Stockton High School - Guard and Tackle Yearbook (Stockton, CA)

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I-....u.-q-u-1.1.4.-lp1W1..-....1g.1 .-1115.111-pq.--11.4-1.111-.g..l.1. u'u:n1ll1lp1un:u-ln1ll-:u1lc'- : -uni :: -ll1l: -za-n:fn-n-n:::-:u::u1u just got in, the voice continued. My wife and I have just arrived on our honeymoon. P'raps we'll run up to see you tomorrow. Phil dropped the receiver in his agony of thought. Was it--could it possibly be that Ted was married to Jean, his jean, the main reason for his coming to the city? He man- aged to answer, Oh, do, l'll be delighted to see you and fwith a gulpl --your wife. lt is needless to say that Philip spent an almost sleepless night. Perhaps it would only be fair to explain something of Philip Caster's former life. He was the only child of wealthy parents in the small town of Grantdale. ln his youth he had been much petted and pampered by a fond mother. After graduating from high school, he had entered college, and it was there that he had learned to care for Jean Marshall, a girl he had known all his life. But Jean, while she cared for him, resented his being supported by his father. She had a different ideal of a husband. He must be able to work for himself and for her. This was the cause of Phil's departure from college and from Grantdale. He now gave promise of fair success in newspaper work, but in his loneliness the petting that had been bestowed on him showed its effect in his jealousy. And Phil surely was jealous, although he would not for a moment have admitted it. sr- is as as as i'Parties to see lVlr. Caster. Sadie's voice roused Phil who was in a reverie of dreams in which Jean was the principal character. jumping into his clothes, he dashed down the stairs to find awaiting him Ted Buttrick and a strange young man. Wh-where's your wife? stammered Phil. u-an-111ml-in-nu.-u1ln.-nl1l 1un1uu-u-u1u-nu-Il1-uu-uu-un1:s1ll-pp-u1 Just a little joke on you, returned Ted. l'm in town to get married. Thought you'd like to stand up with me at the ceremony this afternoon. Jean lVlarshall's going to be bridesmaid. Phil grabbed a hat from the rack. Come on, he said, Show me to that wedding, and be quick about it! -Dorothy Stowe, '20. Left The sky is blue, the river bright, The waves are dancing with delight, The earth is glad, my heart is gay, Sweet Kitty Somers comes this way. The sky is dark, the river grey, It is a gloomy, doleful day, The earth is sad, and sad am l, lVliss Katharine Somers passed me by. -Borrowed. X A POSSIBILITY l only kissed her handg ls that why Bernice dislikes me? l cannot understand- l only kissed her hand l deserved a reprimandg - But another notion strikes me, l only kissed her hand, ls that why Bernice dislikes me? -Adapted. 1g..1pg1q1u-qq.,q..-.gin1.u-ql.-n-ql..gl-.q-.gg-u-.pg-.q.-g

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--- - --137-sg -Y -rg fx -W -1: an Dil .I-lx-gr I-91: ,,,Y 1' Yu l1ls1u1::7r: looked up the great perpendicular stone, the natural leer on his face was intensified, and he laughed derisively, as those who are small do laugh at those who are great. Taking out his knife, he started to carve his name,-but no! -he would not carve it below these noted men. Wasn't he just as good? Surely. He would write above all others in big, broad letters, so that all might see. Slowly and painstakingly he broke a small niche in the rock, into which he placed a foot, then another niche where he placed the other foot, until he had scaled the great height. Holding tight, in his precarious position, he started to cut his name, but, with the first stroke, the knife broke and fell from his hand: What was he to do? To descend was impossible, for each time, as he had raised his foot from its resting place, the stone had crumbled away, leaving a Hat, smooth surface. As the memorial was situated in a remote part of the city, it would aid him none to call for help, and the only beings who saw were the wee sparrows, who, undecided whether to be friends or not with this queer creature which clung so desperately to the rock, fluttered nervously around. Night came, and away in the distance cheery lights ap- peared in the homes, but around the boy there was only darkness. Suddenly the ledge on which he was standing crumbled, throwing him, broken, to the earth beneathg while the names of those great men stood untouched. And above the name of our first president remains only the blank, Hat surface of the Great Stone. -Beryl Wellington, '2I. PHILIP CASTER AND THE GREEN-EYED MONSTER Through the lace curtain of the parlor in Mrs. Mahony's boarding house on West Fifty-fifth Street came the sounds of singing and laughter, accompanied by the tones of a player piano. Prom the kitchen came the clink of dishes being washed by Sadie, the maid of all work, whose friend was now waiting for her in the alley. But if any one had been near enough to a certain window of a third story-back room, a different sound would have been heard. This was a long-drawn-out sigh, almost of the sob variety. And now let us take a peep into the room from which the near sob issued. It was ia small room, one in which Mrs. Mahony placed her would-be boarders who did not look altogether promising, or who did not offer to pay in advance. Seated on the bed, staring out of the window at the lights of the city was a young man probably twenty- one years of age. ln his hand he held a letter, and it was this letter that explained that almost feminine sigh. Geel he muttered, what's the use trying. She'll never care for me any more. Why, even now mother writes that she's tagging around with Ted Buttrickf' A telephone bell gave its warning below. Telephone for Mr. Philip Caster, called Sadie up the stairs. Phil jumped up with a start. Could it be possible? No, he could never entertain such hopes again: he had been dis- appointed too many times. It was probably Mr. Sloan tell- ing him to report promptly in the morning. But as he took up the receiver, he had hoped in his heart that it would be' some one from home, for, to tell the truth, Phil had a bad case of homesickness. Over the wire came a voice, and, sure enough, it was a familiar one, that of Ted Buttrick, more formally called Theodore Jr., on whom Phil now looked as his rival. Well, well, how's the boy? he said. Phil, in his pleasure at hearing a familiar voice, over- looked that patronizing boy, liliznxzfzr W:-ar :Wlf -- :fn 1- 7'- , i : ::1n-::1n1n- 11:73 -I-11.14,

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I I :six 1 - W I I ' r' W 7 ' 2 nc I rr r- r -ou THE HAIRPIN By Ruth Baxter Having made a more or less exhaustive study of that often illusive but always necessary article of female habili- ment, that instrument of no little agony and perturbation of mind fancl headj, the hairpin, l find that in a less highly developed state of usefulness it has been used ever since the creation of the world. Eve, as in everything else, started the fashion in hair- dressing. l imagine she became tired of letting her abun- dant locks hang loosely about her shoulders, and, in trying to alter the arrangements thereof, stumbled upon one of the greatest discoveries of the age. No doubt Adam procured curved bones or bent twigs to be used in satisfying this whim of his exacting spouse. Right then another detail to make the life of woman complex was introduced by Adam. Of course it was his fault, for Eve never would have cared about her appearance if Adam hadn't been there to look at her. I have been unable to follow the evolution of the hair- pin through the ages in a minute way, but old manuscripts tell us of the elaborate hair ornaments used by the Persians and Egyptians. These, of course, were hairpins in a glori- fied state. The Greek and Roman women were more in I 31: nz Y F - - W Y 1 W -' :fu-no--nc -:Y-7' '- favor of ribbons and golden fillets, but at times resorted to the use of less poetic articles. Take a good look at the statues of Psyche and Niobe and even the Venus de Milo. Do you think such exquisitely simple coiffeurs could have been effected without the aid of the lowly hairpin? It is comforting to think that Minerva, Helen of Troy, Cleopatra, Queen Elizabeth, Joan of Arc, and the immortal Mary Pickford have sat before dressing tables and stuck in hairpins just as I have been doing the greater part of my life. Somehow I feel that these great women are slightly akin to my own humble self through their similar efforts at capital adornment. No one, I say to myself, is sufficiently great to be able to overlook the insignificant hairpin. But is it insignificant? ln size and appearance,-yesg but in utility,-no, a thousand times, no. l take an instan- taneous dislike to anyone whose hair is untidyg in fact, that is the first detail I consider on meeting a person. Possibly just one more hairpin would improve her personal appear- ance and win my approval and everlasting esteem. just imagine what would happen if the hairpin manufacturers should go on strikel Of course the article under discussion has more than one function. It occurs to me that l have read more than one book in which the noble hero or the crafty villain unlocks 1:37 1 1..1p.1..1..1.,1..... 1 i-Yuan-:: 1:4-::7:ia1a :: , - 1