Walton High School - Periwinkle Yearbook (Bronx, NY)

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U I'lpPQpClPQCI O Thirty-nine pairs of widened, curiosity-drenched eyes swung around in perfect unison as the surprised accents of Miss Rawlinson's voice whipped through the tense silence of History class 6l l. Faces-there were all kinds of faces-fat and thin, short and long, square, round, and oval-all usually masked with the placid, high-school girl expression--but now, all were wrinkled into the same startled grimace of overwhelming surprise-a surprise that was amply justified, for there at her customary seat in the first row, straight and ,slim and defiant, stood Margy Piccarro, erstwhile favorite pupil, but now, as it seemed, number 3, page 2, in Miss Rawlinson's little black book that nestled among the white papers and cards in the upper right-hand drawer of her square, dull-brown desk. Why-Mar-ga-ret Pic-carrol Unprepared? Mar-ga-ret Piccarro! The half-wondering, half-reproachful voice rose higher and higher in a gradual emphasis. Upon the cool evening air still lingered the passionate strains of Franz l.iszt's immortal Gypsy Rhapsody. She had played it with all her heart, upon the delicate, still quivering strings of her violin. Silence-, a sigh, and then everybody began to talk at once. The walls of the famed old Conservatory building literally trembled with the excitement of the audience. Which of the four aspirants was to win the scholarship? Was it the short, rosy-faced little boy who offered the Caprice Espagnolew? Was it the thin lad who rendered the Liebestraum so exquisitely? Was it the nervous boy whose E string had snapped in the middle of the Cantata ? Or was it the' slim, brunette girl who had, just a moment ago, finished the Hungarian Rhapsody ? Margaret tried to choke back the rising lump in her throat, suc- ceeded in mopping up a few of the smarting tears on her pale cheeks, and then disconsolately sat on the box and kept staring intently at the third black light switch back-stage, with her knees drawn up under her and her chin resting in two moist, cupped palms. As hard as she could, Margie tried to keep back the vivid memory of those terrifying thoughts flashing through her mind in the brief four minutes on the stage. But it was impossible. Again, in thought, she stumbled up the four, grey-marble steps to

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HAIKU THE HOME COMING Scrunching footsteps as Snow falls gently--orange patch Of light-warm scents--home! EXCELSIOR Wind and rain battle. I laugh as I fight the stormw- What matter defeat! MARIORIE SMITH A silken silver WINTER Icicle clung to a bough Destitute of leaf. AUTUMN Flaming red and gold In a whirlwind swished above. Oh that I had wings! CECELIA ADELMAN

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the brilliantly-lighted stage and walked with quick, hurried steps to the piano. There, with unsteady fingers, she turned the white sheets of the accompaniment, reached page forty-two, and pressed it down. Now she was tuning up, her fingers and wrists feverishly twisting and push- ing, in the effort to move the pegs. As she stood there, left foot resting on the rung of the black piano bench, it seemed as if the white heat of millions of eyes was burning her, scorching her, boring into her, like the intense rays of a heat lamp. Millions of eyes-yet she could not distinguish one pair. And as she walked to the center-front of the platform, they seemed to follow her every movement with a quietness that was unbearable. Then, with a nervous bouncing and skittering of her well-rosined bow and a slightly-quivering fifth finger, she began. As her fingers slipped into the familiar notes of the music, her playing at first, to her at least, became almost mechanical. l-ler mind seemed cooly detached and unemotional and her thoughts wandered. Then little by little the spirit and meaning of the music seeped into her veins and lighted her mind with a sparkling gayety. As she played on and on, her taut muscles relaxed, and then it was that the delighted audience heard and appre- ciated the mastery and control of this fifteen-year old girl student. Sitting there on the dusty box, Margie suddenly looked up to find one of the judges beckoning to her from the stage. As she walked out, she saw, with his fiddle under his arm, the rosy-faced boy standing with a white printed paper in his hand-the paper an exact replica of the one which was then handed to her amid the enthusiastic applause of the audience. And what did it mean, this precious document? She scanned it wonderingly after she had left the stage and had receieved the congratulations and caresses of her parents and friends. A curving smile of joy lit up her face, for she had won' second prize-a three- year scholarship in the Conservatory! t lt was eleven o'clock when, going home, she passed the gleaming jewelry-store clock near the subway entrance. 1 . . Q . n . . n a Why Margie Pic-carrol young Miss Rawlinson exclaimed. Un- prepared? lGravelyl Well, see me at the end of the period. Five minutes after the bell had rung, a penitent but joyful Mar- jorie left Miss Rawlinson's room and hurried through the hall to her next class. Life now seemed such a glorious ringing melody. MARY TADLER