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

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AN El dye De Ol LK) 15 a she = N t | X I t) i ie UNBURED SREASURE BY FRARCS PIAZZI GHE FACULTY JORN STUMP FOR OLD GLORY LAWRENCE HART WAR SOCKS VERREL WEBER POSSUM BELLA FLSK ELLEN FRANK FENTON

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THE HCHO In Moemorian Russell Mitchell Died -- Hebruary 28, 1914 Claire Roberts Died - - - May 2, 1919

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THE BCHO UNBURIED TREASURE ( First Award) XTRA! EXTRS'! DEATH OF MILLIONAIRE! Prominent man dies suddenly; cause unknon.” This did not in ( terest me much. No matter if they are rich, they QD will have to go to the Happy Hunting Ground whether they want to or not; but somehow I remembered it. [wo days after this vs had been chewed over by the town “hicks” I was in want of diversion. Ifor want of any better occu- pation I collected Hobo (he ain't a dog, he’s my chum), and we wended our innocent (?) way to the Chink Dump, where the rarbage, both good and bad, is dumped; regardless of a “Keep Out” sign. Once there we began to rummage over the new spoils and to get ourselves beautifully unclean and quite “heppy.”’ As we plowed uur way through a pile of old magazines we perceived a garbage vacon putting in an appearance. “Ah!” hisses Hobo (who thinks he would make a good villian), “now for the dirty work But just then the town clock broke loose and announced it to be twelve o’clock, and as I had promised myself to be somewheres else at that time, I “beat it.” Hobo followed, but we promise ourselves to revisit the dump the nexi day. At the early hour of 10 a. m. ] shooed Hobo out of bed and we again proceeded on our innocent (?) way. Arriving at the dump we encountered the Chinks, but we are brave, we are, so we kept on. Hobo started to cuss, and I joined in the chorus when I found that it was because some one had beaten us to the new pile of garbage. The bushes had been strewn with envelopes and letters, with here and there some broken article of luxury. Among some wiliow bushes I saw a broken vase, rather fancifully decorated, but thinking it was one of the numerous vases abundant in the Chink Dump, I passed it by. “All the letters are addressed to that rich jasper that kicked the bucket « few days ago,’ says Hobo, in his beautiful language, gleaned from numerous “detective stories.” “Zat so?” queries I, forgettin’ that I like to imitate the manner of French and Englishmen, “nuthin funny bout that.” Then I recollects that I am supposed to be an English duke or sumpin’.