Shortridge High School - Annual Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

Page 17 text:

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Qcnnnmaceun sc once it My head! my head! he yelled. I have found it! ' Acts like he'd ,lost it, observed Sylvester, and departed to dream of the glory that would be his when the tale was published and the author became known. A The next morning Sylvester read in the paper with great eagerness his solution of the mystery. Another person also read the account with evident interest. 'That person was Lorenzo Reynolds, Doctor of Philosophy and Pro- fessor of Psychology at Hartford. As soon as he had finished reading the report he arose with such vigor as to upset his chair, and hurried to the oHfice of the president of the college. Consequently the edition of the Hartford Daily containing the objec- tionable article was suppressed and a meeting of its reportorial staff was called for that afternoon. Sylvester, seeing the notice of the meeting on the bulletin board, and believing that the publication of his story had. made him a member of the staff, attended. Alas, how was Sylvester to know that Fate had only been' flirting with him! He returned to his boarding house that evening with a blackened eye, a sprained wrist, a summons to appear before the student government council on the following Monday, and, what weighed heaviest upon his erstwhile buoyant spirits, without his most stylish collar and loveliest necktie. ,Sylvester's trial' was short. It soon became clear that the crime had been the result of an amazing state of ignorance, which excused him, according to the student. government rules. In the course of' the trial it also came out that Sylvester had seen the name that had so impressed him in the catalogue of the college. . ' Sylvester's energy and initiative finally gained for him the editorship of the Daily, and recently he secured a captaincy in the army. Being still as game as in the old days, he doesn't mind telling this humiliating experi- ence of- his occasionally. He always ends the tale by saying, Of course, those editors were all but beheaded, and they've kept a strict censorship on the 'Daily' ever since-but anyway, that story got me what I was after-plenty of notoriety! W 1 -MARGARET DUTHIE.

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oo 2-5- Eb COTLAND was the native haunt Of Donald Jean McNabb, And true to race Don Jean was gaunt And short the gift o' gab. to say That never did he speak 0 Unless someone asked him to pray, Or slapped him on the cheek. No one said that he was dull, Nor on the other hand, Did any say that in his skull The earth and sea were spanned. At any rate he had the nerve To be a Fusileer, - Andtfrom his duty ne'er to swerve Throughout his whole career. So now in France we find him sent, With courage in his heartg ' On killing all the Germans bent, At least to do his part. One night McNabb 'went o'er -the top With just one S'-ottish friend, 1 A path through Hun barb-wire to chop, Or else to meet this end. 5 He cut the Gert an wires alliright, But when he started back He missed the Scotchman from his sight And looked for him. Alack! Then hearing low groans to his left He followed up the tip, -- And found his pal, the use bereft Of shattered arm and hip.- The next morn, asrthn, story goes, Found both within their trench, And where the Huns last night arose There stood the sturdy French. Now comes a scene behind the lines, With generals and such, And if we can read the signs Don now is frightened much. A general then pins on to him A medal of dull cast: And when at last he steps away, The cheers come thick and fast. And as the General praises Jean, In his peculiar way McNabb looks forth with royal mein And really speaks two words- What say? -REGINALD GARSTANG. Duty calls not many timesg It knocks but once upon our door, And when it comes all must respond. We'll go to war, or buy a bond. When then the foe defeated lies, Our Hag on high victoriously flying, We'll lift our heads and proudly say We helped to win and save the day. -JOHN CON NER.