Westwood High School - Chipmunk Yearbook (Westwood, CA)

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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.

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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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The Chipmunk Page Twenty-seven “Amos and me went to the store for his mother and were late in getting back as we had a flat tire and had to carry the groceries and come to school on a flat.” Dreamy got his slip and wondered at the broad smile on the “prof.'s'' face. After school one night they met and started to plot for their day off on the first. “You come to my house at five o'clock and get me out of bed. Dreamy.” “All right, but don’t kick if I have to throw ice water on you to get you up.” “Between now and then keep your eyes open for tires, and some change for gas and oil. A good cushion wouldn’t go bad, either. After more days of bait digging, tire collecting, and cushion hunting passed, they made the startling discovery that the first fell on Saturday, and they would have no fun playing hookey. —E. S.. ’26. THE SNOWSTORM The snow had been falling all afternoon. The wind was blowing strongly and carried the snow so swiftly that when it came into contact with anything solid, it struck with such force that it clung and covered everything with a blanket, fleecy white. To step outdoors was like stepping into fairyland. Every branch on the trees was weighted with its wealth of dazzling whiteness. The trunks, like- wise. were covered and were, against the leaden colored sky, marvelous, indeed, to behold. The houses were like fairy castles and one tiny house, enclosed by a fence made from pickets, reminded one of the old witch’s home in the story of Hansel and Gretel. You could almost expect to see the old witch herself come riding out of the chimney on her broomstick and away to the witch’s revel. You felt so certain that you were in fairyland that it would not have been at all surprising to have looked in at one of the open windows from which the light was streaming, and see a fairy ball, with a king and queen and every- thing else needed to make up a fairy ball. Every little sound of the wind was a fairy harp, the music sometimes being sad and low, at other times so gay and happy that you wondered if the little folk had ever had a care or sorrow. Children, fairy children, of course, since no others could possibly fit in with these wonderful surroundings, were out making snow men and playing snow- ball. It then began to snow again, and since neither human beings nor fairies either, are supposed to stay out all night in a snowstorm, even to admire such a beautiful world, you took yourself home. —E. S.. ’25. THE HAUNTED HOUSE It was an old house, dilapidated and weather-beaten. One corner of the porch was sagging: the floor was rotten and the chimney had tumbled down. A few cottonwood trees, leafless and gray, stuck their bare tips above the house. The moon was just coming up and the black and low-hung clouds hurried by. A cold night wind rustled the yellow leaves. The only cheerful sound came from a tiny brook that ran noisily past the cottonwood trees. The wind made a strange noise as it whistled through the empty windows. I decided to enter the house. I had just pulled open the weather-beaten and creaking door when I heard a laugh.