Spartanburg High School - Spartana Yearbook (Spartanburg, SC)

Text from Pages 1 - 148 of the 1925 volume:

Ayprrriatinij aiurrrrlif hta ablr auprrmainn of our arhnola, atth prnuh tn br orahuatra nf thr inatitu-tinn mlitrli hr baa fcirrrtrb fur an rnantt itrara, uir, thr ataff nf thr rribblrr nf tlir iFrauk lEnana Ijigh £ rl?nnl, hrbiratr nur annual tn Sr. 3Frank fcuana, mtr wiar, ra;iahlr, arlf-aamfirtnn, rnuragrnua anprrintrnbrnt. : : : : : DIRECTORY EDITORIAL STAFF Editors-in-Chief........ Literary Editors........ Athletic Editors........ Exchange Editor......... Joke Editors............ Art Editors............. News Editor............. Alumni Editors.......... Business Manager........ Advertising............. Circulation............ Special Feature Editor.... Fourth Year............. Third Year.............. Second Year............ First Year.............. Faculty Adviser......... Virginia Wilkinson, '25 Eleanor Everett, ’25 Essay Editor...........Mary Stelling, ’25 Story Editor James Carroll, ’25 Poetry..............Estelle Cohen, ’25 Samuel Wideman, ’25 Alice Bowen, ’26 ....Ruth Pickens, ’25 George Dean Johnson, ’25 Elizabeth Byers, ’26 Susan Crook, ’26 John Carrington, ’26 Agnes Mansfield. ’25 | Bettie Eleen Hutchins. ’25 | Elizabeth Crews, ’25 ......William Willard, ’25 John Otts (Manager), '26 ........... Frances Lide, ’26 ( Agnes Steele, ’26 1 Elizabeth Wallace, '25 I Tucker McCravy, ’25 ................Carolyn Leonard. ’26 Reporters ....................Rebecca Kerr, ’25 ..................... Jean Ligon, ’26 ................... Carolyn Gore, ’27 ...................Beatrice Lee, ’28 ................Miss Alexina Atkins 4 The Scribbler Senior Class c ODEAN ABERNATHY “Silence is sweeter than speech.’' Odean is a faithful member of our class. She does not talk much, but when she does you may be sure she’s going to say something worth while. MARY ALEXANDER Mary is the kind of a girl everybody likes to have around. She’s so thoughtful and willing to do her share always. On the basketball court. Mary “holds her own” and guards the ball like “Horatius at the bridge.” She’s very athletic— weilds a “wicked” tennis racket and a mighty baseball bat. Mary’s quiet and dependable, just a “fine ole” girl. We envy Winthrop! ALBERT ALLEN “When you set yourself to do a thing, do it with a will; He who would reach the top must first climb the hill. As steadfast as an arrow; as true as steel; as brilliant and constant as the stars. Compile these, and even then you will fall far short of rating his true character. HARRY ALLEN “Give me a place on which to stand, and with my lever I will move the world. We must hand it to Harry for wisdom: Tie is not afraid of work, nor has he yet fallen in love. If he cannot answer a question in Physics, it is unanswerable, and we know that some day he will be ranked with Sir Isaac Newton and Faraday. The Scribbler LOUISE ALLEN Louise is not very athletic, but she plays the colored lady“ to perfection, and is always in demand whdfi a person is wanted to be a black mammy or a kinky-haired new maid. A peppy, gum-chewing, original, “devil-may-care” girl is Louise. You'd never know she is a Senior, because dignified isn't in Louise’s vocabulary. but merry, harum-scarum time is 1 MARIE ALLEN “1 have formed the practice to put all my worries dozvn in the bottom of my heart, and sit on the lid and smile.” Marie has won our admiration and esteem by her humor and mischievousness ; her jolly disposition and merry laugh is a sure balm for sadness. Lessons that have not been studied cast no more than a fleeting shadow over her countenance. History is her one sore trial. She is a good pal and is always foremost in the fun at school. If we are masters of our fates, her latter life will be as happy as her school’s. MARIE AMICK “A cheerful heart, a cheerful smile, A charm of friendship all the while.” With that bewitching manner of hers and the smile that is all her own, Marie has won a warm place in the hearts of all the classmates. She has never been known to study conscientiously day by day, but on the eve of exams she devours the entire year’s work, likewise consuming the midnight oil. But in spite of this, she always reaches the goal. We all join in wishing her a bright and happy future. SADIE ANDERSON Athletic, lively, wise in common sense, and full o’ spirits. Sadie’s some girl! She's the steadiest basketbal player you ever saw, never loses her “sang froid” or misses a dance for S. H. S. Sadie never gets disturbed, though she does grow excited. Sadie’s a “brick.” 6 The Scribbler LILA ATKINSON Lithe and willowy, Lila is extremely popular, both with girls and boys. She’s inclined to be frivolous, fond of dancing, dates, and any kind of fun. Lila’s never reckless, even though she’s rather frivolous, and no sweeter, better girl ever lived! MELL BAGWELL “Black eyes, with a wondrous witching charm.” We are all glad that we have Mell in our class. Besides being a splendid student. she has the gift of making friends by the wholesale. She always has a sweet smile and pleasant word for everyone. And she is also President of the “High School Girl Reserves.” HERMAN BARBER “Silence is golden, but you would be surprised.” This young lad could not well be described in such a short account. But to those who know him, such an account is unnecessary, and you who do not know him begin to imagine him a small, handsome youth, who is a friend to all. MERVYN BARNETT “To be. rather than to seem to be.” “Ham,” as he is generally known, has proven to be a good fellow to have in a class. Although his natural qualities are inclined to be somewhat amusing, his intellectual capacity is very extensive. He has not sought after any form of honor, but has been a lover of honor. Tiie Scribbler IRMA BERRY “A more faithful student cannot be found.” Never was so staunch a friend as good ole Irma, for she is always ready to help you and listen to a tale of woe. And we will not forget her good old “flivver. in which she has carried many a sick friend home. LALLAGE BLANTON “If -work will do it, she will win.” We see a bright future for our classmate, Lallage. She is quite an artist. Her friends will not forget the lovely beads and scarfs she painted for them. LEONARD BRADLEY “Ride, and the ( iris ride with yon; Walk, and yon walk alone.” Leonard came to us from Gadsden. Alabama. In his speech he is frank, and in his actions he is clean and honest. To know him is to admire and love him. He is a man of character and ability, and we all wish him success in life. FRANCEN1A BOBO Who doesn’t know Baby Sister ? Our class wouldn't be complete without her. Her ready smile, witty remarks and sweet disposition are well known to her classmates. Though Francenia is rather young to be a Senior, she’s always up on iier lessons and most always gets the Algebra right. 8 The ScRimiLER MARY BOGGS “Not too serious, not too gay, And a true-blue girl in every way.” Mary is one of the jolly members of our class, whose gay spirits even the care of algebra problems and English essays cannot sadden. Indeed, school life seems to interest her more than other phases. No prediction can be made as to Mary’s future, for every day she has a different object in view; but anything she undertakes will he crowned with brilliant success. MALUK BOMAR A crowd, and a good time—and you may be sure Mallie’s there, right in the center of the fun. Mallie has the wonderful faculty of being able to tell a good tale about what happened “last night” or “yesterday.” She’s very interested in the boys, and they must be very interested in her, for Mallie attends all the dances and never even thinks of being a “wall flower.” GEORGE BRANNON “Fashion wears out more apparel than the man.” George is the undisputed “Prince of Wales” of the class. He is a great favorite. because of his modesty of speech. His gentlemanly manners give him an unblemished character. THAD BROOM ‘ He that ruleth liis spirit is better than he that taketh the city.” A friend is he to all. Everyone loves his equanimity of temper, his good humor, his open-hearted frankness. The loss of one like him cannot be replaced. The Scribbler 9 ETHER BROWN “Genius reins sometimes; hard work, always. We believe that Ether has done as much good as the invaluable anesthetic after which she has been named. A friends to everyone, she is loved by all with whom she comes in contact. EMILY BRYANT “Remember me ’til remembering is a task ; Then forget-me-not.” Emily is the life of our class. She is a good student as well as a musician. She is always ready and willing to lend her talents to the less fortunate ones. Her witty remarks often break the monotony of the classroom. She believes in having a good time, but yet there is a more serious side to Emily. When she starts out to do a thing, she never stops until it is completed. She is loved by everyone, and the class of '25 join together in wishing her great success in the future. MARGARET BURLINGTON “Nothing grovelling, low, or meanly selfish, comes near her head or her heart.’’ An enthusiastic, lively classmate, one of the kind that makes school endurable is she. Would that all were like her! KENNETH BYERS “Hat, drink, and be merry; for tomorrow zve may die.” “Ole Kenny” is not a book-lover, but once inclined to study, makes the highest mark in the class. But his chief trouble is the ladies. All of us expect him to make a success, for his ability has been shown. 10 The Scribbler KATE CALKAHAM Look! Who's that good-looking girl coming along the corridor? Why, Kate, to be sure! Kate must have read Bul-tmch, as she knows all the Roman legends. Kate takes life just as it comes, and is never excited. Although deemed a quiet member of the class, she is always ready for a good time. MARIANA CAMAK What's the use of worrying? It never was worth while ’ Mariana never worries over anything. She sits hack and takes things as they come. She has a gift, which few have, that is dry humor. She keeps her classmates in constant laughter. Mariana is a good sport, and also a good worker. SIMPSON CANNON “ Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.’’ Simp is always the last to arrive, but when lie does get there his winning smile gives him the first honors. When he has finished one of his solos, the audience looks around for the ghost of Caruso, for his voice is as charming as his personality. JAMES CARROLL ‘7 will study and prepare myself, and some day my chance will come.” Among the foremost in our literary and oratorical sphere ranks Jim. His motto is: Put not your trust in women and Algebra,” and lie follows it to the utmost. The Scribbler 11 BETH CECIL Beth is Frances Glenn’s ‘‘Boswell.” They walk together, talk together, sit together, laugh together, eat together. We often envy them their delightful friendship. Beth strolls leisurely along the halls with a bag of potato chips in one hand and a sack of peanuts in the other, and generously shares with all whom she meets. She’s a shy and bashful schoolgirl. hut not so shy and bashful as she generally appears. ESTELLE COHEN ‘‘Great thoughts, great feelings come to her like instincts, unawares.” Those black eyes behind Estelle's tortoise-shells” are sometimes dancing, often dreamy, for they reflect the soul of a true poet. Life to Estelle is just one wonder after another that can and must he transferred into metrical, beautiful verse. Estelle may have “day dreams.” hut they don’t keep her from being as lively as a cricket and one of the best “backers” a school ever had! We feel that Winthrop will receive a gem next year, when Estelle enters the Freshman class. LOUIS COHEN “A little learning is a dangerous thing.” We know only Louis’ mischief and wit. We would be acquainted with his sentiments, hut his sesquipedalian expressions prevent it. His ambition is to compile a lexicon and to make woman suffrage a success. MARY COGGINS Quiet, but industrious.” Mary works the hard problems when the others shirk them. Her friends will not forget the valuable help she has given them. 12 The Scribbler LILLIE MAE COX ‘7 awoke one morning and found myself famous.” Lillie Mae believes that “silence is golden,” and that talkers are no good doers.” Follow this and some day you will he as successful as she is. RUSSELL CLARY “A cheerful grin that always wins.” “Pete” is the leading member in anything pertaining to ladies and the omission of classroom work. He also has the record for inventing more original excuses for missing classes. Being good-natured, he is liked by those who know him best. J. E. CL1ATT “Better late than never.” Somehow, his lessons act as an anaesthetic over J. E. Continually during recitation his teacher appoints a committee of one to arouse him from his slumber. In basketball he was highly responsible for the opponents’ low score. ELIAZBETH CREWS You always see Elizabeth riding around, and she never passes on by, but swings open the door and yells, “Hop in. if you want to ride. We always do want to ride with Elizabeth, she’s such an entertaining companion. Elizabeth, one of the noisiest and brightest girls in the class, is a born leader. She doesn’t believe in studying hard, but she’s never behind in her work. Nothing ever worries Elizabeth, because she knows she can devise some way to get out of any difficulty. “Lizzie’s” ingenious, all right! The Scribbler 13 PERRIN DARGAN “Trouble has to be started, so why not by me?” “Fat” has shown himself a good asset to the school. His athletic ability lias earned for him his football and basketball blocks. He is undoubtedly the jolliest member of the Senior class. SARAH DODGEN Sarah's a radiant, bright, joyous streak of sunlight, from the golden sheen of her hair to the glint of gold in her smile. Can’t you just hear Sarah’s pet chuckle now? Sarah’s brim full of fun and pep and as light as a feather on her feet. She's the spirit of grace and sparkling wit at a dance and everywhere. Sarah’s one of the few members of the class who has long hair, but if we could look as pretty as she does, we wouldn’t bob ours cither. Her motto is, “Why should I worry; worry never made men great!” AGNES DRUMMOND “Of wakitty books, there is no end, and much study is a weariness of the flesh.” She studies not overmuch, but yet she is one of the best pupils in the class, carefree, friendly, cheerful. Those are the adjectives which apply to her. EDWARD EDWARDS “I ha ne’er seen the wine I could no’ drink. The ’bacco I couldna’ smoke, Nor the lass I couldna’ kiss.” “Ed” has helped High School to victory in many of her battles on the old gridiron. He is a man of ability and character, and everyone knows that he will succeed in everything that he will undertake to do. 14 The Scribbler ALICE ELLERBE Look who's here! One of the prettiest and most popular girls in the class. Alice used to be distinguished by her giggle, now by her smile. She’s very generous and always willing to share with anyone. “None knew her, but to love her.” She is fond of dancing and supports all the social and school activities. ELEANOR EVERETT Behold! Our Editor-in-chief. When it comes to writing stories, Eleanor is right there with twenty-one pages of notebook paper and a bottle of ink. Stories run from her pen like water from a duck’s back. Fashionable, she always wears the latest, “you bet.” Eleanor is on good terms with all the teachers, even calls most of them by original nicknames. She is always gay and giggling. Eleanor expects to enter Converse, and we surely expect good tidings from her. ELIZABETH FERGUSON Where Eleanor is. there Elizabeth may always be found, ’cause the two E’s are “tombstone buddies.” Though she takes both piano and voice lessons, she keeps up with her school work. Elizabeth has a cheerful disposition. She has a “peach” of a blush, too. After graduation, she will enter Sweet Briar. RUTH FINLEY “Boots” is little and sweet, and we love her well. “E’en her failings lean to virtue's side.” She’s a faithful student and a true friend. May her college life at Winthrop run as smoothly as has her high school course! The Scribbler 1 RUTH FINLEY “I’ll be merry, I'll be free. I’ll be sad for nobody.” Ruth is one of those happy-go-lucky girls. She is always ready to do anything for her friends. She has a smile for everybody. We wish her much luck and success in the future. ALEX FLEMING “Fleming is to High School as Caesar is fo Rome.” Alex has fought many of High School’s battles on the athletic field and won glory there that will never die from the memories of his classmates. He was always full of school “pep” and always had a smile to greet his friends. MILDRED FRANKS “If studying interferes with pleasure, cut out studying.” Mildred came to us from Greenville and is one of the most attractive and popular girls in our class. She never shirks her social duties for the humdrum of school life. She never fails to rise up in her desk at the sound of an auto horn. But Mildred is full of fun and pep, and we all love her. CHARLES GENTRY “Quality, not quantity; brains, not brawn.” “Charley” seems, by the number of letters he receives, to have a monopoly on the fair sex of the class. His ability as an actor has been clearly shown by the number of plays he has taken part in. He has the unique record of having neither a tardy nor an absent mark against him in these eleven long years of school. 16 The Scribbler WM DEVIEW GENTRY “My heart is whole, my fancy free; Go along, small boys, don't bother me.” When one is downhearted and blue, turn to Deview, for she, with her happy-go-lucky smile and ever ready wit, will banish all sorrows. In spite of her jollity, one sees in her glorious brown eyes a soul so pure and sweet that we have learned to love her. Deview excels in debating and has won many honors in our English class. NANCY GILES “She is as constant as the stars.” Nancy never fails to prepare her lessons. in fact, she does not fall down on anything she is assigned to do. She is President of one of the literary societies, and she certainly ably fills her office. FRANCES GLENN Frances is one of the most stylish girls in our class. Often preoccupied in class, she looks up and answers, ‘‘Huh, what did you say?’' Sometimes we wonder why the Wofford boys drive by the school so much at recess. A big part of the reason why is Frances. WILLIAM GREGORY “Why worry? It will happen anyway. “Rill” is good-natured and pleasant, and it is impossible to be pessimistic around him. He has been a strong supporter in our activities and athletics. We wish him a great success in life and predict for him a brilliant and successful career. 17 Tiie Scribbler CHESTER GWINN “What’s done, cannot be undone.” Four years ago Chester decided to cast aside country life and come to the big city in search of knowledge. Spartanburg High School is the first place to which he came, and Spartanburg High School is where he stayed. During his short time with us he has proven himself an excellent student and a man of high ideals—and still more, a gentleman. NELLIE HANNA Nellie is just such a dependable girl that we couldn't do without her. Nellie’s a loyal member of the class, full of sincerity and good nature. She can always see the joke, even when it’s on herself. Nellie’s an all-right, all-round girl.’’ JOHN HARPER “Better late than never.” If you do not know him, then you are certainly the loser, for this big-hearted boy has won a warm spot in the heart of each one of his fellow classmates. John's good nature has never failed him at the High School, and we all are sure that he will win great honors in the future. GEORGE HARLEY “Not toothache—Beechnut.” George is a great admirer of the fair sex. Among the members of the class, there is no better boy or truer friend than he. As to a piano, George is a regular “kitten on the keys.” 18 The Scribbler BAXTER HAYNES This bold, bad man! Among the most popular boys of the Senior class, “Hap” ranks high. The whole class enjoys his remarks, as he is a minstrel within himself. He hopes to he a great textile head some clay. ELIZABETH HEARON “Lib” is surely a good sport. When we played baseball, she was our “home-run hitter.” At a ball game, “Lib’s” the best rooter out; no need for a megaphone when she’s yelling for a touchdown. Elizabeth has a great talent for losing books, especially her French book. “Yours is the charm of calm, good sense.” JESSIE MAE HENDERSON “When she zvill, she will; you may depend on it; When she won’t, she won’t; that's an end on it.” When we hear someone say, “For the love of Mike, someone read my French,” we always know it’s Jessie. She is very brilliant and makes excellent marks in all her classes, although she always says, “I don’t know a thing.” Jessie is very quiet, and certainly runs a bluff on all the teachers, as she gets 100 on deportment every month. She is steadfast and succeeds in everything she undertakes. Among our brilliant English scholars, she is one of the leaders. She docs well and wins admiration from our dear faculty. BEATRICE HEWITT “Reported wise for saying nothing.” Quiet she is, but wondrously wise. She is the kind of student and pupil that both teachers and classmates like, never speaking until called upon, brilliant in her recitations, always attentive and never misbehaving. The Scribbler 19 MARJORIE HILL “She is no foe to any man, but she can talk to beat the band. After finishing three years in the Birmingham High School, Marjorie has come to the “City of Success” to finish her high school career. She is one of those lucky girls that makes a “hit” wherever she goes, and we certainly are glad she came to us. MARGARET HOLMES “I am happiest when I’m idle.” Margaret is a jolly good old sport. The less she can do, the happier she is. Although Margaret is not fond of work, she is a bright student and her classmates love her very much GRACE HORTON Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.” Grace is one of the best old sports in our class. She always backs up the class in anything they undertake. And her wit never fails on any occasion. EUGENE HIX “Plain without pomp, rich without show.” “Hix” is a very ambitious young man. Here’s hoping that he succeeds in his desire to become an electrical expert. He is liked very much by the hoys, as well as the girls. 20 The Scribbler MARY HUDGENS “If worry zvere the only cause of death, then I would lire forever.” With plenty of sympathy and kindness, Mary has all the elements which go to make a true friend. Her pet aversions are snakes and men (although we don’t think she hates snakes so much), and we expect some day to see her a famous woman politician. MARGARET HUMBERT “Fame is a vapor; popularity an accident.” We know from Margaret’s taciturnity and modesty that she has in her some genuine, sterling qualities, and because of these and her earnestness, we all expect from her something indeed great. BETTIE ELEEEN HUTCHINS Here the pen fails us—not because we have nothing to say, but because nothing we can say will do her justice. Bettie Eileen and music go together, for besides her glorious alto voice, she has ten talented fingers that can play such notes as warbled to the string would draw iron tears down Pluto’s checks.” You wouldn’t expect athletics to go with musical genius, hut Bcttie Eileen can play anything from basketball to tennis, and has even indulged in football in the privacy of her front yard. She can act, and she can recite, and she can talk, and she can eat, and she can do anything and everything. Yet she doesn’t know that she's wonderful at all. The world’s her playground, and everyone in it a possible friend. ALLEN HYATT “Wit and humor cover a multitude of faults.” Allen has made many friends at High School, and these have been won by true worth, as well as by quick wit and good humor. Whether in class, on the grounds or on the street, lie always greets us with a smile. The Scribbler LILLIE MAE JACKSON “For my own part, I am well content.'’ Lillie Mae came to us in the fall of 1922 from the red hills of Cherokee, S. C. The day never grows too dark for Lillie Mae to have a bright and sunny smile for everyone. As a history student, there are few who can surpass her. Her accuracy and neatness of work have won for her a high standing in her class. Lillie Mae’s noble qualities and gentle disposition have won for her many friends. AILENE JOHNSON “He courteous to all, but intimate with fete, and let that few be zvcll chosen before you (jive them your confidence.” Ailene is one of those who can be content with their lot. She takes everything as it comes, and goes with a candor and silent simplicity that will ever he associated with her name. CHARLES JOHNSON “If girls interfere with your work— quit zoork.” It has been said that every man has some enemies, but “Stiens” is an exception to this rule. His honesty, fairness and unselfishness have placed him in the highest estimation of his classmates. His work is sometimes shirked, due to his great laziness, hut in spite of this he will he a success in life, on account of the ability within him. JOE JOHNSON “Silence is deep as eternity; Speech as shallozv as time.” Joe is an accomplished pianist. He is able by his art to hold one spellbound. Aside from this, his school records show that he is very intellectual. The Scribbler ?2 GEORGE D. JOHNSON “Rare compound of quality, noble and true. With plenty of sense and good humor, too.” As a gigantic Colossus, far above his fellows in the excellence of human things, towers the mighty form of G. D. Johnson. He is so loved by young and old, male and female, that we challenge anyone at any time to show us an enemy of his. Such popularity must be deserved. The reason for it lies in the fact that he is one of the exceeding few who can. with veracity, stand up and say today and tomorrow: “I am what I am.” And as a last and greatest characteristic, amid all his wonderful achievements, he is utterly wanting in vanity. J. T. HAIGLER “Never over serious, not too frivolous, but a rare good fellow” “Jake” is one of those who knows lots Ivut keep it to themselves. He is very handy with a bat and glove on the baseball diamond. He may seem a bit reserved at times, but a true friend you will find him, if you give him a chance. REBECCA KERR Brimming over with good qualities. “When hearts are true, few words will do.” Sympathetic, industrious, dignified. Rebecca has an ever-ready smile and is one of the happiest girls in the class. SELWYN KING “He zvas a man; take him for all and all I shall not look upon his like again.” “Sol” is a true friend and a real sport. He is always ready and willing to do his best to help one out of their troubles. This and his good nature account for his popularity. 23 The Scribbler MARGARET LACKEY “When night hath set her silver lamp on high, then is the time for study. This is Margaret—blue eyes, brown hair and altogether charming. It was only last year that she came to us from Salem, and only those with whom she has worked and played can know what the class of '25 gained in her coming. Margaret has travelled extensively, having lived all over the United States. Her witty sayings have given Miss Carlisle one joy in teaching this year. Even if she never becomes a nurse, or kindergarten teacher, we know that her future will be successful and that some day she will make some man happy. MARY LANCASTER None but herself can be her parallel.’’ “We do not gather grapes of thorns.” By her actions, her high principles, her devotion to duty, we know her. GIST LESESNE He means what he says, and says zvliat he thinks.” Don’t dispute him, boys, unless you are prepared for an argument. He has gained fame by trying to teach his teachers. He is especially noted as a historian, although he is not a secondary scholar in any subject. ELISE LOVEN “There’s many a slip between the cup and the lip.” Elise has the reputation of always blushing. She is a bright pupil and is very dear to her friends. We all wish her much success in the future. 24 The Scribbler GRACE LITTLEJOHN Black-eyed Grace is one of our own pupils. She’s a dandy guard in basketball. Grace has a sunny disposition and is good-natured. She is interested in athletics. especially in basketball. Grace is excellent in physics and math. She likes North Church, we think, but she’s just wild about Clemson. ANNIE MABRY “Some love two; some love three; I love one, and that is me.” “Little but loud.” Annie is always ready to talk, laugh, or have some fun. Although she only decides to come to school every other day. she makes up for it when she’s here. MARY MACOMSON “ ’Tisn’t because she blooming can’t; It's just because she blooming won’t.” Undoubtedly, Mary is the most mischievous girl in our class. It seems that Mary is always in trouble, but she usually finds some means of escape from her tangled webs. We all love her very much, for she is one of the joiliest, liveliest girls in our class. We all wish her the best of luck. AGNES MANSFIELD “Her pencil drew whate’er her soul designed, And oft the happy draft surpassed the image in her mind.” If everyone were like Agnes, what a place of beautiful thoughts and words this world would be! A true and noble heart she has, full of sympathy and friendliness, ever ready to help, a head chock full of ideas and originality. Nothing is too great for her to accomplish. She is always right there with humor and pathos. The Scribbler 25 KATHLEEN MORAN “Oh! this learning! What a thing it is!” Good ole Kathleen! There’s none other like her. She’s a friend to everybody. Her ready smile wins friends everywhere. Her naturally sweet disposition and generosity are her greatest assets. LUCILLE MOORE “Who lives zvithout folly is not so wise as she thinks.” Lucille is one of our best, always ready with a helping hand, always willing to do a good turn. What would we do without her! WILLIAM MILLER “If it can’t he done. I'll do it.” William is admired and respected by his fellow students, and has made a fine record in his studies. He has proven himself a worthy lad who never shirks his duty. He is always on the job. and we all feel that he will succeed in everything that he may undertake to do in the years to come. MABEL MITCHELL “Never trouble trouble till trouble troubles you.” Mabel, one of the jolliest members of our class. She is possessed of a pleasant, genial nature. She doesn't waste her time worrying; she’s too optimistic for that. Although she is a good sport and ready to join in any fun. she is a good worker. The Scribbler ADDIE McCLURE “Persistent in duty, loyal to right, Faithful and kind of heart ’ These lines apply to Addie perfectly, for as a comrade and true friend she has won her way into the hearts of all. She possesses the rare charm of being the same everywhere you see her, always friendly, industrious and willing to lend a helping hand to those who stand in need of her aid. SARAH McCLURE “A good disposition, a friendly heart. Sarah has the sweetest disposition. We all love her and wish her much success. Julian McCreary “The bravest and the tenderest; the loving and the daring. A pianist that would make Paderewski die of shame, and a lover that would make Rudolph Valentino pale. He is a most considerate, polite, and popular youth, and yet out of all these noble qualities we fear that he will make a “Beau Brummel.” TUCKER McCRAVY “Everything comes to him ivho waits; Therefore, ivhy should I hurry? Tucker has played an important part in winning some of our High School games. At football he was an invaluable asset; and at classes he sometimes, but not always, showed some seriousness in his work. He is an essential to the class and is beloved among his school friends. earl mcdowell “In stature small, but just the same, a man.” Among the members of the graduating class of 1925, there can be found no truer gentleman or more worthy a friend than Earl. Although quiet, he has made many friends among the pupils of the High School. He has proven himself to bq a sincere friend, and with his ability, he should make a wonderful success in life. This Scribbler CLYDE McWHIRTER “The golden branch among the shadoivs.” Clyde is well known and liked for his friendliness and musical talents. He is a living proof of the maxim, “Quality is better than quantity.” He is not only a good student, but, as it seems, he is also quite a sheik. FRED NANTZ “A gentleman makes no noise.” Fred is a quiet chap, but is held in esteem by his fellow students. He has never been known to get mad, and yet lie has worked Algebra for the pleasure of his classmates. This lad, with his winning smile, has won a prominent place in the hearts of his classmates, who all wish him good luck. JAMES NANTZ “A man of few ivords.” Manliness, loyalty, and kind-heartedness are the characteristics of this noble lad. He is always active like a gentleman, and willing to help others. This worthy youth has won many friends during his stay at the High School. He has a high sense of honor and has never been known to shirk his duty at any time. 28 The Scribbler LEILA NEWMAN “Life, zvhat art than without lore?” Leila is the kind of a girl that can find fun outside of class without neglecting her studies. She is a splendid pupil, and a good pal. CLYDE NELSON “He that kuoweth more than , envy; He that knoivcth less, I pity.” “Doc” has the uncanny ability of prompting teachers when they become confused. He is also noted for his argumentative powers. Sometimes he can show an outburst of real knowledge which, indeed, rivals that of Solomon. DERRAL PADGETT “Heard melodies are szveet, but those unheard arc sweeter.” “Sax” received his nickname from his ability to play the old saxophone. Not only can he make this instrument squeak, but also he can hold his own with anyone on any musical instrument that has yet been invented. He has won the whole school—the boys by his cheerful disposition. and the girls by his golden locks and feminine blushes. ELIZABETH PARKER “It doesn’t pay to worry; things arc bound to happen anyway” We just couldn’t get along without “Libba.” Although she hasn’t much use for quadratic equations and Caesar’s wars, her charming ways and pretty face win friends for her wherever she goes. We wish her good luck in her career as “schoolmarm.” The Scribbler 29 MYRTLE PARRISH “Night after night. She sat and bleared her eyes with books. Really. Myrtle is the brain of our class. If it were not for her, where would the honor of 4-E be? She is on the honor roll every month, and we are just as proud of her as we can be. BETTY PHIFER Betty is one of the live wires of our class, and has always something to say. What would we do without her? She can always get the teachers interested in outside affairs. She has a lot of high school spirit, and pep’s her middle name. “Age cannot wither her, nor customs stale her infinite variety.” You don’t know it’s raining outside when Betty’s in class. She has a keen sense of humor, and we predict she will grow rich writing comedies. THOMAS PHIFER “Hear me a little, for am not silent long.” Tom hopes to be an auctioneer some day. He is getting in practice in high school. His knowledge of mythology is unparalleled, and this stands as a beginning to the goal of erudition. SARAH PEARSON “Virtue is its own reward.” Day in and day out. keep at your knitting. “Labor omnia vincit.” There is a great reward awaiting those who do the thing well. 30 The Scribbler ETHELYN PETERSON Ethelyn came to us in her Senior year from Greer High School. Ethelyn is quiet and never seems to be disturbed over anything. She has proven herself a faithful student while in High School. RUTH PICKENS Petite, jolly, brown-eyed Ruth has won her way into our hearts. She always knows her lessons, always has a smile ready to bring forth, and always is “good company.” “Babe” Ruth likes to play tennis and go to movies with Elizabeth Wallace. West Hampton will get a fine girl next year, as Ruth is “pretty to walk with, witty to talk with, and pleasant to think on.” MABEL PORTER Mabel is as sweet as she is pretty. She has a mania for eating at recess, and asks all she knows for “just one little bite.” Mabel’s retiring and by no means loquacious. However, the Wofford boys can make her “sit up and take notice”: that is, the good-looking Wofford boys. WILMA PRAYTOR “None knew her but to love her; None named her but to praise Wilma is a girl whom everyone loves. In her quiet way she moves about the school, cheering everybody with her happy smile. We believe that there is a happy future in store for Wilma, and as she goes out into life, the best wishes of the class of ’25 go with her. The Scribbler 31 MEREDITH PRICE Happy-go-lucky! That’s Meredith. She may be seen running through the corridor at 9:10, minus an excuse, and “apparently unnoticed by the powers that be.” Then she grins and proceeds to tell Lila and Sarah how long her “date” stayed last night. “Better late than never” is one of her mottoes. Meredith is one of the popular members of our class. After graduation, she intends to enter Winthrop. MILDRED PRINCE “Keep smiling, and half life’s battles are won.” “Worry,” says Mildred, “kills people. Joviality kills worry. Which shall we employ?” Her sound logic in this, as in other things, has made her the friend of all. NORA RIDGEWAY “Happy am I; from care I’m free; Why aren’t they all contented like me?” Yes, this is “Ridgie,” sometimes known as “Lefty.” Ridgie blew in to us from Greenville in 1923. This climate has had a soothing influence on her, however, and she may now be catalogued as perfectly harmless, except occasionally, when that “red hot temper” flies off, and then no distance is too great to put between yourself and her. She has an ability for talking and can easily convince anybody in a debate. To be a lawyer is her ambition. Her passion is eating candy. They tell us that virtue always has its own reward, so we’re safe in predicting a great future for “Ridgie.” MARGARET SCRUGGS “Laughter holding both his sides.” Will Peggy ever stop giggling? We all hope not, beceause it is a sound we all love to hear. Peggy is one of the joiliest and most attractive members of our class, and some day we expect to see everywhere, “Mademoiselle Peggie, the great artist.” 32 The Scribbler RUHAMAH SETZLER “We zoill all vouch that she never has a grouch.” Ruhamah is always right there when one wants to borrow a razor blade. Her sense of humor drives her into hysterics once a week at least. When Ruhamah laughs, the world laughs with her. We thought that when she cut off her curls, that she would grow up, but Ruhamah is little yet. She is, indeed, well read, and just give her a book, and she is perfectly happy. MALLIE SKELTON “Industry is the beginning of wisdom.” “Work while you work, and play while you play.” That’s the reason why Mallie is so happy and gay, and why she makes so much of little. “And this, if you have hut little, is what I would say to you : Make all you can of that little, do all the good you can do.” FRANCIS SLACK “If it be a gentleman and a scholar Ye seek, ye have found him.” Francis is one of the truly hard workers of the class. He studies much and benefits therefrom. He is ever ready to do some generous deed for the class. He is one of the few who seem to derive pleasure from studying. NELL SMITH “If studying is a crime. I'm not guilty.” Nell, one of the most talkative members of our class, is always putting off work until the last minute, hut somehow she always gets by with it. The Scribbler PAUL SMITH “'Jake everybody's advise, and then do as you please When Paul unhitched the old gray mare, he left the plough standing in the field, a silent monument, which would hear mute testimony to his desire for higher and better things. Then he went forth in search for the fountain of knowledge. In this search, he chanced to come to the High School. In the few years that he has spent with us he found much pleasure, as well as a great deal of knowledge. FRED SPAKNELL “A man in all things.'’ Fred is famed because of his athletic ability. He is a terror to opposing teams in all branches of sport in the school. His good nature shows him up at once as the friend of everyone. KATHERINE STALLINGS “She is modest, she is shy. Katherine is everything that modesty implies and one of the most beloved members of our class. Because she is so patient, we are all sure she will succeed in anything she undertakes. JULIAN STANFORD “It’s easy enough to be pleasant When life flows on like a song; But the man worth zvhile is the man who can smile When everything goes dead ivrong.” Julian has gained for himself the name of “Old Reliable” by his steady work and dependability. Apparently he has no temper, for his friends never see nor hear anything of it. He is famous the school over for his patented chuckle. The Scribbler ABRAM STEELE “ (hire do all that becomes a man. A true gentleman is found in “Abe.” Faithful in all his lessons, he makes it a pleasure to enter the classroom. His athletic ability was shown on the basketball court. MARY STEELING I dare do all that may become a woman; who dares do more is no woman.” 1 f you’ve never met “little Mary Sunshine. you don’t know what you’ve missed. She’s the biggest bunch of mischief, fun. individuality and brilliance you can find anywhere on the market. Nature has positively showered her with gifts. One of these fine days Mary’s going to take the whole world by storm with her stories, her poems, her acting! JOHN STEPHENS ‘‘Known too late.’’ No one who knows him has ever parted without receiving a lasting impression of his friendship and his willingness to join us in our play. Although John is a little mischievous at times, we find him courteous and polite, and what’s more—a gentleman. NANCY TRIMMIER ‘‘Precious parcels come in small packages.” Because Nancy is little it certainly doesn't mean she isn’t loud. It didn’t take us four years to find out that Nancy liked pleasure. But we are sure that success is lying in wait for “Sunny-haired Nancy! Luck to her! The Scribbler 35 ALUENE TINDALL “Simplicity in habit, Truth in speech.” She's an old standby. Everyone who knows her loves her and wishes her great success in life. CLARA TINSLEY “Silence is golden.” Quiet and studious, that’s Clara, apparently! But if one knows her well, she is as jolly and fun-loving as any of the others. Here’s to Clara ! THURZA TINSLEY “Why rush? Rome zvas not built in a day.” What’s in a name? Not so very much —but when we say Thurza,” we immediately think of a stately, dignified person who has a place in the hearts of her classmates. She is not so large in stature, but what she lacks in avoirdupois she makes up in bigness of heart and sincerity of purpose. Her gentle manner and generous heart have held our love and friendship these four years. No matter how cross others become, she keeps her cheerful smile with a persistence that is wonderful. VENUS TRAKAS “There is no substitute for thoroughgoing, ardent, sincere earnestness.” Venus knows that there is no royal road to learning,” however great our brightness is. Does that mean that there is no road? Ask her. Her reply, characteristic of her brilliance, will be, Ad astra per aspera.” The Scribbler DORA MAE TREXI.ER No teacher ever calls on Dora Mae and is answered by “I don’t know.” Most of the time D. M. knows it quite well, especially when notes arc concerned. In Latin, she excels. Dora Mae is quiet and even-tempered. She’s a good debater, for “she knows her stuff.” Dora Mac “does well, acts nobly.” MAUDE UNDERWOOD ‘'Nothing is more simple than greatness; indeed, to be simple is great.'’ Ever ready is she with a sunny smile or a pleasant word. She will always remain in our memories as a good friend, a pleasant companion and a fine classmate. FELICIA VARN “One is never alone ivho is accompanied with noble thoughts.'’ Felicia is a mixture of dimples and frowns. Her eyes often reveal many serious thoughts which we are unable to fathom, hut the most beautiful thing to see is her eyes dance when she giggles. MINNIE VOGEL “Variiim ct mutabile semper fentina.” “Oh, Min!” let us always call if we need a word of cheer. If there is a silver lining in a cloud. Minnie will see it and show others how to smile their way through. The Scribbler 37 ELIZABETH WALLACE If you ever want to find “Lib. she’s either at “the movies” or in DuPre’s book store. She is well acquainted with the writings of every modern author, as well as many ancient ones. “Lib isn't so dreadfully much of a book-worm as she sounds. She likes all-day suckers, penny-in-the-slot chewing gutn, and horseback riding. Sometimes Elizabeth gives one the impression that she’s quite reserved and demure, but when she’s “pepped up.” she’s as gay and giddy as the rest of the bunch. “Lib’s” a darling! SL’DIE WARE “She is little; she is shy; But there’s mischief in her eye.” “Little Sudie” breezed in from Greenville. bringing with her many honors won by her speedy work on the basketball team. It was easy for her to get on the S. H. S. team and win more honors. Her jolly and mischievous disposition has won for her the friendship of all those who have really known her. One of her greatest attributes is that she does not mind saying what she thinks. ERA WHITLOCK “The friends thou hast and their adoption tried. Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel.” Eva says. “They only are rich who are rich in friends.” She soon will be a millionaire. 38 The Scribbler SAM WIDEMAN With the girls and with high marks Sam plays an important factor, And in the future hopes to be A famous chiropractor. !t is a remarkable thing that Sam can play tennis all the evening, lead a speed cop over the city all night, and yet make all the so-called “bright pupils” in his class look like wash-pots. At the bottom of this there is a most rare brilliance, which has made him, beyond a shadow of doubt, “the best iu the world.” KATHERINE WILKINS “Kitty was on the basketball squad and went to all the practices. She supported the team for all she was worth, and surely did display some fine school spirit. We hope she’ll make the Hollins team next year, for she’s a faithful worker, and has learned to play either center or guard, and to play them well. Katherine’s quiet and serious and friendly, a Senior we are proud of. WILLIAM WILLARD “To love one maiden only, cleave to her, And worship her by years of noble deeds.” Bill is good in school, in athletics, and in most everything. He was a bright spot on the basketball court. ■ 39 AI,FREDA WILLIS “A ray of light in the darkness.'' The appearance of Alfreda is not deceptive. She believes in making light of all things, and that cares never bring ns any good. VIRGINIA WILKINSON “The power of thought; the magic of the mind expresses Virginia to a T. When our stately Virginia misses a lesson, “apples will grow on lilac trees. She is “the light that never failed.” That golden head of hers is crammed full of knowledge. Virginia is fond of dancing, and leads a gay life when she’s not studying. She is always more than willing to lend a helping hand. We don't know how we got along before “Ginger” came to us from Columbia High School. She’s our other editor-in-chief. “Nuff sed.” “Loyal-hearted. strong of mind, A truer friend nowhere you’ll find.” Who is the pretty, soft-spoken, graceful little maid with that adorable dimple in the middle of her chin? Why, who but Frances, for who else can claim that dimple? She’s sympathetic and dependable. is Frances. FRANCES WRAY 40 The Scribbler Senior Class Officers President........ Vice-President ... Class Poet... Prophet.... Historian Lawyer. ...George Dean Johnson ......Eleanor Everett ......Estelle Cohen .....Albert Allen ...James Carroll Thomas Phifer SENIORS’ WHO’S WHO Most Popular Most Attractive... Best Looking...... Laziest............ Most Dignified..... Neatest........... Most Original...... ) Peggy Scruggs ) George D. Johnson ( Perrin Dargan | Mildred Franks | Peggy Scruggs [ George Brannon j Elizabeth Hearon I Charlie Johnson | James Carroll [Addie McClure 1 George Brannon Ailene Johnson (Eleanor Everett Baxter Haynes Biggest Hot-Air Artists. The Phifers Most Studious l Virginia Wilkinson ) Francis Slack f Agnes Mansfield | Julian McCreary Most Enthusiastic. The Scribbler 41 Unluckiest........ Daintiest.......... Luckiest.......... Most Literary..... Jolliest........... Most Romantic..... Most Care-free.... Most Unselfish.... Most Natural...... Most Stylish...... Shyest............ Cutest............ Best Athlete...... Goodest’’........ Best School Spirit Most Brilliant.... j Mell Bagwell I Ed Edwards ( Sarah Dodgen | Chas. Gentry ( Mary Macomson j J. E Cliatt ( Mary Stellings | James Carroll J Elizabeth Crews j Russell Clary j Estelle Cohen j Kenneth Byers (Tucker McCravy Meredith Price ( Katherine Stallings j Earle McDowell j Bettie Eileen Hutchins j Billy Willard ( Kenneth Byers | Margaret Lackey t Fred Nantz | Beatrice Hewitt I Peggy Scruggs | Russell Clary I Fred Sparnell Sadie Anderson j Ruth Finley j Francis Slack | Agnes Mansfield (Billy Willard f Albert Allen [ Ruth Pickens HIGH SCHOOL. WITH ANNEX Our Aim Now as we are nearing the end of our High School course, we begin to realize the necessity of deciding what our life work is to be, what part we are going to play in the world’s work. Most of us have a vague or hazy notion of what we would like to do. but we have made no definite decisions. What we do know is that each one has a mission to fulfill, and it depends upon the individual himself how it will be carried out. Our missions will not all be alike. Some will lead to fame and fortune, while others may not seem so loftily inclined. But everyone cannot hold the highest office or leading position. What is expected in one person could not be expected in another. The small and apparently insignificant offices in life are just as vital, though maybe not tinged with the glamour of wealth and renown. People are needed to perform the little tasks just as well as the big ones. Whichever ours may be. let us always “be on the job.’’ Someone has said that our life is made up of little things, therefore let us be a candle if we cannot be a lighthouse.” ♦ The Scribbler 45 Our achievement in life does not depend upon the greatness or size of our position. It depends upon applying ourselves with our whole heart and soul to making the best of our lot. Piach one wants to put up a good fight in the game of life and prove himself worthy. H. G. Wells, in stating how a person may tell whether he has really succeeded or not, says: “Wealth, notoriety, place, and power are no measure of success whatever. The only true measure of success is the ratio between what we might have done and what we might have been on the one hand, and the thing we have made and the thing we have made of ourselves on the other.” V. W., ’25. -----------o----------- A Plea “ ’The time has come,’ the walrus said, ‘to speak of many things.’ ” Yes, fellow classmen, what our dear friend the walrus has said is true, indeed, too true. We need not stop here to look over the past year. We know what we’ve done; we know whether this year has been one in which we have done our best, or one which we have wasted. Let’s hope we have not wasted it and, if we have, let’s make next year worth while. Some of us will not he here, but you, fellow schoolmates, you have a great task to do, a task which the class of ’25 has left undone. It is something that if allowed to continue will always be a disgrace to our school. Classmates, here is your task: We haven’t a school song. Every school in the State has one, every college in the world has one, but our own Frank Evans High School has none! Are we going to let that continue? Are we going to permit such a gap to be in our school spirit? It’s up to you! Get together your geniuses; compose an Alma Mater that will thrill you through and through when you sing it! Come and do it. You can. We leave it to you. ' E. E., ’25. -----------o----------- Work and Play Neither work nor play should be indulged in at the expense of the other. They should rather go hand in hand, since both are necessary for correct development. Victor Hugo said, “Study and grow lean ; browse and be an ass.” However, if one studies” a while and then “browses” a while he will neither “grow lean” nor “be an ass,” but will rather be a well developed, healthy, nor- 46 The Scribbler mal human being. One must play to strengthen his physical powers so that he may more completely and perfectly accomplish his mental tasks. Consider the “book-worm,” lean, emaciated, blear-eyed, awkward. No matter how much book knowledge he may have he will never become a power until he learns to mix with people and conduct himself with ease and grace. Probably his usefulness will be cut short by an untimely death, due to lack of proper exercise. Now consider the opposite of the “book-worm,” the big, overgrown, blustering bully, “who knows not and knows not that he knows not.” Surely none of us wish to be either of the extremes. Then it is necessary to strike a “happy medium.” This can be accomplished by a mixture of work and play. Both are divine! Theodore Roosevelt hit the keynote when he said, “When you play, play hard; when you work, don’t play at all.” J. c., ’25. Recipe for “Joie de Vivre” or Old-Fashioned Zest Mix a good night’s sleep with a dash of cold water, two or three windows of fresh air, a becoming costume, and a loyal friendship. Add a touch of spice and some song. Stir well, adding a little excitement, such as a football game. Beat in the triumph of at least one victory, more if procurable. Bake all in an oven of even temperature for twelve or fourteen hours, garnish with smiles, and serve, bubbling and running over. This will be enough for six persons. A. M., ’25. -----------o----------- How About It? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if every year the graduating class would give some piece of statuary to the school? The Latin department of the class of ’25 has donated the lovely relief of Aurora. Seniors of tomorrow, it’s up to you to follow the example and beautify Frank Evans High with all the works of art! How about it? E. C.. ’25. EDITORS ESSAY..........................MARY STELLING, ’25 STORY_____________ „___________JAMES CARROLL. ’25 POETRY.........................ESTELLE COHEN. '25 CLASS POEM We, whom the gods endow with youth and hope. Behold the future as a fairyland. Where dreams and wishes come to life Amid the glowing splendor of success. We’re not afraid to fight the dreadful beasts. Called Fear and Sloth, that guard the entrance gate To all the magic realm of our desire; We’re armed with high ambition, faith and trust. Our hearts have not felt disappointment’s dart, Or hopeless grief in these few years of life; We’ve not yet learned what changing fate can do To undermine youth’s many pretty schemes. Though failure some day keeps afar from us The fairyland which now appears so close. Though we may see our dreams killed by despair. We will not yield to sorrow’s crushing sway: Because the memory of happy days, Which we’ve spent here in this, our dear High School Will always fill our soul with thankfulness For joys that youth and childhood freely gave. Estelle Cohen, ’25. fiAR CLASS The Scribbler 49 THE MASTER KNEW at first glance that this was the place for which I had been searching all my life. Queer that I, of all people, should have such luck. I just fell on it, so to speak. But here in this little Southern town was everything an artist could desire—huge trees, bending, it seemed, under the weight of the moss hanging upon them—and, too, here were beautiful flowers, lovely green grass, and the handsome old houses, which really appealed to me most. The doctor had sent me here to rest, to have a complete change, to stop painting. If you have any conception of an idea how beautiful this town was you would know that an artist could never sit still and not paint; nevertheless that was what I had been told to do. Blitz pricked up his ears when he saw me getting out my canvas; he knew that I shouldn’t paint. He whined, barked, and ran out of the house, expecting me to follow. “Blitz,” I said, “You couldn’t ask me not to paint here, could you, old man? Ah, there, don’t knock that over, old chap. Here! Here! Confound you, Blitz! Hush!” Blitz knew I couldn’t paint when he barked, and here he was, barking for all he was worth. He should have known not to bark; I had trained him. My hand was shaking violently. Funny, how I couldn’t stand noise. “Hush!” No, Blitz was determined to bark, which meant of course I could not paint. He was a smart pup, but terribly tormenting sometimes. After trying in vain to quiet this raving beast, I was thoroughly disgusted and started out on a hike. Blitz was overcome with joy, for that was what he had wanted all the time. He chased every cat, fairly flew after every bird; and all dogs, when they saw my old fellow coming, stuck their tails under their legs and ran as fast as they could. We had walked only a short distance when we met a very strange-looking person. He was short and stocky, and had steel blue eyes, which sunk far back into his head, and over these cold, stern eyes hung long, wiry, thick, bristling eyebrows. This person had grey hair and also a long, bristling beard. His clothes 50 The Scribbler were of a musty brown color, and looked as if they had at one time belonged to someone twice the size of him. “Good morninV’ he said in a coarse tone of voice. “1 guess you is the fellow what Dr. Mitchell sent down here?’’ “Yes,” I replied. “lie sends a lot of his measly ones down this a way. This here your dog?” “Yes. He—” “Well. I’m a-telling you. you better keep him chained, ’cause he’s liable to get shot if he wanders around here much.” “Really! So von think lie’s dangerous?” I laughed. “He looks that a-way. Say, neighbor, you like your house?” “Yes. It’s fine,” I replied. “It has a lovely location too, so—” “Yea.” he interrupted, “but you’ve got a mighty peculiar neighbor. Please hold the dog. Yes—this neighbor of yours, lie’s suspicious.” “Suspicious? Just what do you mean?” I enquired. “This man—why, lie's been coming here for pretty nigh four seasons and not narrv a one of us even knows his name. My gracious, man. ain’t never seen him!” “No! Why not visit him then?” I suggested. “Visit him! No! Why—why—he’s suspicious!” “You mean perhaps lie’s an ex-convict or something?” I joked. “Yes. sir. I’m not sure what he is; none of us here is willing to take the first step. But, lie’s suspicious! Please hold the dog—” “1 believe you are afraid of Blitz.” “Blitz! Is that bis name?” “Well, why not?” “Blitz, why. wasn’t that some robber’s name?” Robber? I think not.” “Maybe not. I'ell you what I’ll do, neighbor,” be hesitated a while. “Tell you what. If you’ll go find out about this here fellow—I’ll—I’ll pay you.” “Why do you wish to know?” Why! Why! Goodness, this man. lie’s suspicious! Please hold the dog. Yes, sir; he’s suspicious; besides I’m the sheriff.” He pulled his coat aside and showed a big silver badge when The Scribbler 51 he said this. “Think about that, neighbor,'’ he continued. “Look this here fellow up and let us know.’’ “I’ll see.” The sheriff walked on off. I laughed. What a funny old man he was! “Blitz.” I said, “shall we go into the detective business?” He wagged his tail in merriment. As we walked on, my curiosity got the better of me. I had a longing desire to see this “suspicious” man. By sundown I could no longer suppress my desire, so I turned up the path next to mine. It was a long winding path, with huge trees on either side. This walk itself seemed mysterious and “suspicious.” Lovely, dainty flowers were arranged artistically here and there. I felt sure that this man could not be the ogre the sheriff had made him out. The path suddenly made an abrupt turn, and there we saw a little log cabin, which stood in the spot where we had expected to find a stately home. Behind this house the sun was setting, putting a lovely rose tint on the place. On the tiny porch sat a gentlemanly old man, with snow-white hair and a Santa Claus beard. He seemed to complete this scene. As many people have often said. I said then that I wish I were a poet so that I might have expressed how really beautiful it was. Blitz and I felt as if we were unworthy to gaze at this and started to turn and go back, but this gentleman awoke from his reverie. “Good evening, sir?” he said to me, as if he were expecting an explanation as to why I had intruded. “Pardon me, hut I really walked up this path unconsciously. I know I shouldn’t have come—” “Glad to have you. You are not a native here, I suppose? Sit down.” he added hospitably, “you look pale and tired. Perhaps you are here recuperating?’’ “Yes, I’ve had a breakdown—and this—this lovely scene has shaken me a bit,” I admitted. “Now, I know you must be an artist. Yes! Ah, I have always complimented myself on being able to recognize them.’’ “I have the cottage next to yours,” I said, still trying to explain my intrusion, “and your place looked so charming I could not resist the temptation of coming in. You should not have 52 The Scribbler such an entrancing path, for I know with such an enticing entrance you must have many, many visitors.” “No—comparatively few. I am glad though, glad that you came, because you are the first one who has been here who has really appreciated this. I have taken great pains with it.” Blitz lay down at the feet of this man. This startled me very much, for Blitz generally had a very hostile air toward everyone except me. “Your dog is very lovely,” he said, seemingly having just noticed Blitz. “A German police, I believe?” “Yes, I brought him back with me.” “So, you have been abroad?” “I studied at Oxford.” “Indeed, how interesting. I believe,” he continued, “you said you were an—artist?” “I struggle toward that end,” I laughed. “This is a lovely place for you then, lovely!” We talked on and on, but never once did this gentleman offer to give his name. This aggravated me very much, for now I was even more determined than ever to solve the mystery which hung over this man. He seemed so charming, so intellectual. The next day, much to my surprise, this man turned up my walk. Blitz sprang up to meet him and seemed delighted to have this guest. “Well, well,” he said, “nothing like paying calls right away, is there?” “Nothing pleasanter in this case, at any rate.” “Ah, you must have studied other things than art—at— where did you say?” “Oxford.” “Yes—Oxford. Yes—to be sure, Oxford. And that is in—?” “England,” I supplied, wondering why he seemed so stupid and dazed this morning. “Of course—of course—Oxford, England.” This man seemed very peculiar today—so strange—so uncertain—so, shall I say, so frightened. “Perhaps,” he continued, “you have some paintings? I am verv fond of art.” The Scribbler 53 “Yes, would you like to see some of them?” “If it is no trouble?” “None at all, I assure you. I have one painting here, not the original of course, but a very good copy of the one ‘The Master’ painted of her Majesty, Queen of Spain.” “Yes, do show it to me,” he said eagerly. I got it out, unfolded it, and laid it before him. He turned very white, a ghostly white, and clutched a chair. “Her Majestly,” he gasped. “Her Majesty! Ah! I am saved! I know! I know all now! I’m saved! Queen Mary, her Majestly!” He grabbed the painting from my hand, kissed it furiously, wept, and then—suddenly became quiet and reserved. “See,” he said in a trembling, strained voice. “See—I am he—I am ‘The Master’! I am he who painted that.” His voice became shrill and he cried, “I am the portrait painter of the Royal Family of Spain! I am ‘The Master.’ I have at last my memory!” I stepped back, overcome, bewildered. Then I remembered that about five years ago the portrait painter of the Royal Family had become suddenly ill, and one day he disappeared. No one could find him. They searched everywhere, but in vain. And here I—I—had found “The Master,” the portrait painter of the Royal Family of Spain, unknown, suffering from temporary loss of memory in this little Southern town. Eleanor Everett, ’25. -----------o----------- A BUTTERFLY Beautiful butterfly, cavalier gallant, Mounted on wings of dazzling sheen, Designed by some wizard of wonderful talent, Spun from rich fabrics, red, amber, and green, You enter my garden the first summer day, Dressed in holiday garment so frail. The breath of a zephyr might blow you away, As rising, and falling, and dipping you sail. Alice Ellerbe, ’25. 54 The Scribbler GRAND OPERA AND JUICY FRUIT T SEEMS QUEER that chewing gum should help one in becoming a great artist, but nevertheless it was true in my case. After I graduated from college I began to study voice at Peabody Institute under Professor Liszt, whose features showed his German nationality. He was a hard, dispassionate old instructor. Looking at me over the top of his spectacles with his piercing black eyes, he terrified me. In spite of this fact, I made phenomenal progress and was very pleased when told me one day that I had an unusually expressive voice. For days after that I oo—la—la—ed around, rivaling Rosa Ponselle and our back yard cat. A week later Professor Liszt announced to his pupils that he was going to give a recital. I, the star pupil, was to sing a very sad and heart-breaking aria. “Ach, mein freund,” he said, “chu must veep, veep dem copious tears. Den de audience vill l e at chour feet.’’ This discouraged me, for I was a hard-hearted person and absolutely could not cry without some reason. I practiced conscientiously for hours in front of my mirror, peeling innumerable onions and reading “Over the Hill to the Poor House” and other heart-rendering works. But my efforts were all too poorly rewarded—my lacrimal glands refused to function. All too soon the night of the recital arrived. I was still greatly perturbed over how I was going to “veep dem copious tears.” With knees weak but resolution strong. I took my seat beside my chum, who tried to calm my shattered nerves by giving me a stick of juicy fruit. “It will make you long-winded,” she stage whispered. Then I began chewing and gulping, chewing and gulping, all the while staring out in the audience, trying to see a pitiable spectacle for tears. Absolutely none! Just before I was called to the block, I balled up the gum with my tongue, took it out of my mouth with careful fingers and stuck it under my chair. The moment for my song was almost at hand when, looking down. I spied that gum sticking fast to my shoe. I was in a quandary, for if I should attempt The Scribbler to pull it off it would stretch and at the same time remain firmly fixed to my silver slipper and my fingers. Mv chewing gum chum suggested that I wear her shoes. I hurriedly carried out her suggestion, although the shoes were about two sizes too small. I either had to endure the inevitable pain or refrain from appearing. When my turn came, I walked heroically down to the stage and began my song. Real tears rolled down my cheeks as I sang and my whole body expressed the painful emotion under which I was laboring. The audience was deeply moved and many wept with me. I glanced at the professor. Even he was almost washed away by his tears. After the program, everyone congratulated me upon my success. Because of my performance that night, I was given an audition by a well-known impresario, who sent me to Damrosch, the noted opera coach. A year later I made my debut in Grand Opera. When my first big check came I immediately set aside a part of it, later to be increased, to build a monument to Juicy Fruit Chewing Gum—the cause of my great success. Frances Duncan, ’26. -------;---o---------- THROUGH THE WOODS A woodland path I tread. That gently bends and twines Beneath the ancient pines, O'er soft brown needle bed. I hear a bird’s clear call, The murmuring brook between Its fern-grown banks of green, And in the tree tops tall. The softly whispering wind. The sun sifts through the leaves. Among the stately trees The sought-for peace I find. Mary Alexander, ’25. 56 The Scribbler A DAY IN THE ATTIC OYS!” Mrs. Burton was scanning the back yard, looking for her two small nephews, Tub and Tubby. “Oh, Tub! Tubby!” No answer came. “Oh! T-u-b! Tub-by!” This time there appeared around the corner of the barn two sorry-looking little figures. “Boys! Where have you been?” Mrs. Burton was impatient. “Oh, Auntie! We ish jus’ buried a pore little dead birdie!” Tubby looked as innocent as Saint Peter himself. “Where is my damask napkin?” “Why, Auntie, you see, the poor little fing had to have a coffin, so we jus’ tooked that. We’se a-gonna bring it back after the birdie has got his soul in heaven.” Tub’s face wore the look of one of Michael Angelo’s famed cherubs. “Oh, my lovely damask napkin!” wailed Mrs. Burton. “Boys, why will you be so naughty? I’ll have to punish you.” So saying, she took a firm hold of each of them and marched to the drawing room and seated them with violence on the sofa. “Now, boys. I’m going to punish you.” “Don’t want to be spanked!” screamed Tubby. “You are not to be given a spanking, but I am going to take you up to the attic and make you stay there until you can remember not to misbehave.” Tubby shrieked as if he were enduring the thousand tortures of the Chinese executioner, and Tub looked as unhappy as a man in love about to propose. But Mrs. Burton did not waver from her purpose. She took them by the arm and led the boys to the attic. She put them on two chairs, each one in a corner. The cool damp air was very refreshing to the two little boys in the attic, and the pit-pat of rain on the tin roof was infinitely soothing to their wounded feelings. As she turned to go out of the room, she was followed by a shriek that seemed to pierce the walls of the room. Turning hastily to see what the matter was, she saw that Tubby had neither fallen from his chair nor been seized with an epileptic The Scribbler 57 fit, so she took a last look and went out of the room, softly closed the door, and sat down in a chair placed by it. “Tubby?” “What?” “Let’s do somep’n!” “Chop Aunt Alish into little bits of bits, datsh what I fink would be nish.” “Why, Tubby! And after you done gotsh us in this here mess.” Tub looked surprised. “We orter do somep’n real good.” Tub was ashamed. “What dosh big folksh do?” “They read the Bible.” “Den let’s don’t do nuthin’ but be awful bad,” said unrepentant Tubby. “Well, I fink you orter be good; you got me into this scrape.” “I didn’t do itsh, no such a fing!” “I know you did!” “I didn’t!” “You did!” “I didn’t!” “You did! You know what you’se a-tellin’, Tubby Jacobs?” “Well, I don’tsh care! I didn’t!” “I ain’t a-gonna speak ter you no mo’ neither. Where s that flint I gave you. Give it back now!” “I ain’t!” “You is so!” “All right. ‘Injun giver.’ ” “Lookee! A-cryin’!” “I don’tsh care.” Tubby turned his back on the offending creature. A long, unbroken silence ensued. After a long pause it was broken. “Tubby?” “Tub ?” “Is you mad at me?” “No-o, that is, I don’t fink so,” Tubby’s tone of voice was doubtful. “Well, I ain’t mad at you any mo’.” “Ain’t yer?” SECOND V KAR CLASS The Scribbler 59 ‘‘Let’s make up,” Tub's voice was hopeful. “Wel-1, maybe. If’n you won’t say I did it.” “Awright.” Then the two boys slid from their chairs and tip-toed softly to the door. “Aunt Alish ?’’ “What is it, boys?” “We’ll be good.” “Do you really think so?” “Yesh.” “Well, if you think you can. I’ll let you out.” She unlocked the door and the two boys came out. They went arm-in-arm down the steps, singing lustily— “I want—to be—an angel. An’ with—the an-gels stand ; A crown—upon—mv fore-head, A hop—per in—my hand.” Catherine Trawick, ’28. -----------o----------- THE VOICE OF THE WIND A grove of pines is wonderful in spring When breezes, echoes of the wind. Drift whisp’ring, murm’ring through the stately trees. 'Till nature’s harps all seem to sing Of peace. Hut rough gales come that bend the pines. Black clouds sweep low, foretelling rain. The storm twists screaming through the wood. And nature shrieks as though in pain From strife. Elizabeth Wallace, ’25. 60 The - Scribbler BUMPS OW DISTINGUISHED I am! What a man I am going to be! Gee! I can soon talk about what happened ten years ago. Grandma says all the time, ‘And that, mind you, was fifty years ago.’ And I guess I’ll be quite grown-up, too, to say, ‘Yes, it was ten years ago that I started to sucking my thumb,’ or some such. The grown-ups will sure have to take notice of me from this time on.” This was a soliloquy that I was giving on the eve of my tenth birthday as I sat ‘‘crunched up” in a Morris chair before the fire, awaiting very impatiently the coming of my mother. I had heard only the appellation “Old Soldier” addressed to me for nearly three weeks, and indeed it was a very proper one, because I was bandaged almost from head to foot. Mother was going to remove every one of the bandages that evening so that I might be free to enjoy my birthday. Finally she came and took them off. and upon finishing I was sent off to bed, with a suggestion from my Dad. “Well, son,” began my father in rather grave tones, “since you’re all cured of bruises and scars, don’t you think it would be an excellent thing to celebrate your birthday by being careful and trying to keep from getting hurt so much? Just be careful. That’s all.” I acquiesced gladly, and promised to take the utmost precaution all day, whereupon I bounded off to bed and sweet repose. On awaking the next morning I felt wonderful. I was Richard Leon Fontaine, ten years of age, and not Dickie any longer. I decided to dress hurriedly and go for a ride on Dan, my pony, a treat which I had not enjoyed for some time. I remembered my father’s words to me and was very careful in getting out of bed, but woe to me! A slat fell out with a bam as I jumped out of bed and made a sonorous noise as it landed on the floor, right above my father’s head. “A fitting salute to usher in the day!” I heard him exclaim. Notwithstanding such an unfortunate beginning, I resolved to still carry out my father’s injunction with all the more care. I knew that old Levi was holding Dan at the front gate, so I The Scribbler 61 hurried all the more. I suppose my feet thought I would like to go faster, and they were willing to help, so that when I came to the stairsteps, trying to be very careful, the first thing I knew I was making unusual speed and was not standing upright. When I reached the bottom, the maid, Nancy, exclaimed. “Fo’ goodness sake, Marse Dick, why is you in such a hurry? De house ain’t on fiah. An’ if it wuz, when you’ is ten years old yo’ sho’ oughtta know how to walk. I’se much oblige to yo’ fo’ yo’ bringing down dat banana peeling on yo’ foot, do, kaze I’se just startin’ up fo’ it.” I was so furious at both her and myself that I did not speak. That was once that I was careful anyway. I was soon trotting away on Dan, and was hoping that my ill-humor would disappear with my ride, which was so delightful. Soon my good spirits returned, and Dan seemed to want to share the joy of the morning with me. I suppose he knew there was something unusual about the day. Soon he seemed to feel extremely good. I suppose he wanted to show me he hadn’t lost any of his strength or vigor since the last time that I rode him, for he soon became intractable. The next thing I knew I was in the ethereal world, and there in dazzling, glistening letters before me were the impossible words, “Be Careful.’ I was aroused by Dan rubbing his nose against something on my forehead that was quite new to me. I put my hand to my head to see what this projection might be. Alas! it was a bump, and I felt it too. I managed to ride home and resolved to make the best of things. The family were already at the breakfast table when I returned, so mustering my courage, I walked boldly into the dining room and exclaimed, “Hey, Dad, see what an intelligence bump I’ve sprouted for my tenth birthday!” “Intelligence, indeed!” was my father’s laconic reply. I will certainly say that the meal was not very pleasant to me. After breakfast I examined my presents and continued to amuse myself with them along with my brothers and sisters for the rest of the day. But despite all the “Happy Birthdays” that were thrust at me, and despite all my care and precaution, it was a fateful day. Bv dusk I was feeling most unwell, after having fallen out 62 The Scribbler of a tree and sprained my arm, bruised my foot, burnt my hands badly with a cap pistol, and received several other minor scars and bruises. I decided to go to bed without any supper. In the night I felt as if I might have fever, and by morning I was really sick. I arose to pull down my window, but on passing the mirror and seeing my visage in the glass, I was dumbfounded, stupefied. horrified, and what not! My face was as red as crimson almost, and there were bumps beginning to jump out. In fact, quite a few had already done so. I sank back in bed and called my mother. Down in the kitchen Uncle Mose and Aunt Dilcy discussed me in very pathetic tones. “Dilcy,” said Uncle Mose, “does you know dat Doc Hardin just been here, and he say Marse Dick hab got de measles. I been up dar to keery him some wood, and, to my mind, he sho’ is sick. He looks most like an Injun.” “Well, Mose,” responded Aunt Dilcy, “what ar’ dat chile gonna hab nex’? Po’ lil’ Dickie! How I lubs dat chile, Mose. Po’ lil’ Dickie!” “Yessum, Dilcy, it’s sho’ ;po’ lil’ Dickie.’ ” said Mose. “He ain’t neher git so many bumps as he done git bein’ keerful. and what’s mo’, Dilcy, he’s got dem. He ain’t got it. Kase he’s so thick you can’t tell de difference ’tween dem ’telligence bumps and dem measly bumps.” Rebecca Kerr, ’25. -----------o---------- RAMBLER ROSE Dainty little Rambler Rose. Blushing by the wayside grows. Smiling, nodding, laughing gay. Cheering all who pass this way. Dressed in frills of sunset’s gleams. Golden heart of noonday’s beams. Kissed by swaying winds she dances, Winning all with loving glances. Frances Wray. ’25. The Scribbler 63 A BIT MORE TRUTH THAN FICTION NCR UPON A TIME, many, many years ago, I did a dreadful thing. I committed a sin. I played hookey from Sunday School. - . It was on a beautiful May morning that I did the Q|jC foul deed. My ears were deaf to the chimes of the church bells, for I was listening to the whisperings of an imp of Satan. This young Prince of Darkness did not have the aspect of the picturesque personage with horns and a tail, for he was none other than my next-door neighbor, a red-headed little boy, with twinkling, greenish-gray eyes. He went by the appellation of “Grump,” because the only world he emitted until he was one and a half years old was “grr-umph.” But when he did start talking, oh! how he did make up for that former lack of a vocabulary. “Grump” and I had started to Sunday School. He had donned his white sailor suit, and on the back of his head, tilted at a rakish angle and glued on by Stacomb, was a white straw hat. bound with a black ribbon. I had on a freshly-starched white dress, trimmed in pink ribbons. In one moist palm, I clutched five pennies; in the other; a tiny pink parasol. My shiny black patent leather slippers creaked musically as we ambled along. As soon as we had turned the corner, we (“Grump ) realized what a calamity it would be to waste a perfectly good day in a stuffy, “two by four” Sunday School room. After studying our situation from the best side, we resolved not to go to Sunday vSchool. We simply couldn’t stand confinement even for refinement. So Grump, who professed to be more of an artist than 1, found a stub of pencil and drew a circle, putting two small suns in it for eyes, two stars for a nose, and a huge crescent for a mouth. On the whole, it was a terrifying spectacle. The drawing could never be taken for a Coles Phillip’s painting. Under this work of art, “Grump” drew a skull and cross bones and put the letters S. S. We intended to show the world that we had declared an open rebellion, and our motto was Down with Sunday School.” This having been accomplished, we began discussing where 64 The Scribbler to turn our wayward footsteps. “Grump” suggested that we find a slot machine and purchase some gum with my brownies. I agreed accordingly. After we had been on the fatal quest a few minutes, we spied a machine with a tiny hole in it that looked as if my cents—not sense—oh, no!—would just fit into it. We stepped on a small platform and, by the combined efforts of both, managed to push in a penny. The expected whirring sound came, but to our amazement we saw a hand, like that of a clock, shoot around a circle of numbers and stop on one. “We’ve broke into the fire ’larm,” gasped the ignorant “Grump.” I gave a farewell shriek of anguish for my pets, friends and family and started running as fast as my short, plump legs would permit me. In my haste, I tripped over my parasol. After rolling into a oozy, squashy mud puddle. I picked myself up and. with renewed energy and speed, kept on running. At last I reached home, covered with black mud, panting and disheveled. Gone was the crispness of my dress, gone the shine from my new Buster Browns, gone the pink parasol, and worst of all. gone the endowment for the heathen. Mother could not understand my short absence, but I was saved the embarrassment of an explanation by Grump appearing and calmly relating a vague but vivid account of a “normous lelephunt” knocking us over. Will I ever stay away from Sunday School again? Never, no, never again. Carolyn Leonard, ’26 The Scribbler 65 WHAT PRICE PATRIOTISM? HAD TUMBLED into bed at one o’clock, at the close of one perfectly frantic day of eighteen hours, and was by no means ready to begin another at eight of the same morning. But our hostesses took their responsibilities seriously. Promptly at eight they began to shake their sleeping guests, and when we did not respond with alacrity, they rudely inquired whether we had come five hundred miles to see New York or to sleep. This brought us reluctantly to our feet for a hasty toilet, which was accomplished without much interchange of polite conversation. It was tersely explained to us that, living or dead, we must be on the nine-fifteen subway or we would never set eyes on the Statue of Liberty, which was our first objective for the day. Secretly, I wished I had never made such a point of seeing the Statue, but I had, in a foolish moment, declared with great emphasis that I would not leave New York without visiting the lady who stands at the threshhold of our country, bearing aloft the emblematic torch of our liberty, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. Consequently this was my pilgrimage and I dared not draw back. A cup of hot chocolate burned our mouths, but failed to furnish much resistance for the biting wind and flying mist that greeted us as we rushed for the nine-fifteen subway. Arriving breathless at the 116th street station, with a bare five minutes margin, we could only snatch a few indispensable nickles from a rather supercilious, uniformed person, for which we returned him the first pieces of money we could extricate with frozen fingers from our pocketbooks. Then we dashed headlong down the stairs and into the waiting jam which, without further effort on our part, shoved us into the train, and with a rattle and a grind we were off on the first lap of the chase. Just as I was about to catch my breath there was a jerk, which threw everybody up that was down and everybody down that was up, and our guides began to push and pull us feverishly towards a door, calling excitedly all the while, “Hurry! We’ve got to catch a local here. Come on! Hurry!” to us, accompanied by a “Getting out, please! Getting out!” to the mob—a chorus in which they were joined by about half the passengers. Then there was a regular 66 The Scribbler football scrimmage between the half who were staying in and the hal-f who were trying to get out. resulting finally in the latter, our half, reaching their goal on the outside platform just in time to join another rush for the local that was already in. Safely aboard that, and still sound in limb if a little broken in wind. I was about to try for another breath when the train started with one of those characteristic double-action jerks and the row of passengers in the aisle responded with a series of forward and backward lurches. Somehow the foremost passenger lost his footing, fell heavily against the man behind him. and the whole row of us followed with the precision of nine pins, struck by a lucky player. There was no time for excuses. The thing was stopping again, and in the midst of the usual chorus of “Getting out! Getting out!” accompanied by vigorous pushing on the part of those who wanted out. We scrambled to our feet and, breathless and disheveled, left this bedlam and dashed up the stairs to the comparative relief of the streets. Here I hardly had time to take stock of casualties and realize that my umbrella cord was broken, a button gone from my coat, a bow ripped from one of my new pumps, and both shoes skinned and scarred as if they had been worn through a summer’s mountain climbing. As soon as our energetic guides got their bearings there was another cry of “Hurry, this way! We’ve got to catch the next boat, you know.” And once more, fogetting those things which were behind, we pressed forward to catch something else, which seems to be the only thing that really interests you when you have been even a few months in New York. Arrived at the boat landing, after a sprint of two blocks, we got the information that we must wait one hour for the boat. I was charmed. Now at last I could catch that breath. But no. such was not the plan of our guides. Lose an hour! Not they. We would visit the aquarium. A little run brought us there, and we double-quicked for three-quarters of an hour among the fishes and then back to the landing, where this time the boat awaited us. “Come inside,” counseled the experienced Louise as we went on board. “These things aren’t always pleasant, particularly after a light breakfast.” But we were tired of the insides of things, and ignorantly declared for the deck. We wanted to observe the wonderful The Scribbler 67 skv line of New York, and to have a good view of the Statue as we approached. Before the journey was far gone, we were paying dearly for our ignorant enthusiasm. A chill wind off the river penetrated to the very bone, and the lunging and settling of the boat brought on smyptoms that must be felt to be appreciated in all their disgusting misery. Pale, cold, and sick, we crept inside, forgetting that New York had a skyline and wishing devoutly we had never heard of the Statue of Liberty. The others even felt too bad to blame me, and I was too sick to be thankful for even this much luck. From this time on it was a nightmare. We landed from the boat in the coldest wind that ever blew, and made our frozen way to the Statue only to be informed that the elevator was out of order that day. “That’s fine,’’ said somebody, “Let’s go home.” This stirred my fainting spirit a little and I said, “Certainly not! I am going up into the Statue and get this magnificent view if I have to do it on my hands and knees.” “Hurrah! That’s a true pilgrim,” said Anne. “Come on. I’m with you.” Up, up, up, we went on our numb feet, looking with blurred eyes through the windows as we passed and realizing how Charles V must have felt, plodding up the snow-covered steps of the cathedral on his knees to expiate his sins. I like to think that out of that last high window we saw’ something that was worth it all. Perhaps we did. Things were vague then, and on through the subsequent events that took us back over our homeward way. There was the same sickening boat ride, a little alleviated by being wisely taken inside all the way, the same mad rush for the subways, which clattered with their seething crowds through endless tunnels, and spat us out disgustedly to be swallow’ed up by other greedy, noisy monsters like themselves. At the very end I was beginning to revive a little. The next stop would be the last. I was getting myself together. It was almost the end. I stood up. So did somebody else, and bumped into me. My bag fell from my nerveless fingers, opened, spilled everything on the floor. “Come on! Hurry up! Getting out!” yelled my friends. I snatched up what I could and joined the rush for the door. 68 The Scribbler We were outside. The door banged. I looked back. A man inside was holding up a little change purse, as if he had been in the act of giving it to me as the door shut between us. “Is it yours? What’s in it?” asked someone as the train sped away. “Yes,” I said, “and all my keys are in it and a ten-dollar gold piece!” “Oh! well, cheer up, Jean,” said Louise, and then, most unkindly, she added, “What price patriotism, old girl?” I couldn’t answer for the chattering of my teeth. Jean Ligon, ’26. ------------o----------- A ROSE How much is life Like a fragrant rose; With sweetness rife In the bud it grows. Although the strife Of a thorn it knows, Its face is blithe, And it, smiling, glows. Its honeyed lips, That are washed in dew, A small bee sips All the sweetness through; The rose then dips Its head in rue ; Its sad eclipse Is when love dies, too. Mary Stelling, ’25. The Scribbler 69 THE PASSING OF A FLIVVER RS. DAVIS eyed her husband angrily. “Yes, you set us down here with the summer cornin’ on an’ not even a thing to ride in. Soon as you move into a swell neighborhood you think you ain’t got the money to buy nothin’. Now, you look here, Jake, you get me a car or I’ll leave you! There now.” Mr. Davis looked bored. He was a second Mr. Micawber. He was tall and stout, with a bald head, which, as David Cop-perfield said, looked just like a large shiny egg. He always wore “fine, cheap” clothes. Bill collectors cooled their feet continually upon his doorstep. Mr. Davis had something else which Mr. Micawber had. The poor man had twins! As a husband and father, he wore the look of a walking encyclopedia all the time. He knew nothing, yet thought he knew all. He used his wife’s words to express his views. And, as he was always expressing his views, he resembled a second-hand dictionary. He always took his wife’s advice. This is perhaps the reason he drew up to the house the next day in a second-hand flivver. The auto salesman had been so anxious to get rid of the thing he had “charged it” to Mr. Davis. “Sweet Papa, Virgil, look what Dad’s parked on the premises,” remarked Caesar to this twin brother. “Holy gee, what’s that thing? I know, Caesar, it’s s’pose to be a car. Let’s go take a shake around the b!ock,” replied Virgil. And off they went. On the ride many plans were made. “Of course, Jake, I wouldn’t want the neighbors to hear me say so, but you are the biggest old mutt I ever heard of. This thing won’t last till the bill collectors can get it back again. Tomorrow you can take it back and get a better one.” Rut this time Mr. Davis did not take his wife’s advice. He stuck to his Ford. But Ford or Cadillac. Mrs. Davis decided they must travel that summer. The Kinghearts did, and they were the best people of the town. Sp, on a hot morning of June the Davises started. They had waited until ten o’clock so the neighbors could see them. Two trunks were strapped upon the back, and numerous suitcases occupied the spare places. .V The Scribbler 71 The engine started with a mighty roar. The car sprang into lively activity. Various squeaks and knocks rose from all parts of the apparatus. “We’re off!” yelled Caesar. And immediately he was off— the seat. For, with a jerk, the car sprang forward and then backward almost at the same moment, leaving the occupants uncertainly suspended in mid-air for a second. Then the flivver stopped. Jake, get this thing goin The Kinghearts are on their porch,” frantically whispered Mrs. Davis. But her husband could not do as she asked. “Now. Rose, you pull down the spark when I tell you to. and I’ll try to crank.” said Mr. Davis, stepping from the car with all the confidence of a hull fighter. “Ready, Rose,” he commanded. Mrs. Davis pulled down the gas violently. The next instant her belated husband was posed in a sitting position upon hard asphalt, with a fender wrapped around his neck. He got up, looking very much like an insulted rooster, and said in a dignified voice, “Virgil, come crank the car. I do not wish to soil my linen. Perhaps Caesar and I had better push from the hack.” They exerted every power to move it. Slowly the car began to jerk. “Jump in, boys, we’re off.” said the father. Quickly they got in and put on dignified expressions once more. Bang! “Er-r-r—a tire, I believe,” stated Mr. Davis. “Quick, boys, get to work.” A thud on the ground caused him to look back. “My word, another fender, I do believe. And another, too. Oh, well, I always said a car should only have one fender. So much waste material.” A strong gust of wind suddenly removed the top and placed it in a tall tree. “Meant to take that top off anyway, but forgot it. What we need is plenty of fresh air,” he explained rather loudly. “Ready boys, pull.” With hard work they got the tire changed, and at last the engine started. They settled back with a sigh of relief and eager, expectant faces. “Here we go,” they cried, waving cordially to the neighbors. Then all of a sudden the front separated itself from the hack 72 The Scribbler and began to roll swiftly down the hill, leaving the Davis family staring at the fast-going engine. This was caused evidently by the heavy trunks on the back. “You see. Rose, this is the outcome. If you had just let me buy a better car as I wished, this would never have happened,” said the grieved Mr. Davis. Justine Whitlock, ’28. MOODS OF WATER How calm the face of the placid deep, As she rests in the twilight shades; Not even ripples disturb her sleep By the brink of the tranquil glades. She seems to smile as she glides along In her haven, a mountain nest; Unseen by foe and unharmed by wrong— Sweet peace her brow has blest. Then suddenly the sky is rent By zig-zag flashes bright; To anger now the lake gives vent By tossing in the night. Her brow has many furrows now, Her sweetest dream has passed; Her smile has gone, I know not how— It was too sweet to last. Simpson Cannon, ’25. The Scribbler 73 THE HINGE OF THE GOLDEN GATE (A modern version of Jason and the Golden Fleece) NCE UPON A TIME. long, long ago, there lived in Siam a youth, by name, Jason. Now Jake was in love with Angelica, the somewhat charming, snake-charming daughter of Allobroges, King of Siam, a country in the western part of the Eastern Hemisphere. Angelica loved her Jakie dearly in return and both wished to be married to each other, but when Jakie asked Allobroges for her lily-white fist, he received the answer that it could be obtained only by the one who should bring to the King of Siam a hinge from the Golden Gate of Cauliflouria. This was no easy task as one might at first be prone to believe, for anyone who looked upon the grinding, squeaking Golden Gate directly would be changed to bone—a great big hunk of bone! Moreover, Jake knew nothing of the whereabouts of the Golden Gate except that it lay in Cauliflouria, one of the United Hates, somewhere across the big broad Aufrantic Ocean. And still another difficulty obstructed his way to success—the gate was guarded by Demusa, a great six-cylindered dragon, with four wheels and no brakes. Nothing daunted by this, Jakie set out, fired by his love for his snake-charming Angelica. He had no money, but by joining the Swiss navy for ten days, he got a free ride across the pond, having figured out beforehand that his time of service would be up while the navy was in New York. From New York he began walking westward, for someone had told him that Cauliflouria lay either in the direction of the Golden South or the Sunny West. On his journey he picked up every tin can he saw, and by the time he reached Tedroit, Michigan, he had thirteen. Jake beat these out flat with a brick, tied them together with a piece of wire and sent them in to Fenry Hord’s automobile shop to see what would happen. In a little while he received a note which read thus: “Dear Sir:—We fear your car is beyond repair, but if vou will add 29c to the remains, we will give you a new Hord.” lakie had just an even thirty cents, which he had saved from his voyage with the Swiss navy. The deal was transacted. So Jakie set out, patting himself on the back for the slick deal which he THF. FACULTY STARS GAZERS—WATCHING THE FACULTY PICTURE The Scribbler 75 had made, and Fenry Hord sat back in his chair and wondered what he was going to do with all the excess profit he’d made from the deal. In a few months he arrived in Missouri, and in one of the villages he found three men who, people said, knew the correct route to Cauliflouria, but the men were deaf and it was useless to ask them what he wanted to know; these men of Missouri had to be shown. So Jakie pointed out to them a flock of goats in a nearby field, and the deaf men saw an herd, telling him in answer to his question what he now asked of them. Through one of the Azirona deserts he toured at the marvelous rate of ten miles per—per day. Finally, his engine got hot, belched forth clouds of smoke and discontinued its functioning. The engine was removed and the Hord ran very well then—in fact, much better. Cauliflouria at last! Jakie was nearing the end of his quest. Some of the inhabitants of this strange land directed him to San Nabisco, a village near the Golden Gate. On arriving, he went to Karess’s and purchased a can of silver gilt, a brush, and a hand mirror. Since he only had one cent left, he bought them while the clerk was looking the other way. But how was he to avoid Demusa? Ah! he sold some extra parts of his Hord. and with $1.98 he ordered an invisible blanket for himself and his car. When this arrived, he marveled at its invisible beauty, jumped into Fenry’s contraption and started for the Golden Gate in reverse gear, seeing all that was behind him by the aid of his mirror. Soon he came in sight of his goal—the gold of the Golden Gate. He left his Hord about a mile away, fearing to approach any closer with his noisome machine. Looking in his hand mirror, he approached on hands and knees. Sure enough. Demusa was sleeping as he had hoped. Now for some quick work. He opened the can of silver gilt, backed up to the imaginary wall, of which the Golden Gate was a part, eased along till he was in front of the gate itself and began to cover the gold surface with silver gilt. This done, he turned and surveyed his work upon the gate, the gate now having no effect upon him, for it was silver, not golden. He took out a tooth-pick and began to remove one of the hinges. W hen the last screw came out. the door fell with a crash, awaking Demusa. 76 The Scribbler Jakie grabbed the binge and made for Lizzie, Demusa right behind him. He threw the invisible blanket over himself and the Hord while getting under way. But alas! the rattle was not silenced by the invisible blanket, and Demusa followed easily. So the race was to be to the swift. All through Venada and Hutah, Jake maintained his lead, but when they reached Loco-rado. Demusa was gaining rapidly. Luck was with him though, for his pursuer ran over Pike’s Peak and punctured one of the tires on her four wheels, giving heroic Jakie a lead which he was able to keep till he reached Villegreen, S. C. There Demusa was again right behind him, ready at any moment to run him down and give him a gnash, a gnash, and still “another Nash”; but here again luck was with our hero. While they were passing through the main street, he raised so much dust that it blinded Demusa, and the fearful dragon ran head-on into a small seven-teen-story building and killed herself. He was now at leisure to return home, but he had no money; so he sold his car to a Villegreenian, who had never before seen anything like this “that wasn’t pulled by mules at all, but ran just the same.” Three weeks later he was again before King Allobroges with Angelica at his side as his bride. So Jason and Angelica lived happily—ever—afterward, after all. Arthur M. DuPre, Jr., ’26. -----------o----------- ENVY Oh, little flow’r, I envy you: Your life’s so brief, so gay; You only know the thrill of spring. And laughing summer’s sway. When all your pretty dreams are dead, You droop and shatter, too: You do not know the tears of fall. I wish that I were you! Estelle Cohen, ’25. The: Scribbler 77 SUNSET AND SILVER MOON HE CURTAIN of twilight was falling at the close of a May day, one of those exquisite days that poets dream about. Everywhere flowers were peeping above the tall green grass. Red roses and poppies swayed proudly in the breeze and lifted their beautiful faces to smile on a chance passerby. The gentle breeze rustled the leaves and the very air was sweet with the fragrance of lilacs and purple violets. A hush lay over all the earth. Even the birds had stilled their noisy clamor. On the western horizon the great red sun was sinking behind the slender dark trees. Its parting ray shed a radiance so gentle and beautiful that it reminded one of a generous father praying a blessing for his children. Lower and lower it sank, till at last its crimson rays were seen no more. Silently night came on, and with it a thousand stars with their leader, the pale silver moon, a moon for lovers, a moon that cast a glow of dreamy light upon the world beneath. Softly the dew came with fairy-like tread and kissed each budding flower. The wind had ceased and a calm, sweet silence kept company with the twinkling stars. Mary Ellen Strickland, ’27. -----------o---------- A FLORAL TRAGEDY The flowers gave a fashion show, Within the garden’s heart; Each little one did brightly gleam, And bravely take its part. The pansy donned his purple coat, The rose her ruby frock, The jonquil smoothed her wrinkled frills, And tulip wore her smock. But when they were so well arrayed, An aggravating show’r Did pour from out the lofty sky, And ruined each little flow’r. Ether Brown, ’25. 78 The Scribbler “LISTENIN’ IN” TELL YUH, I sho’ ain’ta goin’ in dat house. I don’ want-a git clos’t’ it—” cried an old negro. “Come on, Joe,” said Mr. Hackney, interrupting Joe’s speech. “It’s not going to hurt you.” “I’se seen dese yere contrapshuns, and I ain’ta goin’ t’ monkey wid 'em no mo’.” Upon seeing the kind and sweet face of his mistress, Mrs. Hackney, Joe managed to pick up and go. He got into the house and was greeted most cordially by all the children of the family. Following the respectful custom of the days of slavery, old Joe took an old chair in preference to a soft davenport even at their insistence. He saw before him the radio instruments, with the oldest son Henry operating it. These things frightened him to the utmost. “Uncle Joe” was a fixture on the plantation of Mr. George Hackney, where he had been born seventy-five years ago. He had seen three generations of happiness come and go, but his loyalty and devotion for the family had increased with the yearss. Old Joe had seen many inventions come in. Seeing the stage coach replaced by “that bellowin’ fire-horse”—a locomotive; “the wagin which moved ’thout no team’’—an automobile; “the little black thing whatcha could pick up and hear peoples ten miles away a-’talkin’”—the telephone; “dem dar great big nowsy birds whatcha carry peoples on—dey ain’t got no flappin’ wings. Dev sho’ do git de bes’ o’ me”—an aeroplane. Having been overwhelmed by the rapid succession of various inventions, Uncle Joe was naturally timorous in accepting the invitation of the “fambly.” “Lawsy, Massey! Lemme git away from dis yere place in one hurry!” cried Old Joe at the top of his voice. “Hold, Joe, hold! Wait till we get Canada, Cuba, or some other country—” Pittsburgh had been got. A man was speaking on “The Value of the Radio.” “See there, I told you. Joe,” said Henry, “how much the radio means to people.” The Scribbler 79 ‘‘I (loan like deese yere things, I tell yuh!” cried the old negro in a more excited tone. Mrs. Hackney, who was in an adjoining room, busy with her sewing, called the children to her. Having gently closed the door behind them. Mrs. Hackney told them in a subdued voice not to frighten Uncle Joe so, especially by their laughter. Just at that moment the immortal song of the South was played. “The Turkey in the Straw.” The old piece was like a national air to him. He jumped up and, not realizing his awkwardness. clogged with the same agility of a negro of about twenty-five years of age. The children, upon hearing these peculiar noises, rushed back into the room to investigate. And seeing this sudden transformation in Uncle Joe. the children screamed with laughter. The noise fell upon the deaf ears of Uncle Joe. who once more became a young negro at a “cornshuckin’ ” of slavery days. He continued dancing and singing or hollering amid the shouts and laughter of his audience. After five minutes the song was interrupted by static, and he stopped, with perspiration pouring from his brow. Then Mr. Hackney asked. “What do you think of now?” “Boss,” he said, “dis yere is de bes’ discivery de wold has eber seen, I know—sho’ nuff—I’se sho' goin’t’ come ’roun t’mor-row night. Boss, I sho’ is. I sho’ is,” cried Old Joe in a most enthusiastic tone. With these words the old negro, panting and limping, but happy and reminiscent, disappeared into the darkness. Julian McCreary. 25. •SWORDS AND SCISSORS” The Scribbler 81 The hands of the clock jumped to one minute till two. Instantly all the squirming, wiggling and excited whispering stopped. Instantly all the nerves were tense. Instantly every eye was turned toward the clock on the wall. Instantly every ear was tuned, straining to catch the sound of the d’smissal bell. We knewr that a moving picture company had sent an operator to our school to get a picture of us, and we were racing to have the honor of being first to parade before the camera. The machine was placed just outside the front, and our beauties were to be struck as we started homeward. A group of movie men were outside to keep us together and, all things told, they had it fixed up for a regular picture. Suddenly a clock ticked, a bell rang, and a crazy, whirling avalanche of human bodies welled up over the portals and crowded all over each other. It was worse than the jam which is seen on a Fifth Avenue subway during the rush hours. Doors w'ere slamming, lockers were clanging, feet were heaid running through the halls, and the buzzing hum and squealing cries of many voices arose from little groups around the lockers as they feverishly hurried to get their books and join the seething mass outside. After several minutes of confusion, order again ruled over the pupils, and they were arranged before the camera to suit the very exacting taste of a very exacting director. He told us to keep quiet, look ahead, and see the little birdie come out of the camera. 82 The Scribbler The camera began clicking, and vve all raised our heads and inflated our chests. We tried to imagine that we were famous actors or ambassadors returning from foreign shores- Then the camera stopped grinding, and we went serenely home, happily ignorant of the fact that we had broken the man’s camera. Joe Gooch, ’26. ----------o---------- WHY? Dear readers, when 1 tell you who I am, and worse still, where 1 am. you will probably lay down this book and refuse to read another word. But I beseech you to restrain your contempt, and let me explain why 1 am at this very minute on a train bound for Columbia, where I hope to find rest and peace at the ‘‘Home for the Hopelessly Insane.” Just last week I was as calm and sane as any high school student has ever been or ever hopes to be. Everything was running as smoothly as silk. Life was one continuous path of roses. But oho-o-oo-ooo, since then, what physical and mental and every known torture haven’t I been through? 1 claim that my whole class would be here with me now had they not a stronger constitution than I. But my delicate nature could not endure any longer the strain that must come in every class I met. You ask what caused this nervous collapse. No, it wasn’t lessons this time, though I admit that they are hard enough to produce worse than a collapse. It was a thing so small and yet so disastrous as to be appalling. The cause of all my troubles was an everlasting question that one of my own dear classmates persisted in asking. It was just a question of one word, just a word of three letters, but what didn’t that word do? Friends, you have all read or heard of the man who went crazy because of a piece of string, but that one word was worse than a dozen strings- Every day, in every class, every five minutes, no matter who was speaking, or what was being said, that pupil would lift his voice above the noise and nonchalantly ask his everlasting question. In French class it was. “Pourquoi”; in Latin. “Cur”; and in English, “Why, why, why?” And thus, dear readers, was I made what I am today by George Dean’s eternal “Why?” Minnie Vogel, ’25. The Scribbler 83 DID YOU KNOW THAT— The flag pole on the top of Hi School is the dividing point of the rainfall, and that all the rain that falls on the left side goes to the Atlantic Ocean and all that falls on the right side goes to the Gulf of Mexico? Hot weather is said to be the cause of all diseases such as Spring Fever and Lazengitis? Enough vanities and combs have been found on the school grounds to make Medusa win a beauty contest ? Somebody figured out that if all the pupils who forget to go to Study Hall, forgot their lessons, High School would be composed of the faculty, janitor and three pupils? Cross-word puzzles have caused 13,798,521,647,785,000 people to move to the asylum ? Raps on the wall mean silence to the pupils, attention to the teachers and a hasty exit to dates ? If all the wads of gum found under desks were moulded together and then pulled, they would stretch from Spartanburg to New York via San Francisco? Beggars are not choosers when a student has a sandwich ? “Bringing Home the Bacon” was the tackle’s song as he grabbed his opponent’s calf? Last month a pupil in 3-A, bearing the initials E. B., actually got to school on time two days in succession ? Enough talent abounds in Hi School to put Ringling Brothers out of business? Reading this did not teach you a bit of English, Latin, French, Geometry, Chemistry or Physics? Carolyn Leonard, ’26. BEHIND THE SODA FOUNTAIN Said “Chocolate Milk” to “Ginger Ale” One lovely “Tip Top Sundae,” “Did ‘Parfait’ tell you ’bout the fight That happened here last Monday ? “Well, “Grape-Juice’ said he’s often heard That ‘Miscellaneous Drinks’; 84 The Scribbler ‘Fruit Punches’ him right in the face, And ‘Black and White’ he sinks. ‘‘Next. ‘Cherry Smashed’ his ‘Chocolate Nut’; ‘Ice Cream,’ with gladness after. While ‘Orangeades’ him with a ‘Brick.’ ‘Banana Splits’ with laughter. “ ‘Milk Shakes’ a naughty stick at him, ‘Egg Flips’ in with a wink; The soda slinger stirs them up, And sells it for a drink.’’ Mary Stelling, ’25. -----------o----------- BARGAIN SALES AND BARGAIN HUNTERS As long as the sons of Abraham and Isaac live, there will always be bargain sales. And as long as there are bargain sales, there will always be bargain-hunters- Bargain hunting is the great American game. It is at a bargain sale that a woman comes into her own. She will tear, rip, jerk, slap. pull, scratch, bite, yell, scream, hit, smite, cry. howl, use every fighting instinct that God endowed her with, and then march triumphantly to the cashier and pay eleven cents for the yard of cloth that she has conquered. There is enough fighting at a bargain sale to make the Dempsey-Gibbons scrap look like a petting party. A committee appointed by Congress is now at work trying to make a set of rules that will make bargain sales a little safer. The cause of Congress taking this step was Jones, the famous Harvard football player. Jones had played varsity football four years. He was an All-American fullback. He had played in twenty-five games and never been even scratched. One day he went to a bargain sale with his wife. The bargain hunters were of the feminine persuasion. When they brought him out, his nose, big toe, and three ribs were broken, his collar bone was out of place, three teeth were missing, and his left eye was out, where a woman had stuck him with a hat-pin. It took him eight months to recuperate. He now lives in the Rocky Mountains two hundred miles from any store, because he has a bargain-sale complex. Moral—Let women and bargain sales alone. Baxter Haynes, ’25. Tiie Scribbler 85 TEARS AND THEIR CAUSES I went to see Mary last night, Her eyes were full of tears; What was the cause of this sad sight ? You could not guess in years. I thought perhaps that she was hurt. Had had some fright or shock. Perhaps that she had ripped her skirt, Or torn her pretty sock. What I found out was a surprise, I’ll never quite forget. That she had onion in her eyes; It got my goat, you bet. Frances Glenn, ’25. -----------o------------ QUEER I think that English is so queer. The way we say both deer and dear-Now you can see how different are The shy small deers and dears bizarre? Suppose that you once met a king And wished to send to him a ring. You had to write a little note And maybe this is what you wrote: “Oh, King, I hear enclose for yew The bravest air that ever slew The foreign princes anywhere— Or gave to favorites your ‘hot heir,’ A little wring that’s spun of hare, Which came from off my head so fare.” Now you can very plainly sea, That this would very crazy bee. Because ewe spelt the words awl wrong And made a knew and different song. But this is not, by far, the worst, Nor yet the last, nor yet the first. My mother’s cook was soon to wed. And this is what she wrote and said: 86 The Scribbler “Your presents is requested, folks. A lass! she failed to see the joke. I wish that I could pare the pair. And I would like to stare the stair. You know that there are piers and peers, Just as you’ve learned of dears and deers. Our door is opened with a key, But doors would always closed bee If yew should ever try a quay To ope the door—well, try and sea. Betty Phifer, ’25. BEFORE A Statistics taken by authorise? have gone insane from erams: Before Exams Weight, 175 pounds. Number of strands of hair, 150,- 000,000.000. Color of hair, black. Amount of brains, 67 pounds. Length of pencils, 6 1-32 inches. Length of finger nails, 4 inch. Color of complexion, pink General appearance, neat. Width of smile. 7 inches-Manner of walker, jaunty. ND AFTER ; of the asylum for students who After Exams 99 1-5 pounds. 3. White. Scales unable to register such small amount. 6 1-32 inches. One-seventeenth inch. Green. Indescribable. Disappeared into ears. Swimming in tears, dog paddle used. Carolyn Leonard, ’26. -----------o----------- HUMAN SUFFERING His face was flushed, and his eyes lowered as he pushed his way through the jeering crowd. He was a martyr. Why should he be thus humiliated? He went his way under the scorching gaze of thousands of people. Oh, the shame and disgrace of it all! It wasn’t his fault. Oh, that humanity would only be kind and turn its eyes away when he passed. School children jeered and laughed at him! Even the fair sex was mirthful when he The Scribbler 87 appeared. Everyone seemed to know of his disgrace, for he was now a social outcast in utter degradation. -Would he ever be able to live it down? No. the disgrace of his great shame, inflicted so unjustly upon him, would be visited upon “his children s children.’’ His friends would scorn him, and his relatives disown him- Wherever he went the crowd whispered and tittered behind his back. All hopes of ever being anything in this world of misunderstanding humans vanished. After all, what was the cause of his 'downfall? It was all on account of the nail that had torn the seat of his Sunday pants. Katherine Attaway. ’26. IN DEFENCE OF PINS Some writer has said that “the pin is mightier than the sword.” Although this statement seems to say the impossible, to the casual observer it will be found to contain nothing but absolute verity by the more serious student. The word “pin’’ is used collectively. It doesn’t mean one special pin, but the whole pin family. I here are many kinds of pins, and the noble sentiment, which has been already referred to, may be applied to every pin and found to be true. The noblest of all pins, the safety pins, should be given first place among pins, since it is probably used first and longer by more people than any other. Put a sword, even King Arthur’s Excalibur, in place of the safety pin. and see if it would serve the high and useful purpose which “the father of all pins ’ serves. Deduce your own results. Another very useful and ornamental pin. used especially by infants and females, is the beauty pin. How could an infant carry a sword? It would be far too heavy. Picture to yourself a young lady walking down the street with a sword on her dress. Perfectly absurb! One of the most widely used pins is the straight pin. It serves in many ways. When a button comes off, what do you immediately think of? A pm. of course. Try a sword, and see if it will work! (This is one specific illustration. You can make others for yourselves). The straight pin is also often used by a schoolboy who wishes to wreak vengeance on his classmate. A sword would be observed every time by the teacher. What will hold up a lady’s long, flowing locks? Nothing but a hairpin. Swords would be too bundlesome. What will hold a lady’s hat in place? A hatpin. A sword would THE OFFICERS OF THE LITERARY SOCIETIES HIGH SCHOOL QUARTET Clyde McWhirter, Simpson F. Cannon, Jr.. Julian McCreary, and James Carroll. The Scribbler 89 not allow freedom of pcssage through narrow places. How would a young man look with a sword stuck through his tie? Surely only a stickpin is suitable for the purpose. Only cotter-pins can be placed in responsible positions in machinery; swords would never do- What will keep one’s hogs from roaming all over the place and destroying the crops? An hog-pin. A sword would be absolutely useless. It would certainly be tedious business writing a letter with a sword, but one is easily and quickly written with a fountain pin. From these few facts it is perfectly obvious that the aforesaid writer “hit the hammer on the head with the nail” when he said “the pin is mightier than the sword.” ------------o----------- IN FAILURE THERE IS SUCCESS ‘The Scribbler is out! The Scribble is out!” The corridors rang with the shout. Students ran hither and thither, nosing in little red books. I rushed to get me one. For was not today the day of all days? My latest and only story was to be in print. I grabbed one of the priceless books, turned quickly to the first page, where I was sure to find my masterpiece. But alas! It was not there, nor was it on the succeeding pages. Again I went over the prominent literary section, but it was nowhere to be found. As I turned to throw the worthless book away, I decided to read a joke to quiet my nerves. I turned to the joke section and looked at the clowns. And there under the hee-haw and horse laugh of a bow-legged clown was my masterpiece—in humiliating circumstances, but nevertheless my masterpiece. At last, after several readings, I turned for home, satisfied that I had made a beginning in the literary world. For was not my piece the masterpiece of the JOKES? Ed W hite. 26. ------------o------------ IT ISN’T DONE! When we have toiled and racked our brains To get some sense from Virgil s strains. And forty times we sack each day. Will “take just ten,” the teachers say? Not much ! It isn’t done, you know. 90 The Scribbler But when the championship we win. And glorious feelings stir within, Why. surely, some trustee will say, ‘‘Oh. give the kids a holiday!” No, sir! That isn’t done at our high school! And now the big Fair comes to town; And football day has rolled around; When play the State teams of much fame; Who lets us off to see the game ? Nobody! Why, that isn’t done! We Seniors, now, exam week wait, With fear and trembling for our fate. Oh, what kind friends with teachers plead To make them easy in our need? Not one. For it isn’t done! Bettie Elleen Hutchins, ’25. -----------o------------ CHEWING GUM (Apologies, Sir Roger!) There is nothing that is more astounding to a man of good breeding than to see people chewing gum in public places. I received last week a remarkable letter, which I will leave my readers to meditate upon : ‘‘Sir:—I am a man who is always working for the betterment of mankind, and not for personal benefits which I might be able to obtain through my efforts. I am possessed of a desire to remedy the evil resulting from an ever increasing use of chewing gum in the wrong places. T am of a very religious turn of mind, and the chewing of gum by people around me often prevents me from concentrating on the words of the lecturer before me. “I am considered a good speaker, and should like your support. The position I have in mind at present, and for which I solicit the support of your paper, is Comptroller-General of the Chewing Gum Chewers, and to teach those who still insist upon chewing the proper place and the right manner of doing so. Here I may sav that the cow is a good example. She chews her cud. keeping an excellent time, and if you are close enough to her you can see that it is so perfect that it gives an unusual The Scribbler 91 rhythm. I have somewhat of a skill in music, and could lessen the growing defect resulting from careless and unrhythmical practising. “I think this a very pressing matter, and as 1 am qualified for this position, I see my calling clear for the future. The different sights I see impress me very deeply. The other day I could not hear the speaker for the gum-chewers, who kept such poor time. This shows the need of constant practising under a qualified teacher. I very humbly present myself as one who is assured of success in this project. “I am, sir. “Ernest Witty.” Mary Bradley, ’26-----------a----------- TOBACCONITIS Jim—well, he was still young-—in fact, too young to smoke! However, for the same reason that foreign fields look greener, that forbidden pleasures more attractive, smoke—dense smoke from a five-cent stogie looked as beautiful to Jim as the heavenly veils of angels. One day this would-be smoker was walking home from school with some other members of the “Higher Order when one of the influential members of the select organization dared him to buy, and smoke, a five-cent cigar. Jim refused. This tempter went a step further; he d-double dared him to smoke a stogie, and even offered to pay for it himself. Here was a chance to have a good smoke at no cost. True to his motto, “My name s Jimmy; I’ll take all you gimme.” this frugal boy yielded. A few moments later he came out of the cigar store enveloped in a cloud of black smoke. The wind blew the smoke a little, and Jim was seen calmly, boldly, smoking a stogie almost as big as he was. Well, it wasn’t so hard to smoke, after all. The only thing he had to do was suck in and blow out. The smoker was gloriously happy, and to add to his happiness, Susie Thomson had seen him, but of course he didn’t see her. Down the street he was strutting with his hands on his coat lapels and his head thrown back as if he had bought the world and paid for it. when, who should he see coming up the street but his dad! 1 he stogie disappeared, but the smoke did not. Some important business was settled right there, and then Jim, the ingloriously unhappy 92 The Scribbler smoker, marched straight home with his dad right behind him. When Jim arrived at his abode, he went straight to bed—at least, as straight as he could walk. My! but he was sick. He thought he had pneumonia or scarlet fever, or even both. Poor Jimmy’s spirits rose a trifle, and he felt that there was probably a chance for life when his kind father told him that although his case of tobacconitis was severe, he would not let his baby boy die. This sufferer of tobacconitis did not feel as if he bad bought the world now, but he would have gladly sold it with the planets thrown in for some remedy for this awful disease. For two days he groaned and grumbled- Finally, he emerged from his room—pale, but strong—strong in the resolution to turn ever)' boy from destruction. He was now not only cured of tobacconitis but of the desire to smoke. He now was a strong upholder of the “anti-tobacco mpvement.” William Morgan, ’26. -a GETTIN’ SISTER MARRIED I tell you things are in a stir, The family’s all upset; They’ve got a reason to be, fer The thing ain’t happened yet. Ma’s worked and planned to git this done, I hope it works all right; She’s played her cards, and will have won, If this comes off tonight. A kid like me is awfully nice, At least Ma tells me so; It’s “Johnnie, run and bring some ice,’’ Or “See who’s at the do’r.” My back hurts when I see that hall; Gee whiz ! The things I carried. But still Ma says it’s worth it all: She’s gettin’ sister married ! Agnes Drummond, ’25. The Scribbler 93 THE NERVE OF SOME GIRLS! “No-oo—I’m scared to. You do it.” “I would, but I just can’t. You’re the one that wants ’em.” “But everybody from Mr. Morgan on the Square to the dirtiest pup will know if I d� it. I always blush so. Please, you do it.” “I blush just as bad as you. I’m not going to get those things, and you’re cracked if you think I am—so there! Thus Peg and Meg fussed as they ambled slowly down dirty Black Lane. “You can buy those cigarettes yourself, if you’ve got to have ’em. I’m sure I wouldn’t pollute myself by touching one,” cried Meg. “O___o—o—h! You know what you said! You said you d go with me and help me get ’em if I’d help you with that geometry. Now, didn’t you ?” hotly demanded Peg. “Maybe I did, but I’ll bet you won’t go in the next store we come to. I’ll go with you. but you’ve got to do the asking.” consented Meg. “I will. Come on.” Thus dared, Peg bravely marched into the next store. Meg followed with the bravado of a whipped puppy- “Whatcha want?” roughly demanded the grimy storekeeper. “I want a package of cig—er— chewing gum, please,” sputtered Peg. Out on the street again Meg’s spirits rose. “You’ll never get Chesterfields by asking for chewing gum !” she icily remarked. “That store’s too nice looking. The man wasn’t chewing, and the dog wasn’t scratching. It’s better to buy them at a real, real dirty place ’cause then the clerk doesn’t look at you so funny like. Three more stores were tried and three more packages of chewing gum bought, for all the stores were too “nice looking” for the critical Peg. She was looking for a really dirty store— tobacco-chewing men, whining cats, bawling babies—all mixed with dirt, laziness and indifference. Finally, after several more attempts, only adding to theii stock of gum, 'the girls rushed breathlessly out of a tumbled-down shanty, carefully guarding a package of cigarettes. “Wait a second. Let me put this in my pocket. I wouldn t DOMESTIC SCIENCE CLASS The Scribbler 95 have anybody see them for the world. My, I’m glad that’s over! cried Peg. “Did you see how that heathen looked at us? I’ll never get over it. Weren’t you scared to death?” exclaimed Meg. “You know they could arrest us, for they aren’t allowed to sell cigarettes to minors. Wasn’t that a narrow escape?” Five minutes later the girls arrived breathless at Peg’s house. “Daddy ! Oh ! Daddy! My poor sick daddy, where are you ? Here’s your Chesterfields but we had an azvfitl time getting ’em.” Susan Crook, ’26 -----------o------------ A RIDDLE To be sure it’s a riddle I wish to ask you. And I’m certain that you will soon guess, It is something that flappers as well as sheiks too. Take everywhere, I confess. It is carried by girls to the school, church and play. By the boys it is used on the sly. If it slips from their pockets you will hear them say. “Just one more mirror to buy.” Mabel Porter. ’25. HOT DOG! In this life many conventions beset a lady. As a rule these do not bother me—I don’t want to smoke, drink or chew—nevertheless. as some kind of forbidden fruit is sweetest, I often wish that I could live with the abandon of a man. This restrained feeling is strongest within me—almost overcomes me—when I pass a hot dog stand. I hear the owner advertising his wares in a loud voice and smell that unmistakable, inimitable, appetizing, tantalizing smell. Of course 1 could make genteel hot dogs at home; but what are they when around the corner I could, if I but dared, get a most delicious dream—later a nightmare filled with chili concarni, covered with smelly onions and dripping with catsup! Oh, joy ! oh, boy! Certainly there is atmosphere in a hot dog bought at a stand. My aristocratic mater says, “Yes—there is atmosphere,” and turns up her nose, but that isn’t what I mean. Picture the dirty Greek. • vj The Scribbler 97 who slaps his things together with a smile and with a cheery word, in a language unknown, manages to insert into each a bit of his own good humor. There are the patrons—big, fat, little, thin— sitting humped-backed on little stools, or standing around delightedly and lazily, gorging their favorite food. There are the counters covered with mince pies, crackers, hamburgers, candy, chew-ing gum and flies. There also are the baskets of fruit, good side out, rotten side in, standing about the door just waiting to be sold. All this I see gazing from the outside, never daring to cross the threshhold, thus breaking down our ancestral customs. Convention has decreed that woman shall be held aloof from all such pleasures. “It isn’t proper’’ stamps out all hope of such a delightful possibility. Perhaps it is best. Who knows? Yet when I see the hints of interesting life being acted there and see a glorious hot dog vanishing quickly, I cannot help wishing that some things were proper. Some day I’m going aw'ay off, buy two hot dogs and switch down the boulevards, gnawing boldly, brazenly. Watch my dust! Frances Lide. ’26. ------------o----------- A DAY’S L. E. G. The curfew tolls the knell of hot school day. The knowing herd goes quickly with much glee, And now men plod their weary way. And leave the school to study-hall and me. Now fades my glimmering knowledge from my sight. And all the hall a solemn stillness holds. Save where a spit-ball wheels its drowsy flight, And tales of how we “got sent” told. Save that from honorable teacher’s tower, That moping one does to the rest complain That snoring near her favorite bower Molests her most enjoyable reign. Upon that rugged desk my head I lay, Where heaves the initial of many a wandering sheep; Each day at two right there I stay Forever I’ll in 207 sleep. Mary Stelltng, ’25. avnOs Tiv;i:is The Scribbler 99 STATIC Somebody in the village choir was off, yes—horribly so. A thin raucous sound pervaded the air, resembling a cross between a crying toy balloon and the static of a radio. The leader, who was a haughty, thin-nosed spinster, sniffed the air like a hound after a rabbit, and turned her eagle eves on me. I ? I off tune ? No. not like that. I looked at the bunch. Sam was doing his best fog-horn boom ; and Rufe, his rooster-crowing toothache tenor. The females cackled on, hitting all the high spots. Some were singing, bleary-eyed, sad, mournful, as if about to emit a long-suffering sigh. Others were screeching, shouting and almost yelling. Xo, nothing was wrong with them, but somebody was off, and everybody, all over the church, who had spectacles to peer over, seemed intensely interested. The eagle eyes of the directress roved around, seeking her prey, which she would swoop down upon. They alighted on Miss Perkins, the proud new singer, who had studied voice one year at school, about thirty years before. This lady was cordially hated by all. Her nose had achieved a holy and benighted look, always turning up as it did. Her mouth led me to think that she was by nature a lemon-eater. Miss Perkins had been singing, scarcely noticing the rude mob. She gloried in her ability to sing up the scale. Beginning with a gurgling whisper, she tottered up, making all the known varieties of discords, until she dramatically reached her very own note. Her head and her long neck began to tremble and shake as she sang the tremulo with all her might. Alas! Miss Perkins’ voice cracked in the midst of it. Still she clung on. louder and higher than the rest. It was she undoubtedly who was out of tune. Every one of us, exonerating ourselves of blame, began whispering, stopping up our ears and making wry faces at her. The men stared grimly, and the women severely. However, she sang on, more and more like Tom. the janitor s cat. I am glad Tom can’t read this, because it would hurt his pride deeply. To get even, he might have his next three fights under my window, tonight. The other night he and his companion obliged me with a duet from “Yellan Shrieksky,” a twenty-round fight, and a victory song in a bass solo. I gave 100 The Scribbler them thunders of applause, which consisted of anything handy, like a trunk or some furniture, thrown out of the window. This reminds me that anyhow Tom got more applause than Miss Perkins. The hymn was finished. Miss Perkins condescended to look at the insignificant people in the choir. The choir had unstopped their ears again, but the expressions they wore would have made a rogue's gallery look beautiful. Miss Perkins gave 3 little gasp, which immediately turned into a sneer of scorn, when she looked around. Then she threw hack her head and turned her nose up a little higher. She snorted a couple of times and strutted proudly out of the church. John Carrington. ’26. -----------o-----;---- SISTER’S GRADUATION PRESENTS Thank goodness! Sis will finish that old High School tomorrow. I’ve heard of nothing but laces, georgette, invitations, parties, and examinations for the last two weeks. It just makes a fellow want to run away and go to New York, which would be much quieter than home is now. There’s one thing that I’m grateful for, and that is that I’m a boy and won’t have such foolish notions. The very first thing I hear in the morning is the door bell and Sis’s scream of delight over a new present. Just this morning uncle sent her a feather fan and she came running upstairs to show it to me. I was so disgusted I just slammed the door and told her to keep out of my room. Think of showing me, a man up in years, a feather fan. I think it’s just down-right crazy. Yesterday she received a little ribbon bag, and she talked about it for hours afterwards. She called it a party bag, but it looked to me like a lot of ribbon and lace all hitched together. She also got some stationery, which she immediately used, just to show it off, I think, for she never will write. She has received enough powder and perfume to last a lifetime. She put some on last night, and I ran to see if the gas wasn’t escaping, it smelt so queer. Mother gave her a ruby ring, and since she’s been wearing it, I have to wash the dishes, she’s so scared she’ll ruin it. I bet this time next week she’ll go in swimming with it on, and think nothing about it. I he only thing she has received that is any good and worth The Scribbler 101 considering at all is a box of candy, which her beau sent last night. When I finish school I want everybody to send me candy. I told her I thought it was an excellent present and to pass it around, but she went off and hid it without letting me have a peep at it. Well. I didn’t care, for I’m a good detective, so I ran to her room and found it hidden under a pillow. I immediately ate what I thought was my share, and then sneaked down the stairs. Sis thinks she knows more than anybody, just because she graduates tomorrow. Well, I know one thing that I can do that she knows nothing about, and that is fixing a puncture. I can fix a puncture better than anybody in the world. Well, there goes the door bell again. I guess it’s another present, as I hear Sister’s silly squeal. Kate Call a iiam, ’25. ----------o-------- IMPRESSIONS Eleanor Everett—Bandits, tulle gowns, handsome chauffeurs in red roadsters, grandmothers with dainty lace caps, tan slippers just out of the shop. Alice Ellkrbe—Yictrolas, “Tea Hounds” in white duck, blue dresses, punch, dimples, Alice’s smile, rides, dates. James Carroll—Canaries, “Sherlock,” overalls, blackberries in pails, bare-footed boys, moving pictures, reed whistles. Elizabeth Crews—Curls, bare arms, chocolate nut sundaes, loaded with whipped cream, little boys tying tin cans to dogs’ tails. Ruth Pickens—Norfolk jackets with stunning ties, baby talk, suffragettes, pineapple sandwiches, sewing baskets, out of doors. William W illard—Apple pies, grey hats, basketball, bridge building, red berries, smooth white roads near the sea. Sadie Anderson—Red middies, sunburn and hatless girls, swimming, ginger ale. pet rabbits, rubberless pencils, bon fires. Estelle Cohen—Little girls reading fairy tales, ball games and victory, “Silver Magnet” purchases, manuscripts, rhetoric, sycamores growing over babbling brooks, mossy banks, sunshine in summer, autumn leaves. 102 Tiif. Scribbler Samuel Wideman—Football helmets, stick candy, balloons, sugar cane, “infant prodigies.’’ Baxter Haynes—Black-faced minstrels, bait worms in tomato cans, ponies, rabbit tobacco, tin trumpets blowing Christmas morning. Elizabeth Wallace—English ladies riding coal black horses, pink and white peaches, band-boxes, sapphire velvet, well-dressed children, walking in parks with their nurses, Kipling. Perrin Dargan—Peanuts, crowds at the circus, football, little hoys in sailor caps. Tom Phifer—Debates, brand new jokes, roller skates, scientific questions, polished brass, little boys, bananas, “Injun suits.” Mary Stelling—Crystalized ginger, megaphones, decked with red and black ribbon, dandelions, fox terriers, laughing babies in pink rompers, going bare-footed in spring time, summer breezes. Simpson and Julian—Boy sopranos in surplices, minstrels in red. flags, tennis, cheer leaders sucking lemons, little boys caught in cooky jars, dancing slippers, stage make-up. Bettie Elleen Hutchins—Big, red rosebuds, glistening piano keys, new tennis shoes, collie dogs and great danes, blue bathing caps, wind blowing through pines, breathless audiences, sunlight on green grass, queens and coronets, golden chimes. Agnes Mansfield, ’25. Agnes Mansfield—Purple and yellow jumping-jacks on a nursery floor. A brook bubbling with dreams, tokens of violets, Little Colonel books, osities and ations, news, valentines hidden in lilac bushes. Estelle Cohen, ’25. ---------o---------- HIGH SCHOOL LIBRARY AND MUSIC RACK The High School bulletin board announces the following interesting books in its up-to-the-minute library: Ladies in Waiting—The Junior girls. The Flirt—Marjorie Hill. Prodigal Daughters—The hookey players. Fairy Stories—Passing all exams. Wild Animals I Have Known—Oh, well, you know ’em too. The Scribbler 103 The Heart of Rachel—Lost, strayed or stolen. The Wonderful Year—1925. A Fool and His Money—Anybody at the Cafeteria. Our Mutual Friend—Mr. Jenkins. The Best Man—That remains to be seen. Peg O’ Mv Heart—Peggy Scruggs. The Silent Barrier—Exams. Dear Enemy—Latin. The Road to Understanding—High School. The Tidal Wave—After exams. Oh Money, Money—Anybody, any recess. Local Color—Mallie’s red coat. Whispering Wires—A party line. The Little French Girl—Sara Wade. Certain People of Importance—Our teachers. The Saturday Evening Post—Late themes. It also announces the latest songs, including— What’ll I Do—During vacation. My Best Gal—Which is she, Kenneth? At Dawning—Studying. I’ll Forget You—All lessons. Big Boy—Perrin Dargan. A June Night—Graduation night. Why Couldn’t It Be Poor Little Me—I wonder. Dear Old Pal—Any dog-eared book. My Isle of Golden Dreams—Vacation. Never Again—The Seniors’ favorite. Lazy—No! Just Spring fever. All Alone—The wad of gum on Baxter’s desk. Jealous—All the Juniors of the Seniors. Dreamer of Dreams—Estelle Cohen. School Days—The best ever! When You and I Were Young, Maggie—Freshmen. The End of a Perfect Day—Two o’clock bell. Dream of Heaven—College. You Can Easily Tell—They go to Hi School. Hula Lou—Louise Allen. Katherine Wilkins, ’25 and Carolyn Leonard. ’26. 104 The Scribbler WHY PUPILS GO INSANE “When was the War of 1812?” “Where was the Battle of Bunker Hill?’’ “When did Washington deliver his ‘Farewell Address’ upon his retirement from the presidency?” “Where did Washington go on page 25?” “How could W ashington he a married man and never tell a lie?” “Between whom was the Spanish-American war?” “Who wrote Gray’s ‘Elegy in a Country Church Yard?’ ” “Where was the ‘March Through Georgia?’” “Who delivered Webster’s ‘Bunker Hill Oration?’ ” “Watch the board while I run through it.” “All those absent raise your hands.” “Who keeps Mr. Frost’s home room?” WHY TEACHERS GO INSANE “May I get my book out of my locker? I brought the wrong one.” “Wait till I borrow some paper.” “Wait a minute! I didn’t get the last word.” “That’s too much. We never will get over all that.” “How many questions are we going to have?” “Are you going to give us an optional ?” “Miss Atkins kept us too long, so we couldn’t get here on time.” “Professor Blake, let’s try it. I don’t believe it can be done.” “What’s this red mark for? I know that’s right.” Mary Lancaster. ’25. -----------o---------- WHEN I WAS WHERE I SHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN In study hall after school. At the soda fountain getting fatter. In Mr. Jenkins’ office on “private business.” At the picture show on a school night. In the eleventh grade. At the board in Algebra. The Scribbler 105 Walking clown the hall behind six girls, who were holding hands when I was in a hurry. Standing on a thin board over a high street. In a class with twenty-five girls. On the front seat in History class. At the picture show when High School was playing a game. In the front yard of High School, where the girls stay. Sitting by Kenny Byers—(Mr. Jenkins contributes this one). In a full dress suit. Near “Peggy” when she wanted to borrow a nickel. In a fight. On the platform in Literary Society. Playing tennis with Bill Tilden. Batting against Walter Johnson. In the Waldorf-Castoria. In a Ford going sixty-five miles an hour. In a football game without a helmet. In a football game with my tongue stuck out. In a car riding any teacher home. In the English class writing this during the recitation. Perrin Q. Dargan, ’25. ----------o--------- SENIOR’S LAST CALL FOR: A giggle—Peggy Scruggs. Another lesson to study—Virginia Wilkinson. A hair pin—Sarah Dodgen. A new suit—George Brannon. A stick of chewing gum—Mildred Franks. A new word—Agnes Mansfield. A pound—Perrin Dargan. A little height—Tucker McCravy. A curling iron—Marjorie Hill. A soul-ful song—Simpson Cannon. A vanity—Louise Allen. A solemn minute—George Dean Johnson. A pair of knickers—Kenneth Byers. A sandwich—The Fiery Five—E. C.. B. P., E. H., A: E., p Mai.lie Bomar. ’25. 106 The Scribbler CAN YOU IMAGINE? Miss Ervin with brushes scrubbing the floors ? Mr. Jenkins with ploughs marking the rows? Mr. Boggs in his knickers and golf socks gay, Ready the old man's game to play? Mr. Wilson popping his gum very loud And being heard above all the crowd ? Mr. Clatworthy, an autioneer, Crying, “Everyone! See here ! See here ! A bargain great to you I’ll show, A picture of Mr. Frost. Ho! Ho! And listen close. I’ll tell you twice, It’s guaranteed to scare the mice.” Pretty Miss Ellis, with all her might From a soap box, demanding her right? Miss Atkins saying to her good 4-A, “Don’t moan, my dears, be happy and gay; You cannot, girls, be young but once, Get up and make a little fuss?” All teachers giving us a holiday Because we greatly need more play? Elizabeth Ferguson, '25. ------------o---------- THE IMPOSSIBLE IN 4-B It is impossible— To keep Tom Phifer’s tongue still two seconds in succession. To answer George Dean Johnson’s “Why?” To string out ten syllable words like Albert Allen. For Jim Carroll to work Algebra. For me to get a story in The Scribbler. To see why Thad Broom objects to 4-B calling Minnie Vogel “Oh, Min!” To find a better bargain king than Louis Cohen. To keep Sam Wideman from sitting in the seat next to Ailene Johnson in the study hall. To find a more efficient questioner than “Simp” Cannon. To convince Mr. Jenkins that you ought not to be sent to the study hall. The; Scribbler 107 To find fault with 4-B (?). To find a better school than Spartanburg High. Harry Allen. ----------o--------- THE OLD (Play in one act) CAST OF CHARACTERS Radiator—Elizabeth Crews. The Clock—Miss Atkins. Desks—The Pupils. The pleasant old home room of 4-A is afraid it will be lonesome during vacation, so it has taken upon itself the duties of summer school. Scene I—Home room of 4-A. Last period on Friday. Clock—Tick, tock. All right, now let’s get settled for roll call. Mary Alexander? Desk—Squeak—present. Second Desk—Squeak, squack, hum. do, re mi— Clock—Tick, tock. Meredith, stop singing. Louise Allen? Desk—Squeak—present. Third Desk—Squeak, squ—e-e-e-k. Um, um, don’t that smell delicious, cooking across the hall ? Clock—Tick, tock. Who is that doing that talking? Now, let’s be quiet. Eleanor Everett ? Desk—Squeak. April fool. Clock—Tick, tock. Don’t answer by your name, please. Elizabeth Wallace? Desk—Absent-mindedly—squeek. Hey! Desks—Squeek, squack, squee—e-e-k. Oh ! Ha! Ha ! Ha! Clock—Tick, tock. Where did we leave off reading? Hold your hands up. Desk—Squeek. Line five, page twenty. Clock—Tick, tock. Mark these words for Monday. Tick, tock, tick, tick, tock. Radiator—Sizz—sz—z—zzz—sizz. (Don't be frightened, that is only Elisabeth grumbling because Clock ticks off too many words.) Radiator—Sizz—szzz—sizz. BASKETBALL SQUAD The Scribbler 109 Clock—Tick, tock, tick. Well I’ll help you with them. Get ready. First word. Desks—Squeek, squ—a—aak. Lend me a pencil. Give me some paper, Frances. Clock—Tick, tock. All right, get with us. Concentrate—accent on cen. Desks—Squeek—squeek. Wait a minute. Clock—Tick, tock. Well, hurry, the period is almost up. Next word. Rrrr—rrrr—Rrrr— Clock—Tick, tock. There is the bell now. Remember parallel notebooks Monday. Oh! Do sit down and be quiet until time to go. Desks—Squeek—squack. Clock—Tick, tock. Elizabeth! You and Eleanor come away from that door. Rrr—Rrr— Clock—Tick, tock. Pass out. Nellie Hanna. '25. 110 The Scribbler EDITORS—ELIZABETH BYERS, GEORGE DEAN JOHNSON Teacher—“Johnny, I’m only punishing you because I love you.” Johnny—“I wish I was old enough to return your love.”— Johns Hopkins Black and Blue Jay. A woman’s ears are a good receiving set, and oh! how she can amplify!—College Comics. Prue—“So you’re going abroad?” Sue—“Yes, it’s so good for my correspondence.”—College Comics. Willie—“Gim me a bite of your apple.” Jimmie—“Wait a minute, will ye. till I come to the worm.”— College Comics. “Hiram, why didn’t you tell me this here Ford didn’t run afore I bought it ?” “Wal, the feller thet sold her to me didn’t say nothin’ about it, so I thought it was a secret.”—Cornell Widow. “Beg pardon, are you a prize fighter?” “I’m a pugilist—not a prize fighter. I suppose you’re one of them reporters.” “No, I’m a journalist.”—Cougar’s Paw. The Scribbler 111 Lady (in butcher shop)—“Is that the head cheese over there?” Butcher—“No, ma’am, the boss isn’t in.”—Oregon Ag Orange Owl Waiter—“Will you have some pie? Stude—“Is it compulsory?” Waiter—“No, apple.”—Rice Owl. Quick and Dirty—“I ordered strawberry short-cake. Where are the strawberries ?” Just Dirty—“That’s what it’s short of.”—Middlebury Blue Baboon. Mrs. Newlywed (to the butcher)—“I want some lard.” Butcher—“Pail ?” Mrs. N.—“Oh, does it come in different shades?”—Northwestern Purple Parrot. Horses may bite with all their might, But they can’t bite with their mane. —Middlebury Blue Baboon. Prof.—“Have you read Beowulf?” Soph—“No, I don’t like animal stories.”—Washington University Dirge. Room—“Is that one of the latest haircuts?” Mate—“I guess so, I’ve just got it.”—Oklahoma Whirlwind. She—“Did you give the waiter your order?” He—“Yes, but I think he means to keep it as a souvenir.”— Williams Purple Cow. He—“So your brother made the team?” She—“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. But of course he helped.”— Life. No, Bettie, they didn’t throw Moses in a cattle stampede when they pitched him in the bulrushes.—Buccaneer. 112 The Scribbler I bless thee, gentle janitress, Guardian of my room, Swept by the gentle breezes, But seldom by thy broom. —Yale Record. Face powder may catch a man, but it takes baking-powder to keep him contented after caught.—Hamilton Royal Gaboon. Fred—“Hey, son, you got a Saturday Evening Post? Stone—“Yes, what do you want with it?’ Fred—“Bring it out. I want to hitch my mule.”—Buccaneer. She—“I wish 1 had talent; I’m just itching to write.” He—“Well, why don’t you sit down and start scratching a little ?”—Denver Parrakeet. Habeas—“Why do you call your home ‘The Court’?” Corpus—“Because all the furniture is on trial.”—Oklahoma Whirlwind. Mother—“Why did you throw that tomato at the little boy?” Johnny—“Well, lie’s mad at me. and I wanted to make up.” M.—“But that’s no way to make up.” J.—“Oh, yes it is. A soft answer turneth away wrath.”— Carnegie Tech Puppet. Dumb—“Have you read ‘To a Nightingale’?” Belle—“Naw, how do you manage to make ’em listen?”— Buccaneer. It’s not the start in an aeroplane that counts; it’s whether you can keep it up or not.-—Williams Purple Cow. Twinkle, twinkle, little star, Just above the trolley car; If the car should jump the track, Would I get my nickel back? —University of Washington Columns. The Scribbler 113 If you can’t laugh at the jokes of the age, laugh at the age of the jokes.—Pointer. Miss Stone (to those standing around room)—“Everybody sit down all over the room.” A GOOD INSULATOR Prof. Blake (explaining static electricity)—“On a dry day there is very much electricity in one’s hair. This is shown by the hair rising to a comb. The dry air is a good insulator.” Tom P. (being smart)—“Why doesn’t the electricity go through the head and then to the ground?” Prof. Blake—“It can’t cross a vacuum.” RATHER PERSONAL Miss L. (in French)—“What is a louis (Louis) ?” Bright Pupil—“A coin (Cohen).” TRUE Lend me a nickel, and I’ll be indebted to you for life. SOMETHING NEW The owners of the bus are vaccinating its occupants—to keep them from catching the street car.—Exchange. Hee—“What’s the best thing for a man to do, who needs both spiritual and physical exercise?” Haw—“Walk to church every morning.” EXASPERATING Miss Erwin—“Wilda, describe Captain Sentry.” Wilda W.—“Well—he was a man—” Miss E.—“Next.” DUMB ©ORA! W ilda Wilburn wants to know if Cicero’s sentence, “Data est civitas silvani lege et carbonis,” means: “Citizenship was given in silver ink and with carbon.” 114 The SCRIRRLER SHE WAS SURELY A BIRD The wife of a Methodist minister in West Virginia has been married three times. Her maiden name was Partridge, her first husband was named Robins; second husband. Sparrow; the present, Quale. There are now two young Robins, one Sparrow, and three Quales in the family. One grandfather was Swan, another a Jay, but he’s dead now and a bird of Paradise. They live on Hawk Avenue. Eagleville, Canary Islands, and the fellow who wrote this is a Lyre bird.—Exchange. THAT NEW TYPEWRITER I own a bragnd naw typwtar Ti wrute on yt isgreaty Twas Sacreficef tO mr at co$y Jyst fofty siztv eigjt It aids mE in mt sPeiking it can?t Bebeat fur speEdb I wRriye my letyeers on it Iy anSwars evert neEd ithelps$ me XXXXxxIn my loebors” ThE worh it doeS is SSSwell 67 It—swortk jusy twict it$ pricE tome NoW where—s thay X—Oj ? kish 56— ”! —Exchange. Our idea of the height of optimism is a 90-year-old gent buying a new suit with two pairs of pants.—Exchange. “Yes, my sister had an awful fright last night.” “How was that?” “A big black spider ran up her arm.” “That’s nothing. I’ve had a sewing machine run up the seams of my pants.”—Exchange. Guest—“What’s the matter with this coffee? It looks like mud.” Waiter—“Yes, sir. It was ground this morning.”—Exchange. The ScRrBBLER Jill—“I’m afraid the bed isn’t long enough for you.” Jack—“That’s all right; I’ll add two more feet to it when I get in.”—Exchange. Homo—“Thinking about me?” Homoette—“Oh, was I laughing? Pardon me.”—Exchange. Sing—“What does the rainbow signify?” Song—“It ain’t gonna rain no more.” Teacher—“Bill, what are you thankful for?” Bill (red-headed and covered with freckles)—“Nothing. Nature ruined me altogether.” MURDER English Prof.—“Tomorrow we will take the life of John Mil-ton. Please come prepared.”—Exchange. Voice from Tennis Court—“Love thirty, love forty; love fifteen!” Colored Visitor from Country—“Has you eber seen such a fickle fella?” You can wander in the United States, but you must go to Italy to Rome.—Black and Blue Jay. The Scribbler 117 EDITORS—ALICE BOWEN. SAMUEL WIDEMAN It is fitting for us to review once more the conquests of our past year before we leave our old school for vacation and perhaps for college. Our teams have accomplished what they have only through the splendid backing of Mr. Jenkins, the faculty, and every member of the Athletic Association. Our coaches, Mr. Hoole for football and basketball, and Mr. Frost for baseball, have succeeded very well indeed in their work. IN REVIEW Let us briefly outline our three seasons. In football, our team played six games, losing only the first and the last. The climax of the season came when we defeated Greenville High with a score of 15-6. In the grand total we gained 103 points to our opponents’ 50. In basketball, we won fourteen official games and lost two, with a total of 587 points to our opponents’ 383. THE BLOCKS One morning Mr. Jenkins called everybody into chapel and gave letters to the block winners among the boys in the two sports, football and basketball. All the boys thank him for this recognition. 118 The Scribbler BASEBALL In this sport a large squad came out to contend for places on the team. Quickly, however, the coach, Mr. Frost, was forced to cut the slower members from the club. Coach Frost and his boys have given us a good season, with only two defeats and eight victories. All the members of the team believe that if we had not been rained out at Woodruff in the sixth, we would have beaten them, and thus have been able to reach the up-State eliminations. In the Woodruff game. Henry Newbury pitched excellently and yielded only two hits with fifteen strike-outs. The schedule, with the scores, follows: Wofford Freshmen 5 Spartanburg High 6 Wofford Freshmen 5 Spartanburg High 15 Cedar Spring 0 Spartanburg High 15 Textile Institute 5 Spartanburg High 7 Greenville High 8 Spartanburg High 4 Wofford Freshmen 0 Spartanburg High 5 Union 1 Spartanburg High 9 Woodruff 3 Spartanburg High 2 Union 2 Spartanburg High 13 Inman 2 Spartanburg High 18 THE BASEBALL BLOCKS The High School awards blocks to these men for their good work while representing Spartanburg High on the diamond: Sparnell, Captain, pitcher; Newberry, pitcher; Nash, catcher; Johnson, Joe H., first base; Berry, second base ; DuPre, shortstop; Willard, third base; Fleming, left field; Boland, center field; Mc-Cravy, right field; Kaigler, utility; Johnson, Charles, manager. THEIR BATTING AVERAGE AB. R. H. SB. 2B. 3B. HR. Pet. Boland 28 7 7 0 2 1 0 .250 Berry 30 12 13 0 3 2 0 .434 Fleming 27 9 7 2 2 0 1 .256 Sparnell 27 9 14 3 1 8 0 .508 DuPre 24 7 9 2 1 1 0 .375 Newburv 18 6 5 2 0 0 0 .278 The Scribbler 119 Nash 22 4 5 0 2 0 0 .221 McCravy 12 2 1 1 0 0 0 .084 Willard 10 4 4 0 0 0 0 .400 Johnson 5 2 1 0 0 0 0 .200 Kaigler 14 0 1 0 0 0 0 .071 In this school year 1924-25 we have had clean, hard-fought, and usually victorious battles in all three sports. As most of the varsity men of all the teams are leaving, it is up to those who remain behind to keep up our reputation for good, clean, hard-fought athletics. Good luck to everyone who will be upon the teams of 1925-26! GIRLS’ BASKETBALL The following girls received blocks for basketball last season: Johnson, Sadie Anderson, Sudie Ware, Mell Bagwell, Geraldine Ballenger, Mary Alexander, Alice Bowen, Martha Blackwell, DeViolet Bernhardt. The following received stars: Ailene Johnson, Sadie Anderson. Mell Bagwell. Allen, L. L. Arcade Barber Shop Baer, R. H. Bagwell. E. C. Band White Bank of Commerce Basketeria Bennett Brothers Biber, R. E. Bishop’s Drug Store Burwell, Ernest Campbell. Miss C. M. Cannon Fetzer Co. Carolina National Bank Central National Bank Christman Correll Clinchfield Fuel Co. Coca-Cola Bottling Works Collins, J. Duren Cooper Griffin Crews, Ligon Co. Cudd, R. E. Co. Donahoo’s Studio DuPre’s Book Store DuPre, Wallace Elite, The Ezell, Dr. W. C. Farmer Long Federal Bakery. The Ferguson, R. H. First National Bank Gardner Music Co. Greenewald’s Hardy Brothers Heinitsh Drug Co. Herring Furniture Co. Hobbs-Henderson Co. Holmes Seed Co. Kennedy Drug Store Lee, C. Lewis, Rufus D. Ligon’s Drug Store Ligon, Grier Co. Little. D. D. Co. Littlejohn Bros. Magnolia Oil Company Manning, Bernard Meyerson’s Mimnaugh’s Shoe Store Montgomery Crawford Moseley’s Shoe Shop Newton, Dr. W. M. Nissen’s Shoe Store Oeland Hammond, Drs. O’Neale, Charles L. Co. Parks-Belk Co. Pearce-Young-Angel Piedmont Shoe Shop Price. Harry Ravenel, H. E. Rice, W. S. Music House Rogers, L. W. Sanders Racket Store Spartan Hardware Spartanburg Laundry Standard Cloak Co. Stinnette, Charles R. Stone, M. G. Tennent, E. S. Thompson Motor Co. Vogel Son Walker Quarles White. J. W. Wilburn White Willard Filling Station Wilson’s Drug Store Wright-Scruggs Shoe Co. Advertisers Have Made This Magazine Possible THOSE WHO ADVERTISE WITH US Adair, M. L. Co. Law, A. M. Co. Leathers, J. A. Co. PATRONIZE THOSE WHO ADVERTISE WITH US LATEST HITS FROM THE MUSICAL SHOWS— INCLUDING FULL STOCK OF CENTURY, VOCAL, SAXAPHONE, VIOLIN, INSTRUMENTAL SOLOS ONLY 15c—ASK TO SEE IT We also carry a full Line of Standard Selections, Studies for Pupils in all Grades, and Churches Edition Beautiful RECORDS INSTRUMENTS SUPPLIES S. M. GARDNER MUSIC CO. 133 W. MAIN STREET PHONE 1339 -H L R. E. BIBER OPTOMETRIST AND OPTICIAN 103 W. Main Street Phone 228 r M. L. ADAIR CO. FANCY GROCERIES—COUNTRY PRODUCE 146 Union Street Near High School Phone 40 R. E. CUDD A CO. Dealers in HORSES, MULES, WOOD AND COAL Phone 15 Spartanburg, S. C. | A Real Southern Institution Serving the People— Honest Weights—Honest Goods Honest Methods—Lowest Prices L. W. ROGERS CO. GROCERIES 139 N. CHURCH STREET - WE APPRECIATE YOUR BUSINESS WILSON S DRUG STORE “The Rexall Store” “THE BEST IN DRUG STORE SERVICE” + - BISHOP’S REX THEATRE BUILDING For the BEST SODAS AND ICE CREAM CANDIES STATIONERY AND TOILET ARTICLES KODAK FILMS KODAK FINISHING PIEDMONT SHOE SHOP THE HOME FOR FINE SHOE REPAIRING AND GOOD SHOES 143 N. Church St. Phone 548 Compliments of— DRS. OELAND A HAMMOND DENTISTS 171V2 North Church Street SPARTANBURG LAUNDRY LAUNDERERS, CLEANERS, DYERS, HATTERS Rug and Carpet Cleaners Phones: 32 and 543 THE DuPRE BOOK STORE BOOKS STATIONERY AND PICTURES SPARTANBURG, S. C. A. M. LAW COMPANY INSURANCE—INVESTMENTS Andrews-Law Building -------------------------------------+ SPARTANBURG’S GREATEST STORE OUTFITTERS TO MEN. WOMEN AND CHILDREN j GREENEWALDS.Inc. | . What are your boy and girl doing with their spending money and earnings? Do they know the VALUE of money? Do they know that a few dollars SAVED each month will later pay their way through college or start them in business? They SHOULD know—and be trained to SAVE! But do not make the mistake of saving FOR them. Give them an allowance from which they are to BANK a part, and then encourage them to add to it from their OWN earnings. Consider what it would have meant to you if YOUR father had adopted this plan. If you do, there is little doubt but that you will begin now to form in your children THE HABIT OF THRIFT. Central National Bank Spartanburg, S. C. OFFICERS JNO. A. LAW. President WM. A. LAW. Vice-President H. B. CHAPMAN, Assistant Cashier CHAS. C. KIRBY. Vice-President W. R. FRANCE, Assistant Cashier M. E. BOWDEN. Cashier J. N. WRIGHT. Assistant Cashier HOBBS-HENDERSON CO. A COMPLETE DEPARTMENT STORE SPARTANBURG, S. C. TOYLAND NOW OPEN —Spartanburg’s Largest and Best Toy Store Finest Toys at Special Prices See Big Display in Our Basement 1 i I | J J Compliments of— THE STANDARD CLOAK CO. j LEADING LADIES’ STORE 113 East Main St. Spartanburg, S. C. j 1........- -------------------------------------- T H E E L I T E CONFECTIONERY AND TEA ROOM SODAS—ICE CREAM—CANDIES—LUNCHES J Agents for NUNNALLY’S KODAK FINISHING j PIONTGOMERY CRAWFORD HARDWARE Household Goods and Sporting Supplies Spartanburg, - South Carolina t-------------------------------------- I COMPLIMENTS i PEARCE-YOUNG-ANGEL CO. Wholesale FRUITS AND PRODUCE Spartanburg, S. C. I Branches: Asheville, N. C., Shelby, N. C., and On the way to college. A plan j to provide the means for your j boy or girl. i R. H. FERGUSON, Manager j Spartanburg, S. C. LET ONE OF THE LESSONS OF YOUR SCHOOL DAYS BE THAT OF SAVING MONEY THE ONLY SURE AND PRACTICAL WAY TO LEARN THAT LESSON IS BY MEANS OF A BANK ACCOUNT IT TEACHES THRIFT, PROMOTES ACCURACY, INSURES SAFETY, AND PAYS INTEREST CarolinaNational Bank Dollar Savings Bank QUICK SERVICE PHONES 1247 AND 1248 PENCILS—TABLETS LITTLEJOHN BROS. QUALITY GROCERIES FRUITS EAST MAIN STREET SPARTANBURG, S. C. J. DUREN COLLINS WHOLSALE NOTIONS TOBACCOS AND CANDIES 141 N. Church Phone 1937 HARRY PRICE EVERYTHING IN BOYS’ CLOTHING Agent for A. G. SPALDING’S SPORTING GOODS COMPLIMENTS OF— R. H. BAER i COMPLIMENTS OF— 1 J. A. LEATHERS CO. COTTON .♦ mmm • • •� « m M mmm m+m mm mmm mmm mm m+ + + 9mm.. +mrn «f� I IT PAYS TO TRADE AT HOLMES SEED CO. BETTER SEEDS BETTER CROPS Spartanburg, S. C. i I 1 i COMPLIMENTS OF— i i ARCADE BARBER SHOP ; I 111 East Main St. Next Door to Bee Hive | I t---------------------------------------------1 FOR QUICK SERVICE PHONE 857 MOSELEY’S SHOE SHOP AND SHINE PARLOR SUCCESSORS TO B. B. CHAPMAN Work Called for and Delivered 126 MAGNOLIA STREET SPARTANBURG, S. C. j +--------------------------------------------------------------- HIGH SCHOOL BOYS AND GIRLS COME TO NISSEN'S, OF COURSE FOR GOOD SHOES COMPLIMENTS CHARLES L. O’NEALE CO. j COTTON MERCHANTS Spartanburg, S. C. SANDERS' RACKET STORE Plant Your Dollars Here and Watch the Savings Grow 161 E. Main Street Spartanburg, S. C. COMPLIMENTS OF— ERNEST BUR WELL FORD DEALER j N. L. BENNETT j. E. BENNETT BENNETT BROTHERS AUTOMOBILES AND SUPPLIES 181-183 W. Broad St. J P. 0. BOX 588 SPARTANBURG, S. C. COMPLIMENTS OF— CLINCHFIELD FUEL CO. Andrews-Law Building I WILLARD S FILLING STATION I Corner Main and Converse Streets 1 Telephone 1196 The Best Place for GAS, OIL AND GREASING We are Agents for United States Tires i------------------------------------------A 132 S. LIBERTY PHONE 712 J. W. WHITE, FANCY GROCERIES Solicits Your Patronage—Quality and Service Unequaled Remember the Place J. W. WHITE 132 S. Liberty St. Herring Furniture Co. 157 North Church St. COMPLETE HOME FURNISHERS We Are Never Satisfied Unless Our Customers Are LADIES' HATTER AND CORSETIERE Spartanburg, S. C. Charlotte, N. C. HEINITSH’S HYGIENIC CREAM FOR CHAPPED HANDS—CONTAINS NO GREASE HEINITSH DRUG STORE Sixty-Five Years in Business on the Square ADVERTISING PAYS That’s Why We Advertise With You WE WANT YOUR BUSINESS FOUNTAIN PENS—STATIONERY—FINE CANDIES AND SODAS KENNEDY’S DRUG STORE KENNEDY HAS IT! PHONE 162 WHEN IN NEED OF SHOES RUN RIGHT TO THE SHOE STORE Wright-Scruggs Shoe Co. COMPLIMENTS OF— SPARTAN HARDWARE CO. COMPLIMENTS OF H. E. RAVENEL + i i i i i i I WALLACE D. DuPRE Wholesale and Retail AUTOMOBILE SUPPLIES 136 Morgan Square DR. W. C. EZELL OPTOMETRIST 102 Kennedy Place Spartanburg, S. C. WE EXAMINE EYES AND FIT COMFORTABLE GLASSES FOR UNCOMFORTABLE EYES STAR — DURANT — FLINT THOMPSON MOTOR CO. SALES AND SERVICE 230 W. MAIN ST. Spartanburg, S. C. LIGON, GRIER CO. GENERAL INSURANCE : REAL ESTATE LOANS j i Andrews-Law Building — Phone 1311 i COMPLIMENTS OF ♦ E. S. TENNENT W. S. RICE MUSIC HOUSE SPARTANBURG. S. C. j QUALITY—LOW PRICES—FINE SERVICE | PIANOS. SELF-PLAYERS. PHONOGRAPHS, RECORDS. PLAYER ROLLS, SHEET MUSIC Small Instruments and Musical Goods of All Kinds k------------------------------------------------------ COMPLIMENTS OF— COOPER GRIFFIN (INCORPORATED) COTTON MERCHANTS GREENVILLE, S. C. Branch Offices: Spartanburg. S. C., Anderson, S. C., Seneca, S. C., Sumter, S. C., Atlanta, Ga., Savannah, Ga„ Toccoa, Ga., Charlotte, N. C., Norfolk, Va. 1 4 COMPLIMENTS OF— BERNARD MANN COTTON Spartanburg, S. C. jrT t ! COMPLIMENTS OF— ! M, G. STONE i COMPLIMENTS OF— ! WALKER QUARLES COTTON Spartanburg, S. C. COMPLIMENTS OF— WILBURN WHITE COTTON BROKERS Spartanburg, S. C. f-----------------------———-------- COMPLIMENTS OF— L. L. ALLEN CO. COTTON Spartanburg, S. C. COMPLIMENTS OF— D. D. LITTLE CO (INCORPORATED) COTTON BROKERS Spartanburg, S. C. + i i i i i i i + COMPLIMENTS OF— CREWS. LIGON CO. (INCORPORATED) COTTON Spartanburg, S. C. COMPLIMENTS OF— CHRISTMAN CORRELL COTTON BROKERS Spartanburg, S. C. MEYERSON’S The Store That Caters to the Needs of the Boys MEYERSON’S 105 E. Main St. COMPLIMENTS OF— DR. W. M. NEWTON DENTIST Andrews-Law Building When— you want visiting cards, either printed or engraved BAND WHITE Send Your Friend a SCRIBBLER £ WELCOME TO- Ligon’s Drug Store Corner Main and North Church Sts. No matter whether you come to buy, meet a friend or ask a favor, we are always glad to see you. QUALITY is always the first consideration in the goods we carry in stock We are Exclusive Agents for WHITMAN’S FAMOUS CANDIES EASTMAN KODAKS AND FILMS ELIZABETH ARDEN TOILET ARTICLES We have or will get what you want. WE APPRECIATE YOUR PATRONAGE THE BEST PLACE TO GET YOUR LUNCH FOR SCHOOL, PICNIC, OR PARTIES IS AT E. C. BAGWELL’S 110 Kennedy Place Phones 64, 65 and 66 Their Goods are the Best and the Price is Right A-. r ■ COMPLIMENTS FEDERAL BAKERY 130 East Main Street A- r- A« HARDY BROS. FANCY GROCERIES COMPLIMENTS THE BASKETERIA 124 North Church Street i t i -f. Phones 92 and 93 Spartanburg, S. C. I PARKS-BELK CO. The Home of Better Values’’ j { NOTIONS DRY GOODS SHOES HOUSE FURNISHINGS READY-TO-WEAR MILLINERY CLOTHING MEN’S FURNISHINGS ! I { SCHOOL SUPPLIES | MORGAN SQUARE-PHONE 1636PARKS-BELK CO. j Our strongest argument for new business is to have you inquire how we serve “old business BANK of COMMERCE “The Friendly Bank WATCHMAKERS ENGRAVERS FARMER LONG SUCCESSORS TO BIBER’S JEWELRY STORE 103 West Main Street MANUFACTURERS OF HIGH GRADE PLATINUM AND DIAMOND JEWELRY DIAMONDS HIGH SCHOOL BELTS Patronize Our Advertisers WINTER BRINGS NO DREAD TO THE MOTORIST WHO USES OUR SERVICE GAS, OILS, ALCOHOL ALEMITE LUBRICATION AUTOMOTIVE SUPPLIES MAGNOLIA OIL COMPANY SERVICE STATIONS “SHOES OF QUALITY” WONDERFUL SHOES — FOR — WONDERFUL GIRLS 101 MAIN SPARTANBURG THE HOME Dr. Frank Crane €| If you want to save the world, don't take to the pulpit—go Home. I][ If you want to reform society, don't mount the soap-hox—go Home. j[No movement will move unless it starts in the Home. (JNo Reform will reform unless it originates there. €fl No Law will stand unless it is favored there. CJ No Religion will prosper that is not usahle there. JNo Education is of much account that does not include the Home. JThe real Unit of either Politics or Economics is not the Man, but the Home. MAKE YOUR MONEY HOME AT THE FIRST NATIONAL BANK RESOURCES OVER FOUR MILLION Cents make dollars—Save them. Girls and boys make women and men Help them.