Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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THE T A E G E T () CUPID IS BLIND. The sun slowly traveled toward the end of his long journey and the busy crowds on the broad street quick- ened their steps toward home. The little birds with plaintive chirps, cuddled down for the night in their cosy nests among the waving tree tops; the lonely cry of the whip-poor- will could be heard from a neigh- boring fruit tree, while the ringing laughter of happy maidens sounded across the drowsy silence, and the crooning of a mother to her sleepy child came from the open door of the little white summer cottage. A young man with his companion sat upon the wide steps of the vine- covered piazza. He was a hand- some youth, slender and clean cut, but showing in every line of his slight limbs a hidden strength. His hair curled back from a broad fore- head and ' his dark eyes shone from beneath long lashes. But the ' girl, his companion, was homely. Her cheeks were an un- natural crimson and her nose was broad and flat. Her hair was combed severely over each ear, while her scrawny arms hung stiffly at her sides. Her dark print calico dress fell in stiff folds about her large feet, but he didn’t care, or notice her faults ‘as he clasped her to his breast. “Hove is blind,” they say. But then, he was a tiny tot of four and she was his dear, old sawdust doll. ‘ RITA ADAMSEX. — — o NAGASAKI. Nagasaki is a small, beautiful sea- port in the southern part of Japan. When we entered the harbor, we sailed through a narrow channel not quite a mile long. The water was a light green that blended harmonious ly with the ttrees and shrubs on either side of us. » About us were large storlts and pheasants, flying at leisure. As we approached we saw a large lake with the town built around it. Nagasaki has no wooden wharves, but low cement ones. Thevlake or harbor is sur- rounded by high mountains. When • we- anchored off the bay. large .mmibeys; of small boats came up to take us ashore. We hired a boat permanently, and the owner hoisted the American flag on it. After we were examined, we went ashore, and at the landing saw a large hotel flying the American col- ors. As we walked up the street we saw men and women making hats and slippers, and carving wood and brass, and other bric-a-brac. We got in a jinrikisha. and rode about the town, enjoying many interest- ing sights. Along one path winding around the mountains were beautiful jars of burning incense. This road we learn- ed, led to a temple, which we de- sired to visit. When we arrived we were surprised to find a long narrow building, at the end of which was a large picture of New York and the Brooklyn Bridge. Only my sister was allowed to enter with her shoes on. We men and boys had to take ours off. Within, the priests were having tea to which we were invited, but we surely found it hard to sit on the floor as they did. After living in the town for a year we left for America, the band on the Battleship Oregon playing “The Star Spangled .Banner” as we pushed out. ARTHUR GUNDERSEN. o KING RICHARD AND THE BOLD ARCHER. Come, listen to me, you gallants so free. And I’ll tell you a story quite true. That happened many years ago. And I’ll tell it now to you. Cruel Richard on his death-bed lay. And round him his counsellors three; Before him stood a bold archer. Had shot arrows at him three. Quoth Richard, “What have I done to thee. That you shot me with arrows three?” “By the faith of my body,” the bold archer he said, “You have shot my brothers three.” “By the faith of my body,” King Richard he said, “I forgive you before I dee,” And turning to his counsellors. He ordered him set free. PHILIP’ DOWDELL.

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THE TARGET o here, and carrying that crazy tray and feelin’ like a fool I makes for a table. “Before I’d gone two steps I hears a kind of mild hallooing back of me. I turned, and there was half the world and his wife callin’ me back. 1 weren’t surprised. Nothin’ short of sudden death could ’uv surprised me then, so back I goes and a lady perched up on a hen roost glares at my tray. ‘Praps she’s seein’ if I’ve got anything that ’ll be bad for me’, thinks I, but she jest gives me a coupon affair, (which of course I didn’t any more know what to do with than I knew what to do with a squalling baby,) and then I asked in a kind of mild despair, “Well now may I eat it?” MURIEL OAKESHOTT o A FISH STORY “Skinney,” said Bob,“tell us about your vacation last summer.” “Well,” snorted Skinney,“it isn’t much but I did have several ex- citing experiences.’ ' Skinney was the son of Squire Jones but it seemed his father did not have very much effect upon his boy for Skinney was often referred to when the boys were discussing fish stories. The boys were seated upon a bench in Skinney’s back yard and having nothing to do were spinning yarns. “Well,” again snorted Skinney, “did I ever tell about the fish I caught in Coon’s bay?” His ex- pected answer was the shake of Bob’s head. Skinney then showed a pleasant look and commenced by saying, “It must have been in July when the cods were running good when I was invited by Old Salt Joe to go fishing. He had a sort of third hand dingey and in this he made his living by fishing. “I had made his acquaintance one day while I was tramping about the beach ana he asked me to go with him. Well, we started one morning about five o’clock and made a good run up to the reefs. We fished for about an hour without any success and taking the matter in hand I said, ‘Joe, let’s go farther out.’ Joe nodded and I started to row while he took the helm. “After rowing for a good while I was tired out. I had no sooner thrown my line into the water than the boat lurched to one side and I was pulled- almost out. ‘Hold hard!’ ‘Hold hard!’ shouted Joe and taking the oars he pulled tor all he was worth. It was of no use, the boat did not move and as I looked over the rail I could see foam and spray everywhere and a large blackish- red tail thrashing the water. “Joe, seeing that it was of no use to row, stopped and watched the fish which at that moment was pull- ing us towards ' shore at a great rate. Picking up a large knife, I re- solved to cut the line, but Joe stopped me saying, “Don’t cut, youngster, cause he will have us in shore in a few minutes.’ I did not cut and within twenty minutes he had us near the beach. “The fish saw his mistake too late. We were soon out in the water, which was only three feet deep, and Joe, seizing the knife reached under the fish’s head and cut its throat; the water was soon red and with the help of some lookerson we got the fish on shore. It weighed five hun- dred pounds and measured fifteen feet; we sold it for |1000 to the Government.” At this moment of the story, Skin- ney was interrupted by a low langh and somewhat sheepishly eyeing Bob, he saw him doubled up with laughter. “Well, if you don’t believe it go and ask ‘Old Salt Joe’,” said Skinney who knew he was on the safe side for Coon’s Bay was one hundred miles away and there was no such character as “Old Salt Joe.” DUDLEY BENNETT. TO YOU Oh here’s to the holly, the bright green holly. And here’s to the evergreen tree! The days are long, the days are cold. But our hearts are gay and free. Oh here’s to the holly, the green- wreathed holly. And here’s to Old Santa too; For Christrnas is here, with its joy and its ch er. And here’s a, Merry Christmas to you. • DOROTHY STAATS o-

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THE TARGET 7 VESPERS. Softly and gently the vesper hymn rose and fell, gradually fading into a sweet, tender tone of prayer and pity, bringing forth a note of earnest appeal which inspired the impetuous spirit of youth and stimulated the tired heart of age. Casually thinking, you would pre- sume that the evening anthem was the work of the choir, but, feeling deeper into the undercurrent of har- mony, you would find that its beauty, its tenderness, the very soul, lay in the organ alone. The symphony grew stronger and surged into richness and power. Its tone rang out clear and strong, find- ing an answering chord among the chimes of the belfry. The pillars of the nave trembled, the rood screen vibrated, the music filled every nook and cranny of the old cathedral, then ceased — a tense moment. A low minor note came, — a chord, a note — and the congregation breathed again. As the old organist allowed his fingers to improvise, he mused and nodded over his keys. “What a task it had been! Was he weakening? Why did the pedals seem so far and impossible to reach? Had the organ bench been raised? Surely not. Why had the chords seemed so difficult to hold? Could he not remember when a boy had nearly burst a blood- vessel pumping for him? Why had the young minor canon insisted up- on his being helped up to the or- gan? Had he seemed pale or feeble to-night? Of course not!” And a chord flung out defiance, but quickly weakened. “Anyhow, had he not a cottage for Beth and a comfortable little income waiting for her each month? Had he not just received a message from London, saying that his last oration had achieved a triumph before the critics and clergy, and were not the arias of “Judas Maccabeus” down in black and white, and the great chorus even being sung by the ca- thedral choir? Perhaps it would be better that he lie by the side of Martha in the quiet, peaceful church- yard. Perhaps she would have it so.” The fingers relaxed, the head drooped forward and he slipped quietly into a deep vale of darkness. The choir had passed out and was hastily disrobing. The curate, step- ping from the sacristy, accosted the minor canon. “Where is he?” he asked. In answer, the minor canon turned and darted up to the organ loft. With his snowy head’ resting on hands that still spanned the loved keys, the old musician’s face shone like marble. “My God!” breathed the young man, and then he answered tlie an- xious questioning of the curate at the foot of the staircase — “A celestial vesper is now in har- mony with the old man’s notes and peace reigns.” HENRY C. THOMAS. o THE WINNING TALLY The football game between Merrill and Newport had just started. Both teams were well prepared for the battle and fought hard but neither side scored the first half The second half opened with a few changes on both sides. Jack Ridley, Captain of the Merrill eleven, sig ' nailed for a forward pass but New- port took the ball away and started to run down the field but a Merrill man kicked it back. So it went, back and forth, neither side gaining or losing until at last there re- mained but five minutes to play. Suddenly from out of a scrim- mage emerged a figure wearing the colors of Merrill College. Plainly in his arm could be seen the football. He started towards Newport’s goal. Somq one of the Newport team nush- ed liim out of the way. On he sped ; the stands were jumping, cheering — some one tackled him— he fell heav- ily on the turf and the ball flew from his hold. “Billy Bobscraft, Rah-Rah-Rah-Billy Bobscraft,” shouted the Newport root- ers. For Billy Bobscraft had secured the ball and started down ,the field. His fellows, soon rallied, . kept all men of the Merrill team away. On he sped gaining every step; yard lines passed like streaks. Billy began to weaken. . He shouted the signal for a pass; he threw the bail to Crawford, the big quarter- back, who, being sturdy,,, started on.