Marian Clark by West Scribulus Girl WINTER '48 Take one expressive face complete with warm brown eyes and fair skin. Add lustrous brown hair, and mix in a trim figure of five feet five inches Sprinkle this combination generously with a gracious personality, and if you have followed the receipe correctly the result will be our charming Scribulus girl Marian Clark, a co-ed who would make heads turn on any campus. Marian, who is a freshman, graduated last spring from Weber High School and is now following a general course at college. She is skillful with a needle and thread and also enjoys reading, dancing, and art work. In regard to dates, Marian likes them to be good dancers and above all to be gentlemen. Enough said? Page Two Enter the Hero So I grab my shoes and the kid's arm and dive for the door. by Joan Owen It wasn't until almost closing time that anything out of the ordinary happened. I was standing behind the umbrella counter with my shoes off minding my own business (I believe in everyone to his own toothbrush) while my customer chose between a white and black umbrella when this little girl comes up. It seems she lost her mother in the crowd somewhere and wanted me to help her get located again. I told her as how I couldn't possibly leave the counter and as how if I did I'd probably get canned whereas she goes into a tantrum and turns blue in the face and threatens to kick the store to atom sizes. Everybody in the whole place looks at me as if I was a husband-beater, which I couldn't possibly be not my own husband anyway, seeing as how I'm not married so I try to pacify her with my nickel busfare, which doesn't help though she hangs onto it in a sort of death grip. About then the boss puts in an appearance and shouts to me if she is mine and I shout back that no she ain't mine and do I look like the kind of a girl that would have a thing like that. The boss seems to think she belongs to me, though, and tells me to get her the h out of there. So I grab my shoes and the kid's arm and dive for the door. I get her to stop screaming long enough to get her answer to would she like some ice cream or not. She would. So I take her to the nearest drug store and I sink nearer and nearer to the floor as she eats up the rest of my check which I only got last Saturday and had only paid my rent out of. As soon as my last cent is gone she begins screaming again and I take her over to the park as soon as I can and tell her she can just go ahead and scream because I don't care, which idea she seems to like, and after the first half hour or so I get so I don't mind it hardly at all in fact, I go to sleep. I don't quite know what woke me up since I hardly ever wake up when I'm dreaming of someone tall and dark and mannish. It must have been the quiet that got me. Anyway, when I wake up the kid isn't there. At first I'm relieved, but before long I get to thinking that I might be put in jail or something if I don't find her, so I finish waking up and begin to search all the places a kid might hide out, but it's been a long time since I was a kid and I guess the kids nowadays hide in different places than they did when I was a kid. So, though I have a special aversion to cops, I decide I'd better have a little help and timidly approach the cop standing on the corner. The cop wasn't much help, though. He wrote it all down in a little book which was a new one, and I guess he wanted to try it out. The pencil was new too, and he made each letter with lots of curly things on it which took about a half hour, so I said that I would look for her myself, which he seemed to resent and said if that was the way I felt I could go ahead. So I walk down to the river, and I'm staring at my reflection jitterbugging about a block below me when someone says, "Don't do it!" nearly scaring me out of my shoes. I says, "Don't do what?" He answers I have found out by this time that it is a he "Don't jump in; there are other ways." At which I inform him I'm not considering jumping in yet. After staring at the water for about ten minutes, he says, "Maybe I could help you." I says, "No, I don't think so." So we stare again till I say, "Not unless you understand children." "How old?" he says. "About eight or nine," I says. "I teach a class of nine-year-olds," he says. "You couldn't teach her anything," I says, and resumes staring. I stand there a half hour more and then I notice that he's still standing there too, and I was just thinking as how that was funny when I hear that scream again, only it seems to me as if I never stopped hearing it. Then the kid sees me and runs up and demands that I come back up from the bridge where I'm hiding and buy her some more ice cream. (Concluded on Page 11) Page Three