Santa Rosa High School - Echo Yearbook (Santa Rosa, CA)

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THE PORCUPINE 9 possession of three immaculate rain-coats, purchased for this very occasion, we braved the wildest day of all—and down by the lakes we went on a new and bright red jaunting car. Hours later, three tired, dripping tourists were wrung out before a hotel fire, while three once im- maculate rain-coats were vainly scrubbed to remove the evidences of that new and bright red jaunting car. And our voices rose in chorus as we said with our Irish friend, “The next time we take a new jaunting car, we won’t take a new jaunting car, but an old one—especially in the rain.” Now, on to Blarney Castle, where we climbed the moss- grown ruin, lying on our backs in the pouring rain and risking our several lives because, of course, we must touch that magie stone. On our way out, we probed the old, old Irishman at the gate for one of those rich Irish jokes of which we had so cften read. So, to open conver- sation, the bravest of the trio said: “You shouldn’t have it rain when we come to visit Blarney Castle.” Slowly the Irishman looked at us. Slowly— so slowly—his mouth opened, and he said as he turned on his heel, “Sure, mum, [ couldn’t help it.” The rest of the way we walk- ed in silence. rom Blarney our way again led Dublinward, but now by train, and while two advance hotel agents wild- ly gesticulated and harangued over our heads as to which hotel should have the honor of our humble patronage, we quietly studied our guide books and decided to take that night’s steamer back to England. Satisfied? Yes, indeed! for had we not seen “sunny Lreland ?”

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THE PORCUPINE jarvey was firm—so were we. It was too far to walk, so there we were, and seeminely there we would stay. At last we compromised and climbed into the cab, but not before I noticed a wicked gleam in brother jarvey’s eye. A crack of the whip, and we were off—literally off our seats and piled in a heap on the cab floor, while faster and faster drove our angry coachman. Around corners, on two wheels or one—never on four—down lanes and dirty alleys into the worst quarter of the town we were whirled; the inhabitants looking at us in open-mouthed wonder as we three gasping John Gilpins clung to the seats and tried to look calm, while wondering how our epitaphs would read. After nearly an hour’s wild tear, amore violent lurch brought us to a stop, the cab door opened, and our now smiling driver assisted us to alight, and on accepting the specified fee from our trembling hands, cheerfully asked if we hadn’t “something for the jarvey.” And to our shame be it said, that in a burst of thankfulness because our lives were spared—we gave it. Meanwhile it was raining’, but nevertheless we “did” the city with its beautiful main streets and filthy back ones; its green parks and luscious strawberries. The most beautiful of the parks, by the way, is named Phoen- ix Park, and, on asking our driver why it should be so named when there never was such a bird as the Phoenix, “Sure,” said he, “that’s the very reason. There niver was such a park, aither.” rom Dublin, on to Cork and Blarney Castle we went, and to these glorious Killarney Lakes. And everywhere we rode in—or on—a jaunting car, which combines the slowness of riding on a pack mule (so far as position is concerned) and the locomotive of an overland express for speed. Added to this our view of the rapidly passing scenery was limited to that seen from underneath a tightly held umbrella, except when a stronger blast than usual wrenched it from our grasp. How we loved these jaunting cars! And yet our mem- ories of them are fraught with pain. Glorying in the

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THE PORCUPINE Dionysius At the feet of the Doric columns in the Greek amphi- theater at Berkeley I had spent a pleasant half hour, idly wondering if the sky-roof above me was as blue as that provided for the Athenians, or if Zophocles and his fel- lows would feel at home in this edifice among the euca- lyptus trees. As I passed out at one of the wings I en- countered another visitor, who, though differing from the ordinary sight-seers, was certainly not out of har- mony with the place. He was a youth of twenty, per- haps, clad in tan and brown and all the awkwardness of unwonted Sunday clothes. His wondering gaze at the questions which the odd structure called forth revealed a mind whose lines were as simple and classic as those of the theater itself. “What is this thing here,” he asked. “This is the Greek amphitheater,” I replied, quite will- ing to place my superior knowledge at his disposal. “Oh, that’s it!’ he commented, trying to understand. “Something like what the Chinamen have?” He put this query cautiously, yet with the air of one who had seen some notable things before. “No; it’s like the theaters the Greeks had two or three thousand years ago.” Ile nodded and grunted, naively pretending to com- prehend. “Where is the place they call the university?” was the next question. Evidently he had wandered all over the campus and up into the woods in search of the fabulous institution. When I pointed in the direction of the build- ings he was obviously puzzled, but did not wish to show it. He reverted to the amphitheater, and, with a grin at the remembrance of his own simplicity, said: “T reckoned I'd find this full of water; it looked to me more like a tank or somethin’ than anything else.” “It does look like a tank,”I conceded, grudgingly— “like a mountain reservoir.” Inwardly I blamed my