Westwood High School - Chipmunk Yearbook (Westwood, CA)

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The Chipmunk Page Twenty-five A CLASSY MYTH Marguerite was troubled. She was young, fairly beautiful, and meek, but in all her twenty years no knight bad won her colors in tournament. She was down-hearted and discouraged, thinking that she was doomed to be an old maid. But there was one chance. Merlin, the seer, prophet and magician, could surely do something to make her charming and attractive. So to Merlin she went and meekly told her story. Merlin, the wise father of his people, had a plan immediately. He told Marguerite to close her eyes and when she again opened them she beheld a wondrous strange vision. Before her stood a boyish looking figure dressed in a long, tightly-wrapped dress. The face had strange red spots in the cheeks, the lips were painted in a crimson cupid’s bow and a cigarette was held alternately between the lips, then between two fingers, the eyebrows were shaved to a very slender line and all this was topped by a mop of short hair which was cut in the back so there was scarcely any at all. The curious figure took out a small round, gold box and added a little red there and here and then some white and then turned and gazed at Merlin and Marguerite. Marguerite had been gazing with amazement and now said, “What is it?” “A twentieth century flapper,” answered Merlin, with a twinkle in his eyes. “She is going to show you how to manage men.” There followed days of instruction and work and after a while Marguerite appeared exactly like the flapper. Merlin then sent the flapper back to her own century and Marguerite set forth to conquer worlds unknown. There was to be a large ball which everyone for miles around was going to attend. Marguerite decided to start her work here. She dressed for the ball with great care and when she entered the ball room she was sure that she would create an impression. As people saw her they stood petrified and then a great gasp ran around the room. What was this strange creature? Surely it must be some creature of Merlin’s. But she seemed life-like and real. The ball started. The stately dances were executed gracefully and the immense skirts of the women swayed and swung with the motion of the dance. In great contrast was Marguerite with her long straight lines. The men had rallied and she had partners a-plenty. At first they had looked upon her in something of scorn mixed with admiration but had soon come to be all admira- tion. Then came the hour when Marguerite intended to have her final triumph. As a rather lively dance started, instead of joining the others as usual, the heroine of the evening put one of her lovely bare arms around the shoulder of her partner, put her other hand in his. Then started the most amazing dance ever seen, a fox trot. The men liked the short hair, the rouged cheeks, the cigarettes, the unusual clothing, but they were afraid of this creature who did not hesitate to put her arms around a man while she danced. The day after the ball found Marguerite again in the home of Merlin. Again she told him her tale of woe. “I was a huge success at first,” she sobbed. “But no one is wearing my colors in tournament and I'm a failure.” Merlin thought for a while, then said, “My dear, these men are not far advanced, but I am a man of all the ages and I understand you, and I have loved you. If you will be mistress of my borne, I will be very happy.” And Marguerite was happy and satisfied and felt that her work had not been for naught. M. W., ’28.

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Page Twenty-four The Chipmunk little, the coach had shaken his head grimly and turned away from the track, the last time Vogel ran before the meet. The field events were held in the forenoon and in the afternoon the track events. The score stood 63-65 in favor of Alden Hi. With Vogel winning the mile run. the score would be 68-70 and Alden would win the meet: if he lost. Baird Hi would again win the meet, as she had for the last three years. The bleachers were full, and the sides of the track lined with spectators, as the milers toed the scratch. Lee had drawn the fourth lane, while Michaels, Baird's star runner, drew third. The other two lanes were taken up by the opponent's second-raters. Second-raters, the thought flashed bitterly through his mind. After all, that's all he was, a second-rater. He scarcely heard the starter’s voice as he said. Get on your mark!” Ahead of him, on the home stretch, six white parallel lines stretched out, and standing on the side lines he made out the coach and Captain Peters. Get set!” the starter’s voice seemed miles away—crack!—they were off. scarcely a moment, so it seemed to be. since he was warming up lazily on the track. On the turn, Lee held himself back and took third place in the line, striding out after victory. Michaels was running the second, with a second-rater ahead of him. The positions were unchanged on the quarter and still on the half. As yet, Vogel had stood the pace: on the five-eighths mile his legs commenced to tire. Here the last man pulled up in the lead, trying to entice Lee to follow, but to no avail. He dropped back, finished, his race run. “Number one,” said Lee to himself, and plugged steadily onward. At the three-quarter post, the other second-rater pulled ahead, then dropped back, done for. Number two,” Lee mentally chalked him up. Now Michaels really began to extend himself, and slowly pulled ahead. At the seven-eighths post, Lee thought his legs would crumple under him, but he gasped an extra big breath and swung out after Michaels. Closer and closer he came: closer and closer came the tape. But black dots began to flash back and forth before his eyes, and a thunderous roaring came in his ears. His legs wobbled crazily. What was everybody yelling about, anyway?—he was so tired, but he ran on. “Beat Baird, beat Baird, kept ringing in his ears. Why was the end so far away? He wanted to rest. Now things were going black. His legs moved up and down and out like a piece of machinery. Now he was abreast of Michaels, and twenty-five feet to go. He called up the last of his reserve power in one mighty effort that flung him across the tape, a victor. The coach caught him as he fell, and heard the strange words coming from his lips: Number three, that’s all, number three.” —E. M.. '26. ODE TO A SCHOOL TEACHER Unappreciated tasks! All is given,—little asked. Quiet courage through the years, Stifled sighs and unshed tears. When your hair has turned to grey. There will come a brighter day. You will win a harp of gold. Then your virtues will be told. How you held until the last An unappreciated task. —R. L. R„ '21.

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Page Twenty- six The Chipmunk WHEN MY UNCLE WENT GOLD PROSPECTING In the Black Hills, South Dakota, my uncle used to do a good deal of gold prospecting. On these prospecting trips he was almost always accompanied by a friend who had a very nervous disposition. He would be so nervous, in fact, that he would start his donkey on the gallop if he saw horsemen in the distance for fear they would make him show where his claim was or hold him up for his gold. One afternoon as my uncle was returning from a prospect in the hills with his friend, he noticed that his companion was particularly nervous. He knew that the nervousness must be due to the fact that they had seen some prospectors a little way behind them not long ago. When they arrived at their cabin my uncle’s friend immediately sought out a hiding place for his gold, and when they were ready to retire later that evening he was sure to bolt the doors and windows. About midnight my uncle was startled out of his sleep by a loud report as of a gun. “I’m shot! I'm shot! They've got me now! They've got me now!” he heard his companion yelling. Let me see where you are shot, man?” my uncle asked, coming over to where he lay in bed rocking back and forth. My uncle gently lifted his com- panion’s hand from the place where he thought the bullet hole to be. and upon close scrutiny he could not discern even the slightest mark, except that of finger prints. Presently the odor of yeast was plainly recognizable in the room, and it was not till then that my uncle had the slightest idea of what the cause of the affair was. He remembered that upon leaving home for the Black Hills he had taken with him a bottle of yeast. He now went over to the place where he had left the bottle and noticed that the bottle was no longer in a vertical position and that it was corkless and, what's more, he noticed that there was yeast all over the floor. C. P„ '28. THE MODERN TOM SAWYER AND HUCK FINN “Only ten days till fishing season opens,” shouted Dreamy in his efforts to get Amos out of bed in time for school. I don’t care. Lemme sleep,” yawned Amos. Let you sleep nothin’! We can't play hookey today ’cause it’ll look worse when we lay off to go fishing the first. Doggon’, but I wish that school house 'ud burn up.” Shut up, an’ lemme sleep, you dreamy idiot,” expostulated the furious Amos. “Well, I’m going to school and let you crank your Dusenburg alone.” replied Dreamy. “Just a minute. Dreamy, I'll be right with you,” hastily cut in Amos. Golly, this wreck started easy this morning,” puffed Amos after an hour's cranking. Well, that’s that. Let’s get to school. We’ve only got a minute by my wind-jammer.” They arrived at school one minute late and bravely faced the “prof.” We went to Clear Creek to get my mother some water, as she is sick,” was Amos's alibi. Then in came Dreamy who had remained to block the wheels so the Dusenburg Ford would not run away.