Spartanburg High School - Spartana Yearbook (Spartanburg, SC)

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10 The Scribbler the heavy gold ear- and nose-rings were forever indented in Kirk’s mind. Just as the cut-throat drew back his hand for the final thrust, Kirk shut his eyes. When nothing happened, he opened them again. The face was still there but it looked strangely familiar. As it grew clearer, he recognized his life-long comrade, Bob Taylor. He leaped furiously for Bob’s throat, but stopped short, when he saw that Bob was grinning. The mists of sleep fell from his eyes and he gazed at his friend suspiciously. Hadn’t he been sitting a few minutes before in the very chair that Bob was holding? Then how did he get on the floor? Slowly a look of furious comprehension came over his face, and completely forgetting the bloody buccaneers, he followed in chase. Clelia Mathewes, ’23. -------------o------------- SONNET ON DEW The dew is thick upon the velvet grass, The tall green blades bend with their dewy load, While flowers beside the green-grown pasture road Are weighed with drops, like bits of crystal glass. And as through jeweled paths and lanes we pass, We see the flashing gems in old earth’s breast, In settings of green-gold they seem to rest As if set by a master in a mass Of purest metals. Some are more enhanced By greenest green, which forms a plush-lined case. Their sparkles all unite and form a ray Which beams and glitters, and the dark is lanced. The silk of Nature’s robe is trimmed with lace Of God’s own gems, the pearl’d dewdrops of May. Estelle Gash, ’22.

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The Scribbler 9 The wind whistled around the chimney, and Kirk drowsily wondered if that could be the wind whistling through the masts. Slowly the room faded, faded, and everywhere, as far as he could see, there stretched great wastes of white-capped waves. Leaning over the great ship’s side, he scanned the horizon for a sail. Suddenly Kirk saw, descending on them from the west a huge ship with black sails. Closer and closer she drew, like a huge vulture. “To the guns, my hearties!” roared the captain, for he realized that they could not possibly escape. Everything was thrown into confusion, and Kirk thought how very differently they had acted in the book. With scrupulous care he examined his big pistol, and then hurried to procure a cutlass. Nearer and nearer came the black ship, and he could see cruel faces peering over the sides. Looking around him, the boy saw that the “Angelica’s” crew was armed to the teeth and he felt much better. “Stand off, villians!” shrieked the gunner, and as he spoke the cannon belched forth a choking cloud of heavy smoke, and the decks rocked. The buccaneers were upon them! In a moment the air was filled with horrible groans and shrieks. Kirk, swinging his sword valiantly, heard a terrible scream that died away in a hoarse gurgle as the boatswain fell upon the deck, the victim of his assault. For an hour they fought back and forth across the slippery decks. A crimson mist swam before Kirk’s eyes and he swayed as he swung his sword. Suddenly from the struggling mass, there appeared a frightful figure. His blood-shot eyes darted about until they spied Kirk. Weilding his dripping cutlass he charged upon the boy, and in a moment they were fighting for their lives. Breathing blood-curdling threats, they fought back and forth. The pirate’s cutlass was sent spinning from him, but snatching a sword from another man, he renewed the fight. Suddenly, a pirate fell against Kirk, and losing his balance on the slippery floor, he fell flat on his back. In an instant the buccaneer was upon him with a dirk. Closer, closer drew the leering face with its livid scars and serpent eyes. The greasy mat of hair, peeping from ’neath the tattered silk, and

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The Scribbler 11 CLASS HISTORY T IS twilight in the great silent woods. The last red rays of the setting sun fall on the still figures of two gypsies seated by a camp fire. The peaceful spirit of the forest seems to be embodied in them as they bend over their work of stringing brilliant beads. They do not even stir when the slim, white-clad figure of a girl steals in from the entrance of the woods, which lie toward the big city beyond. The girl stands expectantly waiting near them. Her dainty fairness is in striking contrast to the rich, dark, oriental coloring of the gypsy’s features and garments. The girl draws nearer and speaks in an awed voice that breaks the brooding silence: Girl—Are you Zara and Guerda of whom I’ve heard so much? First Gypsy (without looking up)—We are Zara and Guerda, the daughters of Christina Guerda, who was ze seventh daughter of the Eastern Star. Our fame has reached the ends of the world. Why do you seek us? Girl—The class of ’22 graduates tonight. I want to learn their fortune. Second Gypsy—You cross-a my palm with-a ze silver. I tell-a ze past. My li’F crystal ball, she tell-a ev’ry zing. Ze silver past! I recall it. Girl (eagerly crossing the Gypsy's palm with silver)—Wonderful ! Begin at the first year of our high school life. Gypsy (staring into the ball)—Ah, I see ze liT boys an’ girls w’at tink-a zey are ver’ big. Zey live-a yet at ze Gramma school. No room in ze ole High. Zey are ze ol’est an’ mos’ privileged wher’ zey are. I see somezine else. (Pause.) Ver’ many children singing. Oh, yes, it is a musical concert of patriotic songs. Many of ze class members take-a ze part. Great success! (Troubled pause). Clouds! Big clouds of disease! Ze influenza snatches ze liT children. An’ ze schools close. Zey open again! Zen vacation. Girl—That’s exactly right. I remember now. Tell me what happened the second year.