Rye Neck High School - Scraps Yearbook (Mamaroneck, NY)

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SUMMER EVEN' The blazing sun was sinking in the west. Curtains of night were drawing close. A tiny star in deepest blue Ifaintly glittered brigllt. The sun was gone, The stars took watch 5Over the changed land. Iiobert Hains IF A BOOK COULD TALK I am a Math book. My beautiful, in- tellectual name Mathematics has been dis- carded and I am nicknamed Math,'. I thought, when with other Math books I was being printed, that I would have many kind and loving owners. But alas! I am only two years old. but I am practically ruined. During my first year I was in the care of a high-spirited girl. I was often out over night in terrific blizzards and rains. My pages were torn, my lovely cover spotted so that I looked like a leopard. Every even- ing I was taken home, the draught chilled me through to the bone, due to the stack of papers between my covers. When I arrived at my possessor's house I was thrown on the back of a table to shiver and shake for fear I would be picked up. This would mean that in the end I would land against some wall or door. And so it was for many months. Then my mistress left town. I had in her place a small nervous girl for the rest of the term. She did not seem to understand my contents. Many times the teacher would seold her and then her nervous fingers would tremble so that I was either badly shaken or dropped. Seldom was there a night tears did not splash down on my x's and y's. The next year I had a boy for an owner, but my trials were far from over. He was the collegiate type, slicked hair, balloon pants, and cared more for a good time than for his studies. I was crammed between a science and an English book every day. He was quick-tempered and careless. A few weeks ago a cigarette burned a hole through one of my isoseeles triangles. The day be- fore he dropped my subject, he was stand- ing in the corridor asking a girl to go to a prom, and he was so nervous he kept bend- ing my poor cover back and forth until I thought I was crippled for life. But two days ago-a change! I have a new ownerg he is tall and thin and wears glasses. He took me home, not crushed by a strap, hitting every available object, but carefully packed with other books in a Bos- ton bag. He repaired my broken binding-Q he erased my dirty pages so I am now proud of themg and he mended my spotted cover. For long hours daily he sits over me and de- votedly studies my contents. I am so happy. After a year and a half of suffering I have landed in a haven of rest. Pauline Harms SPATI SPAT-l SPAT! rattled the mach- ine gun! Another gang war was on. The bullets fiattened themselves on tllfl brown- stone windowsill of 3 house in a side street. This gang was better outfitted than the last one for they had their own armored car from which three machine guns poured an incess- ant stream of brass covered lead. This time a bullet hit one of the bars on the window and ricochetcd away with a loud zing. Suddenly the rattling of the guns ceased. Silence prevailed and as no answering shots came from the building, the door of the armored car opened and a dark figure stepped out. Looking hurriedly up and down the street he ran quickly up to the door of the house. The door was extremely mas- sive and resistedxhis efforts to force it open. Taking a small glass vial from his pocket he inserted it in the key hole and stepped back a few spaces. He picked a small stone from the street and hurled it with cunning accuracy at the keyhole. It hit squarely and the door was ripped asunder by a ter- rific explosion. Nitro-Glycerine must have been in the bottle. The door ripped down, the villain disap- pcared in the doorway and soon reappeared with the struggling heroine in his arms. With diiiiculty he made his way to the car and placed her inside. The motor started with a staeeato roar and left the scene quickly. VVholly unnoticed on the opposite side of the street were three men standing around a large box of queer apparatus. Phew',, said the director to the camera- man, that's over. Gosh it's hard to keep from yellin' at those ham actors when I'm making a sound picture. E. Periconi Page Five

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EDITORIAI. STAI l7 Editor-in-chief ............ VVillis Reinke Assistant Editor ........ I,incoln Iielluseio Business Managers Dudley Hare William T. Ehrbar Athletic Editors Fred Nichols Dorothy Halsey School Notes ........... Harold Harriott Typists E. Gale H. Hay R. Pokorny Proof Reader ............. ...R. Hains EDITORIAL Another school year draws to a close, and another class, the first to pass through all the grades of the new school, sends forth its annual publication, the final edition of Scraps, In September, we had some idea of pub-- lishing an edition every month, but the press of events has made possible, only two prev- ious editions. We hope next year's class will have better luck. This year's book contains an innovation, in the form of class pictures. The cover represents the school colors. Commencement is an end and a beginning -the end of school days and the beginning of the tasks of life. Some of the class will take up their chosen occupation immediately, others will enter college, but none will ever forgct their high school days. NIGHT I watched descend the canopy of night. It blanketed the world in darkness dire. And then the moon, an orb of yellow fire, Cast over all a weird uncertain light. And as I pondered over my sad plight, The stars, a myriad scintillating host, Winked down to brighten up my lonely post And seemed to whisper Cheer up, it's all right. And then a cloud. foreboding, veiled the moon In momentary darkness I was cast, But as it sailed away, dismissing gloom, I knew my foolish fears and worries were all past, And with rejoicing heart I raised my eyes And shouldered my burden ,neath night's bright sky. Marjorie Lebeis PROGRESS AND DEATH In the haughty year, 1828, the little ham- let of Albany was all a-bustle on a bright Sunday morning. Why shouldn't it be? A horrible fever had called at the Governor's Mansion. Death was but a few hours away. The only hope that remained was in a doctor now galloping along the Hudson. Would he be too late with but a few miles to go? Ah, yes, the great soul fled. Death had won the race. On the last day of 1928 the great motors of the Ford roared over the greatest of all cities. In its cabin was the only means of life for a whole town condemned in Alaska. Could it possibly be made in time? Would this mighty bird carry its burden without a break over the countless miles to the con- demned? Ah! No, the rumbling wheels touched the icy earth as the last light flick- ered and went out. All had passed into eternity. The great bird had made a daring attempt. But death had won the race. Late in the year 2028 the entire world trembled. I,ife would remain but a few seconds in the worn body of the world's great president. There was little hope. Three thousand miles away the wires screamed and trembled in the great tower. I.ife, itself, was being sent in the form of a great charge of electricity. The mighty bolt parted the heavens as it crashed to its goal. Could it be made? Ah! No, as it was being condensed in preparation to being set upon the body the soul departed. Death had won the race. D. Hare SUMMER EVENING Night has fallen, absorbing In its darkness the heat of a mid-summer day. Soft and dancing breezes wafted From a dark cool sea Are awakening long-stilled leaves. Cooling burning sands, Rustling the tall sea-grass, VVhilc to the limbs of wearied man They bring relief and rest and peace And freshness such as a summer rain Imparts to a long-thirsting earth. Marion Hare Page Four

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