Southwest High School - Roundup Yearbook (St Louis, MO)

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in at all. If one had thought the weird contents of this shop frightening by day, he would have been terrified at night. To our left a large red dragon cast about the room an uncanny light-its scales obviously painted with phosphorus. This was undoubtedly the proprietor Ling's main attrac- tion, for it could hardly have been a souvenir because of its size. As my eyes became accustomed to the phosphorescent glow, and as I regained my composure, I saw the many shelves of merchandise and decided that I should take one side of the room, and Garrett the other. The exquisite Chinese vases, the rich coloring in the brocade cloths, and the queer, oddly-shaped idols swam in a mass of color before my eyes when my sense of hearing warned me of a faint sound like that of a key turning in the front lock. I seized my startled companion's arm, pushed him quickly into the inky darkness of the alley, and closed the shop door.. When at last we had returned to our waiting cab, I breathlessly ex- plained the cause of our hurried and abrupt departure to the bewildered Garrett while our sleepy driver muttered something in Chinese that, in part, meant crazy Americans . The following night we again visited the shop, but this time a quar- ter of an hour earlier than previously. I felt once more the cold steel blade of fear, only to a more intense degree, for should our unknown person- who was undoubtedly Ling-decide to come again, we might not be so fortunate in our escape. The shadows were menacing creatures to meg and while I examined each article methodically, time seemed to stand still as if holding its breath in expectation of what was about to happen. When I carefully replaced one of the priceless hand-painted vases, I acci- dentally brushed another one and it was sent crashing to the floor. I stared at the pieces, suddenly the room and all its contents sank into ob- scurity, I stood mutely fixed to the spot as I saw-the glitter of white jade! Garrett must have shaken me a dozen times before I was quite able to speak even incoherently. Finally, having regained my senses, I exam- ined carefully with Garrett the bottom of the vase, which we found to be hollow. In the morning, with the bracelet safely entrusted to the Chinese con- stable, and with us on a steamer bound for home, the entire affair seemed incredible. But there was one thing that neither Dave nor I to this day know-how the white jade got into the hollow vase bottom. LITERARY PRIZE WINNERS .Ioan Cannon Jim Prichard Nancy Price Twenty-nine

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THE WHITE JADE CPrize Winning Short Storyj By NANCY PRICE As we emerged from the mysterious depths of the Oriental Curio Shop, we felt keenly the intense heat and humidity of the air, mingled with the many odors of the East that were foreign to our nostrils. Suddenly we became aware of a strange amount of noise and activity among the usually placid Oriental peoples. As did the rest of our tourist group, I peered about me in order to see the cause of such confusion among the villagers and the shopkeepers who had also appeared in the street as if by some secret power. Several yards away I perceived the cause of the disturbance-a bronze- skinned young American whose bright blond hair appeared as gold among the dark heads of the natives. He was being pushed unceremoniously by several officials into a crude wagon that I recognized as the main and only means of law enforcement in this town. Our interpreter graciously in- formed us that the angry-looking shopkeeper had accused the fair-haired one of taking an extremely valuable white jade bracelet, this accusation, however, our fellow countryman had vigorously denied. I thought no more about this incident until several days later, when, reading a newspaper that was published in the English language, I saw an article concerning the forthcoming trial of a. certain David Garrett, who was, of course, none other than the man I had seen that hot afternoon. Although my curiosity was so much aroused that I decided to attend the trial, I hardly realized that I was to become involved in the matter. The day of the trial was darkened by a continuous driving raing the courtroom, which was nothing more than a poorly constructed one-room wooden building, was warm and stuffy despite the rain that beat with all its fury upon the leaking roof. As I sat there and listened, it seemed to me that I had known Mr. Garrett for many years, and somehow I knew that he was innocent, although this last feeling may have been induced by the fact that we were both foreigners in this strange land. VVhen at last the proceedings were concluded, I decided, for a reason still unknown to me, to pay the sum necessary to get Mr. Garrett out of the dingy hole that served as a cell. My name is John Winters, I informed him on the way to my hotel, and you are now in my custody unless .... He interrupted me by saying, I can't begin to express my gratitude, but it is only natural-don't you agree-that I should wonder why you did this for me a stranger. I really couldn't explain, but I tried to convey to him my feelings as best I could. During the course of our conversation we both decided that the only way to solve this mysterious affair was to find the evidence-the bracelet. We had no particular plan in our minds until I suggested that we search the Curio Shop that very night, and Garrett willingly agreed. The long, weary hours until midnight dragged by, even though I learned important facts of his life history. But when at last the clock chimed the hour of twelve and we stepped into the dark, eerie street, we found to our relief that the merciless rain had stopped completely. I hailed one of the two existing cabs , which took us, upon request, within one block of our destination. As we crept alongthe darkened alley, the silence of the hour seemed deafeningg and suddenly, without warning, an icy fear began to run up and down my spine. I didn't know why or how this feeling came over meg as far as I knew, nothing was going to happen, but I found myself wishing that our task were completed. ' The lock on the rear door of the shop was quite easy to pickg and since burglar alarms were unknown in the East, we had no trouble getting Twenty-eight

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Thirty VISION HILL CPrize Winning Poeml By JOAN CANNON A rolling green hill, Pale in the early sunrise: Dewdrops glistening on the leaves, The morning is still. The sky brightens- Patches of light through the treetops, A piece of blue lake sparkling in the sun. The sweet song of the bird, A The bright flash of a chattering blue-jay, The red streak of a woodpeckerg A clear sky, blue ana' endless, The sun high in the heavens: A white sail on the lake, The sound of a speeding motorboat. The shadows appear, They deepeng A cool breeze, The amber cast of a sinking sun: Twilight. A star appears, Then another and anotherg A bright moon, A path across the waterg A dark sky, Myriads of shining stars-- The falling of night, The hill sleeps. POETRY By DOROTHY KIMMEL Poetry is wonderous lines Drawn gently through the harp of thought Of masters of the art, giving Us pleasures, we, in vain, have sought. Taken from the lips of angels, Given to the ears of mortals By God's own chosen messengers, Inspired through heavenly portals! This to me means great poetry: Expressed in language high and fine, Lovely visions in misty dreams, Unveiled anew in every line. iAccepted for publication by the National High School Poetry Associationj