Westfield High School - Weather Vane Yearbook (Westfield, NJ)

Page 33 text:

THE WEATHER VANE :n A FABLE The devil was seated on his throne. Around him shone a hot red light diffused hy the horning of many tires. Although these fires were sonu distanc; away, they were so hig that their light shone over everything. They formed a great circle. Inside this circle men were seated at card tables playing cards. They seemed to lie having a good uough time except that they were all in full dres suits, which seemed to annoy them a great deal. The devil was bored, dreadfully bored. Keally, living the devil was such a stupid job. There were only so many possible ways of torturing people, and he bad used them all many times over. He wished he could think of some way to torture the p.ople who were not yet dead. If he could only let some evil loose on earth! The (treat Inventor sat in his -pacions living-room before a softly glowing lire, thinking, thinking. He was on the trail of another great invention. He was noted for the simplicity yet usefulness of his inventions. There were no lights in the room except that cast by the tire. It bathed his beautiful daughter in a ruddy light. She was sitting at his feet gazing into the tire and dreaming dream--. She was perfectly happy and contented. She laid her head on her father's knee and sighed happily. She raised her head and her hair fell down. Meanwhile the Great luv. ntor kept on thinking, thinking. He loved his daughter dearly, but her hair was messy and unsightly, always falling around. Why couldn't she keep it up even with the aid of the best hairpins in the world, which he had imported for her especial benefit .’ Still lie reflected, sin1 was no different from others. All girls' hair looked sloppy. Girls were big fishes anyway, he thought. Big fishes, said his subconscious mind, are caught in nets. Why, questioned his whole mind, “why couldn't girls' hair be caught in nets.’ Why not, indeed The devil was seated on his throne. His kingdom was the same scene as ever, yet he was no longer bored. In fact, he was vastly amused. He had caused the Great Inventor to invent hair-nets. He was supremely happy!!! • • • The Great Inventor and his daughter were seated in the spacious living-room of the Great Inventor’s house. The soft glow from the fire made the only light in the room. The Great Inventor's daughter sat at his feet and gazed at the tire. She laid her head on her father's knee. She raised it, and although her hair remained in perfect order, there was an almost imperceptible ripping sound. Her eyes tilled with tears. She

Page 32 text:

30 THE WEATHER VANE at a time; the other one waiting outside should call for the police 11 ; thought it necessary. Who was to go in! The only fair way to uetlt was to toss a coin, so, “heads,” and Dot won. When Dot walked in the door, she entered a dark room, the excuse for any sort of a light being a shimmering curtain at one en • The air was heavy with incense, and the only sound was a cat-like treat he heard from behind the curtain! Oh. why had she ever come into that plaet . Hut it had been her idea and she had to stand it out. atuuo pnuq 0 |I|-au?|0 k pan J{ | B paj.ied un?i uu oqj uopptis jo (I through it, and seemed to feci about in the air for something: then 1 1 curtain opened entirely, and tin re stood a most horrible looking creator dressed like a Sheik. He just stood still with his arms stretched for'Viil y ami Dot felt that In was hypnotizing her. Then he took a step fopva? and she. for some unknown reason, took one forward also. Then the “Sheiky” person started coming nearer and near r her. at each step saying, “I’m so happy. I’m so happy.” She tried to shriek, but could do no more than open lur mouth. Surely In was hypnotizing her! Finally, he was almost touching her. His gaze was still fixed on her eyes, and still in that awful, monotonous voice he said, “I’m so happy. 1 m so happy.” 11 is hands were about one inch from h r face when she, with some forced power, lifted her hand and struck him, because her mother had always told her to strike a happy medium. Mary Douglas. ‘23. SUNRISE In a clear, clear sky of deepest blue. The glorious sun of color red. Rises slowly into view. Between tinted clouds o’erhead. Up from behind the stately pines It slowly wends its way. And every beam that from it shines Proclaims the coming day. It paints the landscape far and near. It vanquishes black night. And every beam sends out good cheer By its path of golden light. Gertrude Taylor, ’2G.

Page 34 text:

32 THE WEATHER VANE sighed deeply. “The seventh,' she moaned. “What?” inquired her father. “The seventh hair net I’ve ripped today. she wept. “Oh, why did you ever invent hair-nets? They are ruining my happiness! When my best beloved conns to call I dare not greet him for fear he will rip my hairnet. 1 dare not do anything for fear I will rip my hair net. Oh, oh. oh!!” So it was all over the land. Sadness reigned everywhere among women. And so it is this day. And that is the true story of how hair-nets came to be. Sarah Meyers, 24. ON GOING TO BED “Come. .John, it's time for you to go to bed. How many times we hear that admonition repeated, until finally, exasperated even beyond the limits of her seemingly limitless patience, Mother calls, “John, I want you to go to bed. right away.” This in a tone which arouses even your sleepy mind to instinctive obedience. So you put aside your book and laboriously undress, and, unless you are very tired, meticulously fold the trousers and hang them up. having first emptied the pockets on the table. The first of this series of seemingly Herculean labors performed, your long day already having a soporfacient effect on you, you “gang along” to the bathroom, where your nightly ablutions are performed. You clean your teeth, all the time swearing, in a long stream of profanity which makes the cleaning doubly necessary, at the makers of that vile-tasting tooth-paste that your sister persists in using, and which you sometimes mistake for your own. When that is done, back over the cold floors you go. hopping from rug to rug until you reach your room. You open your windows, hurry through your prayers with that night air going over your back and through your pajamas, and then hurry in to kiss mother, who is already half asleep. By this time you are fully awake, but crawl into the clean sheets, snap out the light, and are wafted away to dream land. 1 have heard people remark, “Oh, if sleeping were only unnecessary —if I only didn't have to go to bed.” Then, in an effort to be fair-minded, they will go on to tell of our dreams, and the pleasure they are, and the ideas obtained from them, but they always end with a complaint at the hours “wasted” in sleeping. It seems to me that they skip over an important phase of the question. If it were not for sleep, what would relieve the monotony of life? They forget that, after all. there is a Supreme Power, who, having the