elf. Elf— height 6 ft. 2 in., weight 185 lbs.! Well, anyway, they surrounded him. “What’s the idea of the Annette Kellerman stunt?” one demanded. “I missed the boat,” he stammered. “I’ll say you did, by about five feet. You’re a fine one.” Mr. Loso drew himself up proudly, “Do you know who I am, sir?” he demanded. “No, but I’ll bet you’re not the Prince of Wales.” “I—” with a look meant to be over- whelmingly superior, “am the great poet, Clovis Loso.” “What do you write? Mother goose rhymes.” They laughed and walked away. Angrily he stormed to the state- room. “I’ll show them,” he cried, “When I become famous.” The second day out found our hero holding up the railing of the ship. “No,” he had told his friends, “I never get seasick.” “Clovis,” said his wife, “has the Count Arkaffske come yet?” “Good night,” he gasped, “did I have that for lunch, too?” “No, silly,” she replied, “he’s that nice man we met yesterday.” “Oh! yes, got blue hair and blonde eyes and a funny-------” “Clovis, what ails you anyway? You talk so funny, and why ever are you hanging over the railing like that?” He groaned, “Oh just watching the fish play hide and seek!” ¥ 9 ¥ ¥ ¥ One day she came into the state- room to find him with pencil in hand and a far away look in his eyes. “Clovis”! He put his finger to his lips and motioned her aside. “What’s the matter?” she asked anxiously. He came to with a start. “Oh,” he said importantly, “I’m doing it.” “Doing what?” “Well,” here he removed his lense- less glasses and wiped them with a great air of importance, “I’m starting my novel. It is to be a Russian trag- edy. The hero, a Swedish Count, Pierre Conet goes to Florence to join the Soviet forces—” “But,” she interrupted, “Florence is in Italy and Pierre Conet is French, not Swedish.” He flashed her a look of pained sur- prise. “What difference? This is art. My readers will not question it.” “Good—this is funny.” “As I was saying,” he continued, “Conet joins the Soviet forces and while in the army he meets Countess Hotdogski, whom he once knew in Kindergarden. Here the love theme enters. He is about to ask for her hand when the villian, Bydarnski, draws him to one side and tells him that the countess is his wife. Over- come by grief. Conet cuts his throat with a safety razor. As he is about to die, the Countess comes in. He tells her what he has heard and in tears she tells him it is false. He dies in her arms. Overcome by remorse she swal- lows his sword and chokes to death. It is to be a play, and the last scene will show the villain with his foot on the two bodies. Just as the curtain falls a cry rings out: “Die, Bydarn- ski ! ” and he falls over his victims and perspires—I mean expires.” “But all your characters die,” she said. “Naturally,” he replied, “they always do in Russian tragedies—that’s

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IO TUE ROUND TAKLE It is true that the problem of hous- ing Red Bank Students has demanded the attention of Our Board of Education; therefore, they are to be especially complimented upon their execution of a plan at this time that provides more class rooms as well as a gymnasium. We understand the gymnasium will be ready for use February 1, 1925. The Class of 1925, although apprecia- tive of the benefits they will receive, regret that they will have but five months to enjoy the new gymnasium, but they and all who follow the Class of 1925 wish to thank those who made it possible for Red Bank High to have a gymnasium. H. N. T., ’25. -------o-------- CLOVIS THE GREAT It was a dull, dreary day in Septem- ber. The rain was coming down in torrents, and a biting wind added to the general discomfort of it all. Such a day had Mr. Clovis Loso chosen to sail for Europe to secure material for a story. He had always been unlucky with everything he had attempted, having served as taxi-driver, detective, carpenter, mail-man, policeman, and what not, especially the “not.” But now fame had come to him. His poem “To a Dickie Bird” had been bought by THE FAIR HAVEN CHAT for seventy-five cents, and so, with his wife and small son he was sailing for Europe. He was dressed as befits an author—dark suit, flowing tie, and horn-rimmed glasses. He didn’t need glasses and they hurt his eyes, but he solved the problem by removing the lenses. “Have you everything, Ruth?” he asked. “Yes, I guess so.” “Then come,” and he took Junior by the hand and walked up the gang plank of the steamer awaiting his arrival. “Clovis!” With a slight frown, he turned, “What is it?” “The water,” she gasped, “did you turn it off in the kitchen?” “Why—why, I tho’t you did that,” he said. “Oh dear, what a man! My floor will be ruined. You go right back and turn it off.” Meekly he obeyed. When he open- ed the door of the apartment he was greeted by a flood of water that darted swiftly past him and cascaded down the stairs, carrying several articles of furniture with it. By climbing from chair to chair he finally reached the sink and shut off the water. Then fishing out the telephone, and hanging the kitchen table on the chandelier to dry, he made his way back to the ship. Alas:—he was greeted by the fran- tic waving of two pairs of arms and a cry of “Clovis—the boat is pulling out! ” What to do? Oh, he had it. He would take a run, a jump, and land gracefully on deck. He stepped back, made a dash forward, and landed— where? I blush to tell it. As he leaped, he missed, and fell—but on his downward trend a projecting nail caught him by the region of his trous- ers used for sitting purposes and he hung poised between sky and sea. “Let me go,” he yelled, kicking wildly. A mighty rip repaid his efforts and he went into the water. A life line was thrown, and in a few minutes he was on deck, surrounded by a group of glowering mortals, somewhat like dragons about to

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12 THE ROUND TABLE “If that be art, then give me Dar- win’s theory of Evolution,” and with that she walked out. “Ruth,” he confided to her one day, “this play will take a long time and I must have atmosphere.” “There’s plenty of it on deck,” she put in, “It’s blowing a forty mile gale.” He flashed her a look of scorn. “How stupid you women are! No brains whatever!” “Brains!” she said, “If brains were ink you wouldn’t be able to make a period!” He gave up in despair. “Well, any- way,” he rejoined, “I won’t write until I get to Russia. Just now I’m devot- ing my time to poetry. Will you hear my latest brain-child?” “Brain child? H’m—must be an orphan.” Ignoring her, he took a paper from his pocket and began to read: “MY DREAM LADY” My dream lady comes when I’m asleep. Her loving watch to keep. Her hair is black as saphires bright. And shine so strangely in the light. She brings me pleasant visions— (“I can’t find anything to ryme with that,” he added, “so I’ll make it blank verse.”) He con- tinued— To make the night endurable. Her teeth—ah they gleam like pearls. That twine about her raven curls. So white and even, glistening bright. They always fill me with delight. But she only comes when I’m asleep So to her I cannot speak. Woe is me. “Very impressive ending, eh?” he said, “I’m going to hand it to Brandon Jeffries, the publisher. He’s on this ship.” A few days later Mrs. Loso came in to find him staring dejectedly at the floor. “What’s the matter, now?” she asked. “Read—” he could not speak, but handed her a paper. This is what she read— Mr. Clovis Loso: Dear sir: My friend, Mr. Jeffries, handed me your poem which he regrets being unable to use. However, I should like to buy it if you will sell it to me. I will pay you well. I am the publicity agent for Colgate Co., and I think it would make a clever little add. Like this:— My lady’s teeth—they gleam like pearls That twine about her raven curls. So white and even glistening bright. They always fill me with delight. The reason that they shine and gleam She uses Colgate’s Dental Cream. Very sincerely, Thos. H. Sanders. “Well I must say—” began Mrs. Loso —but she never said it, for just then a cry of “Land ho!” went up and they all rushed to the deck, to view in the distance the hazy shores of England. Further adventures of our hero will be told in my next account, entitled, “CLOVIS AT THE COURT OF KING GEORGE.” For now—Farewell. E. V. H., ’25. --------o------- SPANISH ESSAY 1 podia acordarse de que habia llorado para poder asistir a la es- cuela, mas viva era la memoria de las lagrimas que habia derramado para poder quedarse en casa.” ! Que diferencia entre seis y diez