South Pasadena High School - Copa de Oro Yearbook (South Pasadena, CA)

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ee | ClOrP A aWaits his approaching prey, But it was a smilie and we certainly believed the school boy’s Paradise was near at hand. The morning passed quietly. At noon a large group of us boys gathered on the grounds to arrange our program for the afternoon. We all believed the teacher a “cinch,” and decided to take advantage of it that very day. The de- tails of that afternoon bring unpleasant memories I will omit them. At any rate about six of us boys went home that night sadder and wiser and many others followed during the next week. We began to think he had not smiled at = DE ORO all. At any rate he did not give us an encore, Even Percival DeLaney, the with his bouquet of esstul. You might as teacher's darlir roses Was uns well attempt to obtain honey from a squash vine. We soon gave it up as a hopeless case and resigned peacefully to nine months of unceasing persecution, When my children come home from school with woeful tales of long lessons and eighth periods, [ think of the long rows of birch switches which we so often felt, and | congratulate them on getting off so easily. HOMER WRIDE, 10. 2 The Massachusetts Coast, as Seen From the Driver's Seat It was a beautiful June morning on the Massachusetts coast. The sun, ris ing in regal magnificence out of the placid sea, cast a half light over the still sleeping little town of Magnolia. On the bluff, however, things were all astir. An all-day coaching trip) was scheduled for the guests of the hotel. The coach and its driver came up just as I emerged from the dining room, Of course, being a youngster of just nine vears, | wanted to sit upon the driver’s box like a “big man.” The driver was a genuine New England Yankee with all the inborn shrewdness of his kind but he was a good fellow at heart and, with a sweep of his long arms, | was up be side him. We started with a crack of the whip and there I was upon the front seat, holding the ends of the reins as they came through the driver’s hands. No prince could have been any hap- pier than [| that day. The beautiful and historie places through which we passed possessed for me a peculiar glamour when seen from a driver’s seat. The roads along the route were perfection and the rhythmical beat of the horses’ hoofs was the only sound heard as we passed through woods, or rather marshes, that were simply covered with magnifi- cent magnolias of the most exquisite delicacy of fragrance. These flowers are not of the same species as those of the same name that grow in California. Our horses rapidly whirled the light wagon along and place after place was passed. Norman’s woe; the graveyard of the Hesperus, made immortal by the pen of Longfellow, and quaint old tree- embowered Salem, with its hosts of tragic deaths and sad memories of re- ligious feuds, were far in the distance as we passed through the quaint streets of Beverly and Manchester and finally en- tered the town of Gloucester, One could easily write a book about the “sights, smells and sounds” of Glou- cester. As the largest fish handling port in the world, it was and is distinctly a town of seafaring people, but its glamour is passing with the vanishing of the sailing schooner. Late in the afternoon we started from Gloucester and, after a quick trip in the beautiful evening twilight that prevails on the eastern coast, reached the hotel Just as the first light shone out in the little village by the shore. The beauties and pleasures of the day are deeply engraven on my mind, but at the time the “honor” of sitting upon the driver’s box and holding the ends of the reins overshadowed everything else. B. C. KIESLING, 713.

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(G () se AN went out. He saw her pass within her cottage; he never saw her again. Out through the door of the old chateau he went, and as he walked to- ward his inn, his mind was filled with strange thoughts and questionings. He went home to England the follow- ing winter, but often, amid the work and gayety of his busy life, would come the questions to his bewildered mind, “Where did the Count’s daughter go? What lies behind the crimson curtain?” So often and with such force did the questions return that when, the next summer, he returned to Paris, he, in company with a bold friend, took the journey from Paris to the little village of Sans Souci, out, over the country road, to the old chateau. They knocked at the old woman’s door but received no answer. Peering in, they saw that all was bare and empty. “She is dead,” wy Although the baseball fan is some- what excited in the last inning of the deciding game of a World’s Champion ship series, when the score is tied, two out and three men on with the weakest batter vainly sceking the loca- {ion of the delusive sphere, his excite- ment bears about the same ratio to that of a schoolboy during the last summer meeting of the School Board, as a game of bears to a game of foot-ball. The children of today start happily to school, on the opening day, being sure of a pleasant smile of greeting from the teacher, whoever he or she may be, but when I went to school about forty years ago, a smile of this kind was no more expected than the election of William Jemings Bryan to the Presidency of the United States. I remember, more than any other, my last teacher. The School Board had been rather slow that year, and when school was scheduled to commence no teacher had yet been appointed. How- ever, we were told to be in our seats the next Thursday at nine o’clock and wait bases, chess DE My Old Schoolmaster ORO said the artist; “let us see if we enter the chateau.” They went up the winding stairway and to their surprise, the door was open. Entering, the Englishman found all the same. Not without a certain awesome feel- ing, he entered the retreat and drew back the velvet curtain. All that he saw was a dark, damp vault. A casket lay at one side; a censor swung from the ceiling; but what struck him aghast was that a dagger lay beside the casket and tall candles burned at either end. “Who lights the cand was the ques- may tion that came to his mind. And from the crumbling walls there seemed to come a voice that answered, “’Tis a mystery, the mystery of the old chateau. It can never be solved.” LAURA ROYCE, 712. =z for the new master, from the nearest station as Deacon White's old gray mare leave distance behind her. He about ten and slowly the room. He was almost dwarfish in size. His right eye looked as though it were try- ing to locate his left ear, while his left seemed to be counting the freckles on his right cheek. His nose projected very noticeably from under his spectacles, acting as a peacemaker to the opposing eyes. He walked quietly to the platform and turned upon the school, gazing at the anxious faces of us children. He looked back and forth aeross the room several times and then smiled, actually smiled. I have often wondered how he ever succeeded in getting his eyes into the spirit of the smile, but he did and the effect was marvelous. It was the first, who was coming fast as would arrived o'clock entered last and only smile that ever graced the features of a teacher in that building. It was not, however, the winsome smile of the teacher of today but resembled more that of a man-eating tiger as he

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COPA A Thanksgiving Dinner Mr. Gaylord was sitting in his office one bitterly cold morning, the day before Thanksgiving. He was in a great hurry to finish his work that day, as he and his wife were to start early that even- ing for Riverville, a little town on the Hudson, in which Mrs. Gaylord’s parents lived and where they were to eat their Thanksgiving dinner. The little office was warm and com- fortable. It looked down upon the busy streets of New York from the twelfth story of a large office building. In the next room the tap-tap-tap of the type- writers could be heard; also the buzz of voices as the office girls talked to cus- tomers and consulted each other about some important piece of business. Presently one of them entered Mr. Gaylord’s room and announced a gentle- man to see him. He sighed as he nodded his head, but his attitude changed when he saw the visitor. The visitor, a large man with smiling face and twinkling eyes, was dressed for the winter day in fur coat and cap and gloves. He took these off as he said, “Well, good morning, Jack. Glad to see you, old boy. Don’t stop work. I am just going to wait here until my auto- mobile is fixed. It broke down out in front of this building and Tom said he couldy’t have it fixed for an hour, per- haps longer, so I wandered up here to get warm.” Although Jack was busy, he put aside his work and, offering Chapin a cigar, settled himself for an hour’s pleasure. “There’s not much use working with you around, Bill,” he said. “Those papers don’t necessarily have to be mailed this morning and I'd rather talk college days with you, anyway, than write dull, uninteresting letters.” About half an hour later the ‘phone rang and Jack stopped talking for a few moments to answer it. Mr. Chapin heard only one side of the conversation, 38 but he could, nevertheless, understand it quite well. “Hello Yes— A telegram! From whom ?—-Sick, is he?—What’s the mat- ter?—Too bad.—What shall we do about to-morrow ?—-Do you think you could do it ?—Order everything you need, then.— I'll be home about six.—Good bye.” “Were you going away for dinner to- morrow ?” Chapin asked as Mr. Gaylord hung up the receiver. “Yes, we did intend to, but Mae’s father is ill, so we shall have to stay at home, after all.” “Why don’t you come out to our house? My wife is going to have a big dinner for a number of our friends, but the more the merrier.” “Sorry, but I don’t believe we can. Thank you just the same, though. To tell the truth, I’m sure Mae is rather anxious to get up a big dinner herself. We’ve been married only a month and she hasn’t had much chance to do any- thing of that kind, and I know she will work her hardest all day to try to please me.” “She must be a very enthusiastic little woman. I hope she has success. But I am sorry, too, that you won't accept my invitation. However, you must come out some other time.” x After telephoning her husband, Mae immediately called up the grocer and butcher, ordering all kinds of necessary eatables, but more of luxuries. Then with a great deal of care she swept and cleaned the flat from top to bot- tom, or rather from front to back. This took some time and the work was not finished until the middle of the after- noon and, feeling a bit tired, she sat down in the Morris chair to view her work. The little living room was as cozy and comfortable as possible. A large bay window took up one whole side of the room and from this one could look out upon the rows and rows of apart- ment houses that lined the street. The windows were hung with clean, white muslin curtains that partly hid the shin- ing. transparent glass that was as clean as the curtains. At the other end of the room was a small open fireplace, in which a log fire was blazing merrily, sending out a flickering light that gave that part of the room a cheerful color. The Morris