Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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28 T H E T A K G E T “Huh! I never fought an Indian in my life,” he said. “Well then who was Colonel Simp- son?” I asked quickly. “He is an old farmer who knows all about pests, and this war I re- lated is about the time we drove the horned caterpillars out of our orchards.” DONALD KITZMILLER. SEVEN LONG YEARS. There was a maiden sweet and fair, A hey down, down, adown. Whose heart was very, very, sair, All for her true love in Islingtown. Her true love he was a gallant knight. As brave as brave might be. But he went forth into the night. And to Islington ne’er returned he. ’Tis seven long years since he’s been gone, ’Tis seven long years this day, ’Tis seven long years since in Lover’s Lane, He promised to love me for aye. O, false were his vows, as false as could be, When he promised those kind words that day, But, now he lies ’neath yon green- wood tree. To sleep for aye and aye. MARJORIE MOORE. o- MARY’S LITTLE CYCLE CAR. Mary had a cycle car. As red as any beet; And every time she took it out. They heard the noise in Crete. It speeded up the road one day. Which was against the law; When for the fine the judges asked — She had to ask her paw. A CHANCE If good old Santa Claus forgets The things you long for most. Cheer up and suffer no regrets — There’s still the parcel post. WILLIAM BOONE. AN ALASKAN DOG RACE. A large crowd was collected in front of “Stagger Inn,” Dawson’s most frequented place of amusement. It was ' the morning of the great “All Alaskan sweep stakes.” The various dog teams were being made ready for the early morning start. The race began at Dawson and ended at Candle, requiring at least five days for the trip. There were five entries lined up, impatient for the report of the start- er’s gun. One of these teams was driven by Sandy McGee, the most popular man in Dawson and best dog driver in America. Four of the dog teams were composed of six dogs while Sandy had only five hitched to the sled. The sixth dog was to be found on the sled. His name was Jack and he was one of the best sled dogs in the north country and had remarkable strength and endurance. At last the shot was fired and off went the teams amid the shouts of the onlookers. On and on they went. Two sleds soon began to gain. One of them was that of Sandy. For two whole days these teams kept neck and neck, only stopping for food, but still Jack rode proudly on the sled. On the fourth day, Sandy’s rival began to gain but still the dog on the sled was not used. The fifth day came out with Sandy half a mile in the rear but he followed doggedly with his tired team. Now in the distance gleamed the white tents and shacks of Candle. Sandy halted his team, fed and patted them, and said to Jack, “Now, old man, it’s your turn. Do your best.” Jack was harnessed with the exhausted dogs. He barked and frisked and pulled at the tugs until the order to “push on” was given. Jack’s spirit seemed to inspire his team mates and they pulled man- fully for two hours and succeeded in overtaking the leading team. They were now about ten miles from Candle and all the dogs but Jack were nigh exhausted. He, with all his strength, pulled dogs and sled the last ten miles and reached the goal, two minuits in advance of the- rival team! HOWARD IMOORE. o

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THE TARGET 27 of Bernice Peiser. Kaarlo Ponsi will doubtless miss the joy of depositing notes so skil- fully under a yellow s heet on the instructor’s desk in Room 3 for his boon companon. Pickles Horstmann, hut he will pass on the privilege of using the same mail box to Gladys Alexander. Kenneth, (Frequently known as Sherrill) Connor bequeaths his aff- able, loq uacious manner to Helen Street. Alma Smith advises Evelyn Mitchel to keep up to date the portfolio of the very latest news, just off the bat, entrusted to her charge. Mc- Kinley’s news-agency will thrive un- der your leadership, Evelyn, if you keep up the pace already set. Ethel Quick is no longer to be en- vied, for the tons of knowledge so securely packed in algebra cells have been freighted to Roy Converse’s dome. Edith Barry’s “childish treble” is to be the property of Herbert Daube. Josephine (Jibbs’ love for the car- dinal can not be disputed, but all her cherished posessions of that hue must be passed over to Ruth Bowen. Ruth Gompertz, our faithful editor finds the pressure of duties and tresses so burdensome that the bur- den must be lightened; hence a portion of the “Medusa” locks fall to the share of Willa Middlehoff. Josephine Halverson relinquishes all claims to her black and white checked coat for the convenience Fannie McHenry’s smile, warranted to wear well and bring joy to the hearts of all solicitors for pictures, “Target” subscriptions, etc., is to be placed at the disposal of lone Crayne. Owen Onions Schloss leaves his English book well padded with defi- nitions and one perfectly good “Over- land” to Jack Holman. Frances Tash has a first class memory, and we defy you to deny the fact, which is to become the much- needed property of Jimmie Grace Mills. Geraldine Quillinan acknowledges with sincere thanks the receipt of Frances Stone’s shy and unobtrusive manner. Dorothy Sawyer gladly disposes of a surplus stock of “Classic Myths” knowledge for the edification of Beulah Butler. One red sweater is Doris Sawyer’s gift to Marjorie Herrman. Louise Thatcher’s motto, “To be seen and not heard” is to be the prize of William Lefty Forman. (Signed) THE DECEMBER CLASS OF NINETEEN FOURTEEN. o A GREAT BATTLE. “I remember in the spring of 18 5, what a great battle we had. Old Colonel Simpson led our forces,” said Perkins, an old story-teller seating himself in a chair. “Did you fight on the Northern or Southern side?” I asked, forgetting that the Civil War was over years before this battle occurred. But I wanted to know the pain uiars of this engagement. “Neither,” was his quick reply, as he turned a blank face toward me. I began to think of what war it was and finally gave it up as I did not know of any during 1895. “We had large poles to knock them down, glue to paint the bottom of the trees, with, and spraying ma- chines. We went out to Jim Thomp- son’s apple orchard where the enemy was the thickest. We soon had all of them wiped out of his place. We then went to all the farms within a radius of fifteen miles of the town and in two days there was not a foe near Pumkinville,” he proudly ex- claimed. I had been thinking about what kind of an enemy would fight in trees and would have to be knocked down with poles, sprayed and have the trees glued which would kill them quickly. Probably they were fighting monkeys but then there were none in this country. Then I con- cluded they were fighting Indians. “How many did you kill?” I asked. “Oh, we must have got a few mil- lions,” replied Perkins easily. “A few millions!” I exclaimed. “Why. there are hardly that many Indians in the United States. Who was their leader. Sitting Bull?” Though on second thought I knew he had been dead sometime. “See here, sonny, what are you talking about?” Perkins asked me. “Why, about that terrible battle you had with the Indians in which they lost so many men.”

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THE TARGET 29 THE JUGGLERS OF CEYLON. “Hear that weird noise?” said some one. “It sounds like a flute to me.” Every body on the veranda sat still and listened. It was about four o’clock and tea had just been served. The hot tropical sun now allowed the guests to stroll about the hotel gar- dens but many remained on the ver- anda to talk of their travels and experiences. The sound drew nearer and up the driveway came a curious procession, of five Indian jugglers carrying some large baskets. The native in the lead played upon a reed pipe and wore a plaid skirt, and a yellow turban. There on the gravel drive- way in front of the veranda they halted and laid down their baskets. They formed a semi-circle and sat down. Everything was now ready and the reed pipes sent forth their strange notes. There were three small bas- kets in the center and when the music started the lids slowly rose a nd from the baskets three cobras came forth; after rising to their height, they swayed to and fro. Then with the occasional flash of red tongue and fang, they subsided into their baskets. The leader, a famous juggler, stepped forth and placed a small object in his mouth and . then took long breaths. Soon flames and smoke issued forth and continued for several minutes. This Indian juggler received a medal from Queen Victoria when he performed before her in England. The others did many tricks which puzzled and a- mused the spectators. The best trick was the basket trick. A native woman doubled her- self into a small round basket and the lid was then tightly put on. The others thrust swords through the basket and then called to her. A faint answer came, which grew louder, the lid was opened and the woman was helped out unhurt. The mango seed trick was t he next per- formed. The juggler dug a hole, planted a mango seed in it and sprinkled it with water. He then placed a cloth over it and began to play on his reed pipe. Presently the cloth quivered and slowly rose. When it had risen about fourteen inches, the juggler took the cloth off and there stood a mango plant. These tricks might not appear wonderful on the stage but right there on the ground before you it seemed marvelous and impossible A collection having been taken up, the jugglers departed leaving their spectators thoroughly mystified. LAWSON POSS. o BUBBLING BLOOD. The pirate ship “Golden Crescent” anchored near an uncharted island. Just as the sun was going down, the time when the condemned victims were cast overboard, the Captain, Curly Beard, called to his first mate. “Bring up old one-eyed Joe,” he said. The officer brought up an evil- looking man, who had been discov- ered trying to poison the food of the master of the vessel. “What have you to say for your- self?” gruffly asked Curly Beard, eyeing the victim tor a minute. “You can drown my body, . but I’ll follow you and more than once, you’ll see my blood bubbiing up. You look into the ocean in the morn- ing and see if you don’t,” growled One-eyed Joe. As most pirates are very super- stitious, the Captain could not forget the last words of his hated compan- ion, and dawn found him on the deck, anxiously scanning the sea. His weather-beaten face grew strangely pallid as he saw, not far from the prow of the vessel, a spot upon the water, red as blood, heaving and bubbling. “Here, Sam,” he said to the officer who came from the bridge, “take this bomb, and, see that red spot yonder? Blow it to China.” Then Curley Beard hurried into his cabin and locked the door. When the mate returned to the ship, he knocked twice at the Cap- tain’s door before it was unlocked. “I thought, sir.” he said, holding out a filmy red bunch,” you might like to see w ' hat queer seaweed it was.” ' ■ RUTH SORRICK. o