Wright High School - Chronicle Yearbook (New Orleans, LA)

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DISSERTATION OF A FRIED WEENIE There once was a bow wow wow, Who always asked how how , how It would feel in a frying pan. He asked ' the cow cow cow, And he asked the meow meow meow. But they ' d never been in a frying pan. He asked the quack quack quack, Who answered back back back It was awful in a frying pan. But still that boW wow wow Had to know how how how It would feel in a frying pan. So he asked the pig pig pig. Who was no prig prig prig How it would feel in a frying pan. (And this is what the pig answ- ered.) ' T ' ve never been there, squealed the pig, But iplease don ' t think me a prig. When I tell you that all my fore- fathers Fried there along with all my fore- mothers. And my race is eons older than Sam. I descend from our ' great ' father Ham And Bacon was great uncle to me. He lived on an isle ' cross the sea. But my world-renowned fame, to- day On the seasoned weenie worsts lay Where you and your brothers shall come And together we ' ll be ground into ; one. (And here ' s the interesting part.) Into the hot, black, greasy. Frying Pan We are dumped right in to feed the great god man ! And that is how how how That little bow woow wow Learned how it felt in a frying pan. Detla Jinks. A PORTRAIT The girl sat quietly and gnawed her pen. Why did not inspiration come? Others received it, some abandoned it ; she has never known it. Sitting there, she felt sure that if once it did come to her, she could write, and it would be really good. But what could she write ? That was the point; the desire to do something, backed by an intelligent conception of where the ability lay must be neglected for lack of sub- ject. She was very sleepy. Her eyes half closed themselves and the paper before her became a blur. She dared not read even now what was already there; she dared not stop making -all those queer little

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was badly hurt. As he was con- templating the best step to take, the girl herself settled the question by opening her eyes and looking at him. Why — er — where — she tried to speak. ' ' Don ' t worry, Harding reas- sured her, ' ' you ' re all right now. How do you feel? Oh, I remember — Dixie became frightened and ran away ! I came after you but you tum- bled off before I could reach you, said Harding. For the first time she looked clearly at him. Why he was nice, young, and had such pretty eyes and a hearty laugh. She found her- self laughing too. Are you sure you ' re all right ? asked Harding. Sure, now I have to worry about getting home. I ' m staying at the Rileys ' . My name is Rose Wal- ters, and yours? Harding Connors, answered Harding gravely. So her name was Rose, too! How suitable! I ' ll take you home. Before she knew it she was lifted up in his strong young arms and placed on Jock ' s back. Harding climbed on the horse and off they started. Moonlight walks, picnics, dances, and long days of happiness for both followed that incident. It was two weeks later that Harding received the answer he de- sired so much. They were seated in the summerhouse in the moon- light ; the witchery of the moon and the summer night had cast its spell upon both of them and they were very serious. Rose, said Harding tenderly, I want to tell you something. I saw you first at your graduation and I called you my old rose and silver girl. I have dreamed about you ever since and now that I see you in reality I can hardly believe there is a happier person living. Rose, please say I ' ve made you care for me ! Her answer was in her eyes as she raised them to his. With a glad cry he clasped her to him. My old rose and silver girl ! he murmured huskily as he held her close. LOVER ' S land ' There, is a land quite near our homes. (And yet it is remote.) A land reached not by road or path. Reached not by train or boat. ' Tis covered with grass and shrubs And flowers too, aflame; Its beauty is enhanced by Its sunsets ne ' er the same. ' Tis full of meadows, brooks and dells, Oh ! it ' s a pleasant land ! I ' ve never been there, but I know It ' s called Lover ' s Land. Oh ! Mary, won ' t you go with me And sit upon the sand And watch the moon, the sunset, dawn In glorious Lovers ' Land. C. Sadler.

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gray lines on the smooth white pa- per (which signified only another way of talking to herself) for fear she would stop thinking. Her fin- gers were cramped. Her head was beginning to feel very heavy and she was vaguely aware that all sounds above stairs had ceased, so the family must have gone to bed and the hour be late. Then the girl fell asleep. This is what she dreamed : Mary Smith! Mary Smith! Hurrah for Mary Smith ! the girls were crying. The clapping of hands gave way to the stamping of feet, and cheers rang through the hall. They were all tremendously proud, these girls, of one in their midst who had so distinguished her- self; they were carried away with hero-worship, they were proud of being her schoolmates, and subtly reminded each other of the times when one or another of them had done so and so together with her, or had been told such and such a thing by her — Then she appeared. Out between the curtains onto the front of the stage, in the center of the stage she stood. Always had she been there, in their midst, up above them where all could see, where all could admire, thrilling before their applause and holding the center of the stage. Very graciously, like a queen, she acknowledged their trib- utes. Then she spoke. It mattered not what she said, they ' d applaud again anyway, and so she thanked them for this and that and said what her teachers had told her to say, and did a great many other trivial things— that were expected of her — but always was she con- scious of her position, and the ad- miration and the applause. It had always been thus. A leader, whose utter disability to be anything but honest with herself prevented the dieveloping of a superior complex which, if pushed too far, might have proven disastrous to her suc- cess. Success? It meant nothing. Brilliance? Leadership? It was all bluff; she had fooled them all, fel- low-students, teachers, outsiders — everyone but herself. Self she could not fool. It made her uncom- fortable — took away some of the momentarily tremendous satisfac- tion, chilled some of her pride. All this without trying. Self persisted, no effort at all ! Just remembering that she must always bluff, bluff, bluff — until it became a habit and she did it instinctively. How much better might she have acquitted her- self if she had tried! How much more might she have accomplished for herself, if she had tried. Sud- denly the girl looked down. She seemed to be standing there before them all, entirely divested of her clothing. This sometimes happens in dreams; but she did not know she was dreaming. Startled and ashamed, she ran to hide herself. The corn crop of 1923 is estimat- ed by the government bureau of ag- ricultural economics at 24,702,000 bushels, on an area of 1,604,000 acares, with an average yield of 15.4 bushels. The total value amounts, to $20,937,000.