TIGER HIGHLIGHTS Page 3 Tuning in With O.H.S. A senior boy's conception of an ideal senior girl, as a note in the box revealed, would be: Ability of Betty Lou Balch Personality of Athleen Woods Talent of Ruth Taylor Complexion of Beverly Butter- field Hair of Phyllis Brophy Eyes of Zenna Cluff Teeth of Emma Martin Eyelashes of Jean Bedford Figure of Dorothy Wessler Sweetness of Betty Smalley. * * * From all indications, J. Hazen is going into the automobile business. He seems to take an interest in Nashes. Poor V. Bingham is caught in a lovetide — which one will she choose — B. Hulmston or J. Leonard? (Next issue). * * * What is there about the name of Bettie that makes Clair "Boyle"? V V * Are the junior girls getting so very sweet they have to eat lemons or have they all developed bronchitis? * * * Earl seems to be "Hocking" class time to "Furniss" us with our latest romance. * * * The current national debate question: Will things "Wheelwright" with Scott and Faye? From all appearance Dick is taking his jewelry seriously — we admit that a "Packer and West, Inc." red neon sign would look pretty nice. * * * Yesterday's Ambitions Today Clarence Byrn—To see Coulee Dam. Bill Power — Newsreel photographer. Ardell Russell — Artist. Virginia Moore—Interior Decorator. WANTED By the team—more support. By the faculty—less sass. By the student body — more school spirit. By the tardy ones—more time. By the janitor—less dirt. By all—less work and more play. Boomerang A Very Smalley Story When the Don came and the Sun Rose and the sky became Clair, the boy was still a Carolyn under the window of the Gerritt where she lived. He said, "Will Hugh go with me to a Brewer to buy some Apple Sydner Wright away?" "Shirley, I'll go. I'll Grant your favor or Bus. Sid down and wait a Minter. You look like Helen Brown; I look Bette in White, but let's go." Then they got another idea. They asked the Warden to Mary them, but he said, "Evans no, you're too Young but don't get Madson." Sue she Greaves and he remains Loyal. Now our story is Dunn. Synopsis By resigning his position of city editor of the Herald to Chet Watson, reporter, Harry Kent tries to play a practical joke on his friend. Later, he hears his assisant editor, Bill Hayes, tell Chet that Harry left the paper because he had embezzled 5200,000. Chet went on. "What makes you think that Harry is crooked?" "This afternoon after he left, I went through his desk trying to find today's proof sheets to check a few things for the paper, when I came across this account book. Even with the little I know about bookkeeping, I could see that the accounts had been doctored. Look at this for instance." There was a sound of pages turning, then silence, more rustling of papers, and silence again. Chet sighed and closed the book. "I hate to admit it, but I'm afraid you're right. Poor Harry, I never thought it of him." It took Harry about three seconds to get up and around the partition that separated the booths. "Now listen here, you two, I don't know what you're trying to pull, but you know darn well I didn't steal any money from anyone." Chet looked first at Harry, then at the book which he held, then at Harry again, and rose slowly to his feet. "Harry, it was bad enough to think you had stolen it, but I thought you would at least be man enough to admit it after we found out." "But, Chet, you cockeyed newshound, you know that I wouldn't ..." "Lying won't do any good, I'm afraid; it's too late. I'm sorry, Harry. Come on, Bill." "But, Chet, you couldn't believe ..." Chet looked Harry up and down slowly. "Oh, couldn't I? Wait until you see the late edition," and he and Bill left the restaurant. "But Chet, I didn't, I couldn't, I—I—Oh, H—!" Harry Kent dropped on one of the seats and stared. What in heaven's name had happened? He had never stolen a cent in his life, and now suddenly they were saying that he had undermined the interests of his own paper, the one thing he had lived for, and fought for, and slaved for—that he had embezzled $200,000. It was utter nonsense. But there was nothing he could do until he could see the new editor of the Herald, because he had an idea that Chet would be relentless in his efforts and persecution. He got up, took his coat and hat, paid his bill, and walked out into the cold night air. The late edition would be on the streets in twenty minutes; he would wait for it. When it did come out, the first page was spread with screaming headlines telling of his thefts and saying that the matter had al ready been placed in the hands of the police. Why, he was liable to go to prison; he would get his lawyer and look into this. Three hours later found him pacing up and down a small room in the city and county building. On the desk was a stack of account books with which he hoped to prove his innocence. Just then the door opened to admit his lawyer. "Oh, thank heavens, you're here. What took you so long? I've been waiting . . ." "Whoa, whoa, not so fast. What is all this about? Why am I here in the middle of the night?" laughed the lawyer. "A fine lawyer you are! Haven't you seen the late edition of the Herald?" "Why, yes, I believe I have. So what?" "So what?" Harry almost screamed. "I didn't do it. I didn't do it." "You didn't do what?" asked the lawyer. "The headlines, the headlines! I didn't do it, I didn't start it, I didn't have anything to do with it." "Well, let's hope you didn't start the war in China. Here, read this." He tossed a copy of the Herald into Harry's lap. There were the glaring headlines: "Japanese Make Huge Advance on Chinese Capital." "But I don't understand. I bought a paper, but it didn't say that; it said — say, wait a minute. I think I see something. Why. that lop-eared, hot-headed, gWfey-gTMlhefi ink-slinger! TH break his neck!" Harry grabbed his hat and dashed through the door. When he reached the office of the Herald, all was quiet and serene. There was no one in the outer office, so he strode across the room to his office. He threw open the door. Why, Harry Kent, what a charming surprise! Imagine meeting you here!" There on the couch sprawled Chet Watson, eating peanuts, and all around the room sat the rest of the paper staff. Harry stood up and looked down. There on the floor were two inches of peanut shells. Harry burned, "Now look here, Chet Watson, I don't mind the peanuts, but what is this business about my being an embezzler?" "Oh, that? It must have been just an error of mine. I told you I didn't know anything about editing a paper." "You mean," glowered Harry, "that you planned all that—that _that—" "Poppycock?" Chet offered. "Well, yes, I did, so to speak. Of course, Bill had part of the idea. You see, I told you you'd be back in at least twelve hours." "But how did you fix the paper so that they didn't all say the same thing?" "I'm right proud of that," boasted Chet. "I had about thirty copies printed that said what you read. I gave one to each newsboy with instructions to sell it only to you." "This is all very clever, I ad- They Say A cry sometimes heard on the campus, "Why does the administration treat us like kindergarteners?" The answer, if it does so treat us, is that some members of the student body act that age. Consider the case of a student who threw a snowball at a university window yesterday, broke it, and seriously cut a girl that was in the building. Certainly this action is not representative of U students, but the childishness of a few often leads to regulations of all. Students must take into their own hands the detaining of weaker members of our group from childish actions, such as snowballing, which can reflect on the students as a whole. —Utah Chronicle. The first night dance of the year, the dream of the student body of Huntington Park high school, will be held tonight in the girl's gym, beginning at 8:30 p. m. and lasting until 11:30 p. m. —Spartan Shield He: (As they drove along a lonely road). "You look lovelier to me every moment. Do you know what that's a sign of?" She: Sure! You're about to run out of gas!" Eat and grow fat Starve and grow thin. if—yew—don't like my jokes, Hand some in. —Boise High Lights mit, but I still don't get it. Why did you do it?" Chet stood up and came over to Harry. "Because the Herald couldn't do without the best city editor in the world, you big bonehead." He put out his hand. For the next few minutes Harry looked at Chet, and then it came to him. There was something in Chet's eyes and in the eyes of every person in the room that brought a lump to Harry's throat as he took Chet's hand. "O. K., you win, you big lug. I'm licked, but you're still just a punk reporter." A loud shout of approval went up from every employe in the office. When it died away, Chet said, "Well, let's all get out and leave Harry to get used to his office again after his long vacation." The staff all laughed, as they crowded out, conversing merrily. As Chet neared the door, Harry stopped him. "Thanks, Chet." "Think nothing of it, Chief. Something had to be done, so, true to tradition, I did it." "But I still don't see how you found out that I didn't mean to go." "Next time, don't be in such a hurry that you forget to turn off the dictaphone. The record came in handy." After the door had closed. Harry walked across to his deck. My, that pile of papers seemed small.