Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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The Yellow Roadster face and firm-set mouth betrayed a strong and decisive character. He had many acquaintances, but very few intimate friends. As he stepped into his automobile, he noticed a young boy purchas- ing a little roadster. The radiant look on the boy’s face showed plainer than words the lad’s pride in the new possession. He leaned back in his car and commanded his chauffeur to start. The little scene that Mr. Wellington had watched, recalled memories of his first car and before long he was in fine spirits. All of a sudden the car stopped and the chauffeur jumped out and said, “Just an accident, sor, but I thought hit would be best to stop, sor.” “Certainly, James,” replied his master. He looked on the wreckage indifferently, but suddenly his look turned to unrest and surprise. It was the boy that had just bought the car. It was his car that was damaged. The lad was looking at it to see if it couldn’t be repaired. But alas! it was beyond any repair and he had saved for such a long time to buy it, too. Mr. Wellington walked over to the boy and asked, “How did it happen, boy?” “It was my fault, sir,” he said. “You see I just bought it for my sick mother and I did not know how to drive very well and so I crashed into this other car.” Mr. Wellington liked the boy on the instant, for he had been very truthful about it. Then he asked, “What is your name, son?” “Allen Stewart,” he answered. “Allen Stewart!” cried the old man. “What is your mother’s name?” “Prescilla Stewart.” “I am a fool,” muttered the old man. “How could it ever be?” The boy was staring at the old man in amazement. “What is it, sir? Is there anything the matter?” he asked. Mr. Wellington looked at the boy. He had regained his self- control. “No, my boy! There is nothing the matter. But stay. What is your father’s name?” “Gorden Stewart, but he is dead. He was drowned at sea a long time ago, when I was He stopped short. Mr. Wellington had him by the arm. “Take R. WELLINGTON, a prominent business man, walked out of his office with an air of weariness. He was what the majority of people classed him, a millionaire. The rugged lines of his

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“Well — well — all right, I’ll trade. Only it’s no trade back. And if you all lose that knife, you cain’t have the dog back.’’ “Oh, Tillie, ah!” — Sunshine then ran to the place where Tillie hid the knife. So the transaction was made and Tillie found herself owner of a fine Scotch Collie that was almost as high as she was. For a few moments she wondered what she could call him. She could call him Lily May, since Lily May was no more — but somehow it didn’t seem just exactly respectful to do such a thing. Just as she was about to ask Sunshine’s help, an inspiration came to her. She remembered the white children, where Mammy worked, called their dog “Duke.’’ Why, of course it must be “Duke.” “Come on, Duke. Come with Tillie.” Duke rose and followed Tillie — out through the front gate to parade up and down with his proud mistress. Beside the rosebush, Lily May lay forgotten. LUCILE HARPER. THE WOOD VIOLET Under the shade of the sturdy oak, Fragile and sweet in its yellow cloak. The wood violet lifted its dainty flower. And found itself in a sylvan bower. There in the leafy shade it grew, Bending its head with the weight of the dew; Wishing to be like the poppy so gay, Blooming beside the much traveled highway. The poppy at eve was much crushed and bent, But the violet sweet, with well learned content, Thought of the safety of her own peaceful days. And hungered no more for the showier ways. BETTY BARBER.

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me to her, quick. Take me to her,” he cried. “Oh, boy, do you not remember me?” When they reached a house in a quiet side street, Mr. Wellington and Allen rushed up the sairs to Mrs. Stewart. She turned very white when she first saw him. “Gordon,” she gasped and stretched out her arms. After the story had been told of his rescue from the briny deep, he told them his memory had left him, because of the strain on his mind. Then when he was speaking to Allen, it had all come back, thanks to the “Yellow Roadster.” VIRGINIA FIELD. -o- The Great Game Jfts a T WAS the day of the big game. The Arc Zoo was playing the Dover Zoo for the baseball championship of Ammaldom. For the Arcs, “Teddy” Bear was pitching, and for the Dovers, “Lion” King. The Arcs were up to bat first. The crowd in the stands was screeching, yowling, hissing, growling or making noises in any way that suited their fancy. Polly Parrot, the umpire, called out, “Play Ball!” and the game was on. The first few innings passed uneventfully, it being a pitcher’s battle. At the beginning of the fifth inning, the score was tied and the Arcs were up to bat. “Lion” King delivered one over the plate with terrific speed. “Billie” Greyhound met it with a resounding crack. It traveled over the left fielder’s head and “Billie” flashed around the bases for a home run. The crowd went wild. Then “Lion” King settled down to work and neither side scored. As the last of the ninth came, and the score was 1 to 0 against them, things looked black for the Dovers. “Daddy” Spider for the Dovers came to bat and fanned. Then “Rattler” Snake came to bat and knocked a liner to center field and wriggled to third base. Then “Bud” Kangaroo came to bat. Every eye was fastened on him and there was breathless suspense. “Teddy” Bear wound up and threw. “Bud” hit it with all his might. The ball shot over the short-stop’s head and rolled out into the field. In four mighty leaps “Bud” was home. He had done the seemingly impossible and made each base in one jump to win the game for the Dovers. ROBERT SHIREY.