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

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how short-lived was that peace! No sooner did he hit the bed than he arose with something that resembled alacrity, for he had discovered seven thumb tacks and one innocent little dead mouse. The obstacles having been cleaned away, he once more ensconced himself on his downy bed. With yells of laughter and delight the whole “frat” ran into his room, turned on the light and formed an admiring circle about Jack as he arose, blinking, on one elbow. “Run, turn on the water, Tod,” yelled “Pistol-head” McCary. “Jack, don’t you know it’s morning? Wake up, sleepy head.” “Ts breakfast ready?” Jack managed to say. “For breakfast we’re going to wash our faces. Have some break- fast, or must we feed you?” “T don’t care for any, thank you,” Jack said sleepily. “Oh, come now, you always have been a heavy breakfaster. Well, fellows, to keep him from dying for lack of breakfast, let’s feed him.” At this they all seized him and roughly pulled, hauled, and carried him to the bath-room, where they held him suspended for an instant above the tub of cold water. Then all let go at the signal and ran to bed, laugh- ing at the gasp for breath made just before, and mighty splash, made just after, hitting the water. THE GEM OF THE YOSEMITE EDNA FERRY, ‘11 “Here, porter, won’t you please call us at half-past five in the morning, that we may have an early start for our horse- back ride?” The obliging hotel porter promised to waken us, so we retired to our rooms for a good night’s rest. Could it be we had closed our eyes and slept, in this short time? It must be so, for, thump, thump, rap, rap, somebody was surely trying to batter down the door. Slowly, uncertainly I turned over and called out sleepily to the porter, for it was he, “All right,” then forgot every- thing else, so intent was I in trying to trap a grizzly. Just as I was about to spring the trap, someone began to shake me gently, but systematically, back and forth. ‘What is it?” I said, rubbing my eyes and sitting up. “T thought we were going horseback riding this morning,” said my friend, “but I see you intend to sleep until

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Jack Harvey was just leaving the “frat” house for the sixth evening in suecession. All the fellows were in the big living-room, lounging around, when he tried to sneak off. “Something has to be done with that accomplished lady fusser! Look here! This is about the fifth, no it’s the sixth, night in succession that he has been away to see his ‘aunt from New York’ or ‘a friend who got hurt in a street car accident,’ or someone about like that. It’s queer he doesn’t go to see the same one twice. We ought to make him appreciate this place more. Let’s give him a reception when he comes home tonight.” Thus spoke “Hon” Baker after Jack had closed the dcor. All were heartily in favor of the plan and set merrily to work preparing the reception. They placed the popular record, “You’re Gwine ter Get Somethin’ What Yo’ Don’ Expec’,’ on the phonograph for the first musical number and went on with other preparations calculated to please Jack on his opening the frat door. “T wonder if any of the fellows are up yet. It must be one o’clock at least. But I feel sure I heard some kind of rough-house upstairs. Everything is quiet now, though. I'll slip in quietly and iry not to dis- turb their pleasant dreams.” These were the thoughts in Jack’s mind as he turned in from the walk and went up the front steps to the door. He listened intently for an instant, then boldly pushed open the door and stepped into the dark hall. ‘‘Br-r-r-r-r-, You’re Gwine Ter Get Some- thin’ What You Don’ Expec’.” He jumped a little at this unexpected voice. It sounded “queer,” to say the least, coming out of the darkness, beginning low and rising almost to a shriek. He laughed at his fright when he discovered a string from the door to the phonograph. “Maybe I better take off my shoes and slip upstairs to bed before the fellows hear me,” he said to himself. “It looks as if there’s going to be something doing if I don’t.” Step by step he began his ascent, pausing on each step to let the creak die away before he took the next. Behind each door upstairs, lurked shadowy draped forms, bending back and forward in convulsions of suppressd laughter at the thought of what was coming. Little did Jack suspect the excitement he was causing as he stopped on the fifth step. Would he never take the next? At last he did and hit the trigger that brought a shower of pans, kettle lids, and tinware of all descriptions with rattling, banging din. The strain was too much for Tod Williams, who let out one little giggle, but the noise of the pans drowned it. On his guard now, Jack felt along the banister as he went. At the turn in the stair his hand hit a cord. He jumped back, but too late to avoid a bucket of ice-water suspended from the railing above. It was almost too much for those waiting up stairs as they heard him muttering things to himself. Without further mishap, and without seeing the huddled figures behind the doors, Jack reached his room. He gave his bed an expectant kick and felt better to see the side rails fall with the mattress and covers to the floor. “Now I'll sleep in peace,” he thought. But, oh,

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noon.” Now thoroughly awake, I jumped up, dressed, hurried down to breakfast, and within half an hour was ready to mount my horse with the others. We selected a pleasant road leading through the woods and cantered leisurely along, enjoying the bright, fresh May morning. Oh, how pretty it all was! Pine and fir trees, cottonwood and oaks towered above us; the sweet wild flowers of the Yosemite, especially the azalea, banked the sides of the Merced which flows through the valley. Wild rose bushes, fragrant with blossoms, lined our path, and infinite numbers of larkspur, columbine, golden stars, tarweed, buttercups, Indian paint brush, wild lilac and many others smiled a pleasant good morning at us. Birds chirped and sang around us, while gorgeous butterflies and bright-hued flying insects of various kinds flew about our heads or sipped their morning repast from the blossoms about them. Ferns, moss and pine needles carpeted the ground, tempting weary pedestrians to stop and rest. To the right of us, to the left of us, in front and in back of us towered the mighty, granite walls from two to six thousand feet above the floor of the valley which is itself four thousand feet above sea level. Occasionally little unnamed waterfalls could be seen trickling down some steep mountain side. In one sweeping glance I could see the lovely Yosemite Falls, the Royal Arches, Half Dome, Glacier Point, and the Sentinel. Oh, the beauty and the grandeur of it all! Surely here we could say that, “Beauty is crystalized in object form, and sublimity is materialized in granite.” It makes one feel so small and insignificant to stand in the presence of such mighty works of God. While we were looking about us, trying to take in the splendor around us: the clear, sparkling, trout-filled river, the picturesque camps scattered along its banks, the mountains, trees and flowers, our road turned suddenly and we came in sight of what shall always be to me, the gem of the Yosemite, Mirror Lake, just before sunrise. There it lay, surrounded on every side by high, rocky cliffs, fringed with trees and foliage, a truly gigantic mirror. Every rock, every tree, everything about it was reflected in its placid waters as perfectly as though it were a piece of glass. We dismounted and tied our horses, then walked to the water’s edge to wait for the sun to appear. Suddenly there was a soft, silver glow in the water. “Look, look, the sun, the sun!” There it was climbing slowly over the mountain tops, peeping at itself in the mirror, shyly at first, then more boldly, until it finally stood forth in all its glory and brightness, casting the most beautiful amber lights in the water. By the time the light had spread over the lake, the perfect mirror effect had disappeared, so we reluctantly mounted our horses and turned away from Mirror Lake, with another wonderful picture stored away in our mind.