THE O. H. S. TIGER, OCTOBER 18, 1922. Page 3 LITERARY "HE COULDN'T BE TRUSTED" "Nothing in his life became him as the leaving it. He died as one who had been studied in his death; To throw away the dearest thing he owned, As t were a careless trifle." "Kid Farley" was the name that banned him from society. The lower class hated him as did his rich en¬emies for he could not be trusted any more with one of his kind than with those who cared where they went when they died. Those of his gang called him a "Dirty Crook" and those of the upper class who feared him most, dared not call him any¬thing. "Kid Farley" had committed a murder, but thankful to say he had not escaped. He stood on the plat¬form awaiting judgment, his hard jaw set, showing not by his out¬ward appearance that he was sorry for the crime. He was not sorry for the crime; he was only sorry that he had been caught. The man he had killed had been too obstinate. He had not listened to the testi¬mony. They were all fools any¬way—a lot of children and weeping- women. Below him sat a woman, clothed entirely in black. One glance told him that she was the wife of the man he had killed. As he looked she raised her eyes to his with a blank, sorrowful expression that hard years of crime and hard living could not withstand. He started. Where had he seen that face before? Ah! now he knew—it all came back. Long, long ago he had loved her. Yes, she was the one. He had worked hard for her, but she had not cared. She would not marry him because he was poor. To gain wealth he had stolen, but even money failed to satisfy her. Farley finding- it easy to get away with one crime, had kept on. Now, "Kid Farley" en¬emy of rich and poor, stood waiting for judgment. What a change had come over him! All his fire was gone; his energy had gone even as a light is extinguished. He stood no more, but sinking into a chair stared into the distance. The sentence came; he had known what it would be, and yet he stared, —stared with unseeing eyes. What he saw, no one knew. Some say it was a fireside, little children, and a beautiful wife. —Dorothy Corey. —O-H-S— MY SAIL BOAT "I have seen the good ship sail Keel upward, and mast down¬ward….." Last fall I decided to build an ice boat that I could use during the Christmas vacation. I had the plans that specified the length, width, etc., but I decided to build a sail boat that was much larger. When I fin¬ished the boat it was about one and one-half times as large as the plans called for. This, of course, forced me to use a much larger sail and the result was that once the boat got started nothing except a direct col¬lision could stop it suddenly. I didn't know about this fault when I first tried it out, but I did afterward— I'll say I did! Well, when I had the boat finished I naturally wanted to try it out, and as there was not enough room at home to test it, I tied it on behind the automobile. Accompanied by a friend, I started off for the Sanitar¬ium. It was a very windy day, and fine snow was drifting over the ice. This kept the skaters away and I was glad for I was a bit nervous of running someone down. We had to take the sail down in order to tow the boat behind the car, but when we got up to the mouth of the can¬yon, we found the wind was blowing a gale, so we had a "deuce" of a time putting the sail up again. When we had finally put the sail up and had cleared ourselves of the frame work, I sat down by the rudder and told my companion to pull out the rocks in front. He did. He did it just as a puff of wind came along and the next thought I had was that I was on the scenic railway at Saltair. I don't remember much about that ride. My heart gave a big jump and I grew numb all over because I could see the shore coming toward me about sixty per. It seemed to be all around me and was closing rapidly toward the center. I gave one big jerk at the rudder, some¬thing hit me a wallop on the chest, then I saw bright lights. After about a million years I sat up and saw my sail boat, skates flashing in air, looking for all the world like a wounded butterfly hop¬ing along the ice. —Robert Burton. —O-H-S— MYSTERY! Everything, from the greatest to the smallest in life is a mystery. Every human creature is constituted as to be a profound puzzle and secret to every other. Our lives, our friends, our surroundings are veiled in that impenetrable darkness into which we see only far enough to make us more curious. Our whole existence is mysterious. Although scientists have discovered and formulated laws the tinge of mystery still hovers about us in our daily life. The past is a mystery; the present and the future are mys¬teries. We think we know (we poor mortals) but we do not. Our lives lie between two horizons. Beyond the west where the earth and sky touch lies the great mystery of the past; about us is the present; out of this present the future stret-ches beyond us into the hazy east, where the sun of knowledge can shine upon our achievements. Make this mysterious future your goal. The mistake is often made of living too much in the past or in the present to understand the real¬ity and significance of life. You must strive for yourself. The world cannot do it for you; it can only furnish the material for you to work with and enlarge upon. It is a nature born in us to ponder; and in pondering, to learn; in learn¬ing, to understand; and in under¬standing to penetrate deep into the endless abyss of mystery on whose banks we stand. —Kyle Passey. —O-H-S— FALL Oo-oo-oo!! Many dread that sound; I love it, for that is the trum¬pet call of Fall, herald of glistening, white-robed Winter. His russet-clad figure is coming from the North. He is young; he walks with sprightly gait. His hair falls in golden-brown clusters around his mischievous face. His cheeks are rosy as the apples he colors and his eyes sparkling black. He advances. Visible around him is a mystic, blue haze, purple against the mountains. He advances, trans¬parent shadows dancing in his wake. He is here. He smiles as he touches the leaves with his long, slim fingers, and behold! they are decked in his own livery. They shiver with delight as they bow their heads, acknowledging him their liege lord. He bounds lightly away and ruffles a robin's feathers, whispering, "It is time to fly south!" He trips into gardens, bidding the flowers drop their seed-pods into the warm, moist earth. Seeing a little girl across the street, he blows upon his trumpet and her hat is half-way down the block. He whispers to a passing boy that Winter is coming, and the happy child romps, shouting with joy, down the street. Then one night, his duties done, he raises his trumpet to his lips. Leaves fly to the ground; acorns burst; the earth changes; the trum¬peter announces to all that Winter is at his back. Morning comes, the jolly herald is gone. —Erica Berne. —O-H-S— I once knew a girl who was so modest she wouldn't even do improper fractions. MISS STOOKEY SAYS There has been much contribution as well as much negation about school during the last two weeks, since Miss Stookey expressed her views on proper dress for girls. Whenever truth is uttered, there is always much opposition. Miss Stook¬ey, however, has already caused the co-eds to think. Fancy, unsuitable dresses are among the first things barred. It is one of the rigid rules of etiquette to be dressed properly and appropriately. Simple "everyday" clothes, and not evening gowns, are "being done" at present at school. High French heels are not only a little extreme for work, but also quite passee' this season. Jewelry hardly gives the desired effect when worn with a middy. And about ear-rings. We were wondering what made some of our "dainty maidens" look so rakish. Miss Stookey tells us it is the ear-rings. Don't wear them, unless they suit your type. The fifteen-year-old "vamp" who "does up" her hair, and wears her mother's clothes finds no favor in our gym teacher's eyes. A girl is not a young lady until she is eighteen, and should not try to give a contrary impression. It only makes her ap¬pear ridiculous. She is only young once, and should make the most of youth. Our mentor also adds a word about color combinations and styles for fat girls. One can't help being stout perhaps, but one can refrain from ruffles and penitentiary stripes. Con-sider your color before buying a dress. These suggestions are not set down as a code of rules for every one to follow. No one, however, can deny the truth and common sense contained therein. A girl's chief aim seems to be to make herself beautiful. All nature is beautiful; so, girls, just be natural. —Virginia Greene. —O-H-S— THE GIRLS' DEBATING CLUG The Girls' Debating Club held a reorganization meeting last week and plans for this year's work were dis¬cussed. The club is fortunate in hav¬ing Miss Romney and Mr. Leigh as advisors. With their help, the club expect to keep up a lively compe¬tition with the Boys' Debating Club. The Boys' have sent a challenge on the Fordney McCumber Tariff Bill. A keen debate is expected. PRINTING FOR ALL OCCASIONS at Dee PRACTICAL PRINTER QUALITY SERVICE Come in and ask us about Our Pressing Club City Cleaners Dyers 2374 Wash. Ave. PHONE 1011 Upstairs McKAY'S HELP THE TEAM WIN NEXT THURS. SOCIETY The first social event of the season was the Faculty Reception given in the Ogden High School Music room. Principal A. M. Merrill and Mrs. Merrill were host and hostess at this affair and arranged a very charming program. Superintendent Hopkins entertained the guests with a vocal solo and Miss Watkins, the Oral Ex¬pression teacher, gave a reading. At the conclusion of thep rogram a de¬licious lunch was served. The party was planned primarily for the pur¬pose of introducing the new mem¬bers of the faculty and from all re-ports was a great success. Of great interest to the students of Ogden High School, is the announce¬ment of the marriage of Sergeant Holloway, who for several years has been attached to the R. O. T. C. in this school. Mrs. Holloway was formerly Miss Lillian Tomlinson. The couple are now at home to their friends in the Plaza Apartments. Another marriage of note is that of Miss Lyndyll Smith and Mr. Loyd Lovedahl. Mrs. Lovedahl was a prominent member of the Sopho¬more class. Lyndyll is now living in the Plaza Apartments and learning to cook. —O-H-S— THE TEACHERS CONVENTION All day Friday the schools of Og¬den will be closed, allowing the pupils a holiday and the "faculties" a chance to get "educated." We have heretofore looked upon our teachers as the root of all knowledge and the height of learning; but we seem doomed to disappointment for even they have yet something to learn. It seems that one can never learn enough to complete an education. When boks are exhausted, life itself offers many opportunities for study. One is continually finding out new things. But' perhaps the fact that there is always something more to learn makes life more worth while. That there is always some one who knows a little more than he does keeps one forever striving. Just as soon as one thinks he has reached the limit,—that he "knows it all," he discovers what a little part he is, and what a big world this is. We have hoped for an apotheosis, how¬ever, and have embodied it in our instructors. But alas! disillusion greets us, for even they are not in¬fallible. We must acknowledge that life is one eternal battle for knowl¬edge. But while our esteemed teachers toil at their convention in Salt Lake, and, for at least a day or two, put themselves in the places of their martyred pupils, said boys and girls will be enjoying "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness." Won't it be fun to think that the instructors who have made life such an irritaing matter for the last six weeks are go¬ing to school, while the erstwhile student is at play. —O-H-S— Father: "Why is it that you are always at the bottom of the class?" Rudolph: "It dosen't make any difference, dad; they teach the same thing at both ends."