Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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I am sorry, son, but it is not ours. It belongs to the United States ' Government, replied Mr. Robinson. With that remark, he blew the whistle several times, and a crew of men appeared. What ' s going on here? asked the man in the best looking uniform. We found, and we return the submarine No. S 43. Will you come aboard and inspect it so as to see that we have not harmed it in any man- ner? said Mr. Robinson. My goodness, said the officer, that submarine sank a year ago. It was supposed to have crashed. We had surmised so, sir, said Mr. Robinson. As they climbed down the conning tower, the story was briefly told. When they reached the bottom of the ladder, the officer said, My, what a maze of ropes. Where is your crew? Right here, said Mr. Robinson. It consists of John Smith, my son Bob Robinson, and myself. Well, Mr. Robinson, said the officer, we shall report this to Wash- ington, and you will shortly hear from us. A week later, word came that they would receive the submarine as a reward because it was old- fashioned and could no longer be used in active service. Carleton Cross. The zAir Mail Oh! the roar of the motor, the whir of the plane, Going onward and onward through sunshine or rain, Going onward and onward through hail or through sleet, Speeds steadily forward this swift ship and fleet. Its pilot is daring; its pilot is bold. Its pilot has faced many danges untold. Yet daytime or nighttime he ' s true to his trust For the service ' s law is, To do this he must! O ' er hill and o ' er valley, o ' er vale and o ' er stream; Then far in the distance he sees a small gleam. ' Tis the gleam of the light on a small monoplane. Then slowly this pinpoint of light ' gins to wane. Then nearer and nearer there looms a tall spire, Which faster and faster grows higher and higher. Of the whole air -way system this spire is the core. Oh, the air-mail pilot is back home once more. Morton Sivarth.

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got out thinking the submarine was in danger. Instead it was stuck in the quicksand. Why didn ' t it entirely disappear? was Bob ' s question. Seemingly just the nose is in the quicksand, and that alone kept it from being swallowed up, said Mr. Robinson. Look around for some rope. Several coils of rope were found. Mr. Robinson said, I got this idea from a picture which I saw some time ago. Here, tie up these levers and stand by for orders. Mr. Robinson turned and went to the periscope. Now, John, said Mr. Robinson, you have the elevating levers, and, Bob, you have the speed controls. O.K. Let ' s go! Full speed reverse. John, you fill those tanks with air. The motors hummed, and with a grinding noise the gauges showed a steady rise toward the surface. Ahoy, there! Level her out, said Mr. Robinson. Bob, put her ahead, and slow. Only fifty more feet to go. A few seconds later he exclaimed, Well, here we are. Shut off the engines. Let ' s go out on deck, were the enthusiastic cries of the two boys. They opened the hatch of the conning tower and were greeted by the sun ' s warm and welcome rays. There ' s a ship over there that we can flag, said Mr. Robinson. Oh, do we have to? said the children. My goodness! do we have to? was the surprised answer of Mr. Rob- inson. Let ' s sail home by ourselves. It would be lots more fun, was John ' s plea. It ' s up to you, young fellows, said Mr. Robinson, but I don ' t know where we are. That ' s all right. We ' ll find out where we are, said Bob. We Scouts know how to read compasses and other things. They returned to the captain ' s cabin. We ' ll sail north to 38 degrees. Then we ' ll steer in and down to enter the good, old Golden Gate. The trip homeward was uneventful except for an incident near the Golden Gate. Sailing as they were with no pilot and without a chart to show the reefs, they were in great danger. They took matters in their own hands and piloted through until a grinding sound was heard and the motor stopped. Now what? said Mr. Robinson. Fasten down the conning tower hatch. Ye gods! Out of fuel! Who would think it? Bob hastily said, The other gauge shows that we have some gas. Turn it on, and we ' ll be able to get home. They came into the harbor under the surface and pulled straight for Yerba Buena Island, stopping directly at the dock. Say, Mr. Robinson, why are you doing that? said John. Well, John, this is a United States submarine, and it is up to us to return it, said Mr. Robinson. Oh, couldn ' t we keep it? We found it, and it ' s a case of ' finders keepers losers weepers ' , said Bob.

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Tuffy Jt ' s a dime anyway, isn ' t it, old pal? It won ' t be long before I have the rest and can take you home with me. Dickie spoke through the win- dow to the little pup with whom he had made friends. After school each evening Dickie rushed to the store window to make sure Turfy hadn ' t been sold. Dickie sold papers to help his father, who was not strong, secure food for them. This evening as he was on his way to get his bundle of papers, he stopped to talk to Tuffy and encourage him by showing him the dime he was going to put away to buy him. Conversation drifted out from the store as a very well-dressed man came toward the entrance to leave. I ' ll come for him in about an hour. I ' m sure my little girl will like him, said the man. As the large car rolled away, the storekeeper placed a card in the win- dow. Dickie saw the terrible word Sold in large, black letters. He was so grieved that he forgot his papers and stood with his nose pressed to the glass. Tuffy jumped up against the window and licked it as though he could read the look on Dickie ' s face. Dickie tried to speak to his friend, but his voice was choked. At last the fatal hour was up, and Dickie saw the tall man get out of his automobile. In the car sat a little girl about four years old playing with a red ball. Back in the store Dickie saw a lovely collar being fitted around Tuffy ' s neck. Blinded with tears, he started once more on his way when his foot struck a red ball which rolled out into the street. Quick as a flash the little girl was out of the car and after the ball. Dickie dashed after her. With all his strength he pushed her to safety, unable to avoid the approaching car himself. As he came out of the store, Tuffy saw his friend lying in the street. Breaking away from his new master, he darted to Dickie ' s side and refused to be separated when the man lifted him into The hospital room was very quiet when Dickie opened his eyes. He felt a pain in his head and he turned to see where he was. He felt a warm, furry body against his hand, and looking down he saw his dear Tuffy. He ' s going to be yours, said the nurse bending over the white bed to pat the little dog, a father ' s reward for saving his little daughter. Good old boy, Dickie murmured, as he fell into a quiet sleep. his car. Nancy Ann Smith. Mother ' s Cookies Mother ' s baking cookies, And, oh, they do smell good! Noiv they ' re in the oven. I would take one if I could! Mother says they ' re almost done. I can hardly wait, And, when at last they ' re finished, I always eat ' most eight. Some time you come to our house On mother ' s baking day, And you can have some cookies Made the good, old-fashioned way. Georgeanna Hays.