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

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THE ECHO 17 “Rippin’. don't cha know. Perhaps we may run across some of his business lettahs. ‘That’d be bully, don’t cha think?” “Say, cul,’ says Hobo, rather peeved at my royal manners, and still in his best imitated dialect, “dont pull youah highbrow dope wid muh; it don’t woik, see!” Fearing to cause a diplomatic breakdown between me and Hobo [ stops. Hobo (I tell you he ain’t a dog), smiled in his superior way and we proceed to our “joint.” ‘This is a cave occupying a remote part of the creek, where Hobo and I congregate when we have raided some nearby melon patch or orchard. Here we dis- located ourselves and read some “dime novels,” Hobo trying his 4 hand at one with the very original title of “Double Crossed or the Pirate’s Last Gasp. In two gasps.’ What with the war ceasing and peace filling the world (except in Russia an’ between me an’ Hobo), it was no wonder that the editor crowded the main local news onto the third page. tere it was thar I found the following item: “The collection of ancient goid and silver coins of Mr. Thorn dyke Q. Ypsilanti (he was the millionaire who had died a few weeks before) has mysteriously disappeared. It was a known fact that Mr. Ypsilanti kept the collection, which numbered over five hundred 2old pieces and possibly seven hundred silver pieces, in a small wall safe in his study. The will of Mr. Ypsilanti discloses the fact that the collection has been bequeathed to the Western Museum of Numismatics. The Museum has offered a reward equal to the value of the gold and silver. This can be better understood when one knows that the value of the coins as relics, amounts to prob- ably $200,000, while the metal in the coins does not amount to more than $5,000.” Then it went on to say numerous other things about Mr. Ypsi- lanti, such as press agents use. You can bet, though, that when | read this I hustled out Hobo. He did not get my idea at first, but when | told him that there might be a map or sumpin’ among the letters of Mr. Ypsilanti’s which had been thrown down the dump, he was with me. I don’t think it took us a minute to get to that dump, and it is a good half-mile from our homes. Well, we rummaged and rum- maged and cussed (who wouldn’t), but nary a “dubloon” did we find. We went chrough the letters—nothin’; we dug up the ground, and still nothin’. Then I espied the fancifully decorated vase and sumpin’, maybe my sixth sense (maybe not), kinda’ made me want to take it and look at it. I lifted it, or rather I tried to. Heavy? Heavy was no name for it; so, seein’ I couldn’t open it, I broke it. Inside was a chamois skin bag. I yelled for Hobo, and he came skiddin’. With tremblin’ hands I opened my pocket knife and cut the leather thong about the mouth of the bag. My hands shook

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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’.

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THE ECHO so that it was all I could do to open the mouth. What was inside? With a desperate effort and the assistance of Hobo I finally opened it. With nervous eyes and straining ne fell out. First one LEAD United States dollar and then another lead s we both gazed at what one, and then a whole stream of them. Each and every one was punched. They were counterfeits, and probably they had come from the City Hall where they had been collected, and punched so as not to be passed on some one. We were too dismayed and crestfallen to even start to cuss, so we remained silent. Finally Hobo’s face brightened. “Gee, I bet they make dandy ‘sailers.’ I bet I can throw the first one across the crik.” I took him up and in fifteen minutes our stock of “treasure” was gone. Thus ended a perfect (?) day and another one of our many adventures. Postscript. Don’t mention treasure to Hobo if you like to live a while yet. Francis Piazzi, ’22. CALIFORNIA Oh California, well beloved thou art! America is proud to own thy name, And call thee her own child of worth and fame; For of earth’s greatest nation thou are part. The old Pacific liest near thy heart, A friend to guard thee from all woe and shame: And through the countless ages yet to famie, Be thou her watchman till all time depart. In ’40 thy wealth did draw the East And men from all the nation flocked to thee. Thou gavest them gold for which they fought and died; Thou gavest them homes, rich fields, whose fruits increased : And mountains, forests stretching to the sea. They love thee more than all the world beside. Ruth Break, ’ro.