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THE LEXHIPEP
THiE LEXHIPEP
DECEMBER 17, 1937
EDITORIAl. STAFF
Marguerite Thomason Editor-in-Chief
Virgima Beck - Associate Editor-in-Chief
Mary Itouise Lumsdcn, Chairman - Literarr Editor
Frances Lohr - liiterary Editor
Clara Ann Miller -
- Foetry Editor
Betty Witherspoon, Chairman - Social
Robert Thomason - Social
Ed Gaines, Chairman - Sports
Margaret Hunt -
Charles McDade -
Frances Peeler -
Editor
Editor
Editor
Sports Editor
Joke Editor
Columnist
Ralph Morris
BUSINESS STAFF
Business Manager
Mary )^*ances Hege - Associate Business Manager
Be«is Farmer Circulation Manager
ART STAFF
J. 13. Gray, Chairman
Bobbie Green - - -
Charles Elkin - - -
Art Editor
Art Editor
Art Editor
TYPING STAFF
Ruth Sink - Tvniat
Sara Dickerson -
Mary Belie Forcum ” "
Typist
Mildred Bell - !
Bouise Kirby ------
Odessa Snow
Raymond Conrad
David Willijiiiis
Ruth Morris
Betty Ann Sharpe -
REPRESENTATIVES
- - - Council
- Senior Class
- Junior Class
Sophomore Class
• Freshman Class
Mrs. Ottis M. Hedrick
Miss Freta Hoffner -
ADVISORS
- Literary Faculty Advisor
- Business Faculty Advisor
PARAGRAPHICS
Since it’s so near Christmas ye paragrapher wishes to take this opportunity
to wish each of you a merry Xmas.
football banquet is over and I suppose some girls are disappointed.
And there are some who have already picked out a basket ball star.
Thanks to Ivey Grimes our clocks are really working again. It seems like
prosperity is here to see them runnning.
“The best remery for conceit is to sit down and start making a list of all
the things you do not know.”—Exchange.
__.Cleanliness..l_s next to GrOdlines.s—John Wesley.
It looks as if Mr. Tucker believes in the above statement by the way he
is cleaning up his classes. There’s your chance to make 100 folks.
OPEN FORUM
To the Editor:
At a recent meeting of the junior
home rooms, topics were given out for
a program to be held the first Wed
nesday.
After the Chirstmas holidays. This
program is to be on the subpect “Pro
tecting School Property” and “Cleali-
ness In The School”.
It is true that we do need to clean
up the school and it’s up to us to do
it. I think most the L. H. S. stu
dents enjoy eating apples. Haw many
of these throw che cores on top of the
bureau or on the mantles in your
homes. Very few, I imagine. But,
how many of these throw their apple
cores on top of the lockers or under
them. And I wonder just how many
of them throw their waste paper on
top of them. In each class room there
has been placed a waste basket, in
which the students may dispose of all
paper or other rubbage. Use them
and do not throw your rubbish on the
floors. As the old saying goes “Do
like you do at home”. After all you
are in school six hours a day, for 32
weeks in a year. Clean out your lock
ers, inside, outside, under and over and
stop using them as a disposal for paper
and so forth.
GIMPY’
(By Clyde Bowers)
LETTERS TO SANTA CLAUS
Dear Santa:
I saw the cutest little blonde down at
the conference at Charleston and I
wonder if I could have her in my
stocking Christmas night.
Yours hopefully,
CARL PARKS.
He s a very small patch of the seat of the government—Exchange.
What is this I hear about certain teachers cleaning up their study periods’
I hope she did not interrupt any of those dates.
You’ll find hfe easier in school.
If you’ll obey each law and rule.
If you think L. H. S. has no artists just look in Miss Hoffners room. The
reward of coloring an ornament on the Xmas tree is helping some people to
increase their speed.
“The time has come,’
in Wonderland.
the walrus said, “To talk of many things.”—Alice
Mainly of boosting up your grades. The year is almost half over, but there’s
still time.
“Loose now and then a scattered smile.”—Shakespeare.
Dear Santa:
I am a little boy fifteen years old and
I have high hopes of landing a certain
dark haired senior. Please see what
you can do about this.
Yours,
ED GAINES.
Santa, big boy:
You ought to know me from my let
ter last year. I asked for a Rolls
Royce but of course I didn’t get it.
This year I only want a model T Ford.
Can I please have it?
Thanks,
J. D.
A certain fourth period English class lost Miss Johnson, pardon, Mrs
Shackford, but gain Miss Craven.
This oil that has been put on the floor has certainly caused some people
to hold a sitdown strike.
Can’t someone rid the halls of sneezing powder and air out the halls?
STOP! LOOK! LISTEN!
Have you ever thought of listening as an art? Many of us think we listen,
but do we? Many extraordinary and beautiful thinks are said which remain un
noticed by the it-doesn’t-matter-listener. How foolish it is to read the Scrip
ture in our chapel! No one listens, undertoned whispers float to the reader,
and a seemingly bored motion is continuous. The Bible is truly the most won
derful piece of literature ever written. Surely it is well for everyone to think
seriously of, and listen closely to the Scripture at least once a week. Through
mere politeness we should listen to the Bible reading and in this way we can
derive unending benefit.
Have you ever really prayed the prayer given to man by Jesus? Undoubt-
ably He gave it to us to pray instead of merely repeating it. Say it over to your
self sometime, slowly, think about its words, its phrases, then you can better
appreciate it. The Lord’s prayer is prayed all over the world. It holds a great
promise, and will always continue to be an inspiration to all mankind. Let us
listen, let us think, and let us truly “pray together the Lord’s prayer.”
ODESSA SNOW, President Student Council
Dear Santa:
Last year I asked for a sucker to be
put in my stocking and this is not a
letter asking for anything. I’m only
thanking you for remembering me
so faithfully.
BETTY W.
Nick, ole boy:
I ain’t no sissy; I don’t want a gal in
my sock. All I want is “a tommy gun
an’ gat”. You better see dat I get it
or I’ll bump you off! See?
“Get dat, big boy,”
TOMMY S.
Dear Kris Kringle:
Couldn’t you see that the school
board built us an elevator in L. H. S.?
It would need be only a small one, just
large enough to bring the typewriters
from Miss Hoffner’s room to the Lex-
hipep room.
Thanks very much,
LEXHIPEP STAFF.
Dear, Dear Santa:
I only want a sweetheart, not a bud-
die—But I want him abundantly.
Thanks!
FANNY P.
Like a great carbuncle the sun rest
ed on the horizon, sending its ever
penetrating rays, like rays from a bea
con, through the already colorful for
est, colorful because the enchanting
spirits of nature had turned the
leaves from green to golden yellow
and crimson red, later to be faded
Into brown, just as the slowly falling
dewey night was now fading out the
late autumn sun. The lowing of cat
tle, the pitiful bleating of sheep, and
that mournful coo of pigeons added
assurance and a touching beauty to
that oncoming mantle of peace and
rest, known to man as night. Now
came the truest sign of an autumn
night, the loud, clear, piercing honk
of wild ducks. Mallards they were,
dozens of them. Group after group
they settled in a cattail flecked
swamp, which lay in a flat at the foot
of a wooded, slowly sloping hill, form
ing a luxurious paradise for the
swampy water lovers.
Leaning against a tree, which stood
beside the swamp, Karl Matthews
feasted his dreary, lonely eyes on all
this picturesque scenery. He watched
the graceful actions of the ducks as
they glided into the swamp and set
tled down to roost. Many times had
he watched them, and many years had
he protected them against sportsmen,
cold, and hunger. He loved the ducks
and was proud of it.
Now Karl recognized the leader of
the mallards as he swung in from the
far end of the swamp. He was once
a proud old drake who thought him
self the most beautiful and most in
telligent bird in the flock. He was
now a wise ad well experienced old
bird, but not half so proud, because
his pride had been shattered by an
unruly sportsman. Being hit by a
bullet from the sportsman’s gun, the
duck’s left leg had been broken, and
now Karl could see it hanging a bit
below the other.
It was Karl who had lifted the old
drake from the frozen ground and had
carried him gently under his arm into
his little farm house where the broken
leg had been attended to. And so it
was in that cozy farm house that
Gimpy was revived. And it was by
that lover of nature that Gimpy was
named.
As Karl watched the old drake wheel
in and settle in his favorite roosting
spot, he felt a sickening spell come
upon his mind. Plainly he recalled
the day that he had rescued the duck
and its happenings spread like a book
before his face. Well, could he re
member the girl that stroked the old
mallard’s sleek head as he held the
duck between two firm but gentle
hands. Well could he remember that
sweet smiling face that looked up into
his as she turned her eyes from the
duck. Now he wondered if that face
were still as sweet and innocent as it
was when he had last seen it. Had
she completely forgotten him? Was
there another man? Maybe a college
hero, better known as a college bluff.
Would Carrie never return to see Karl
again?
With a heavy heart and a heavily
burdened mind Karl turned his back
on the swamp and slowly walked to
ward the little farm house.
Karl had known Carrie Barber
since they were playmates. Many
happy days they had spent together
roaming around the swamp, and on
both Karl’s farm and Carrie’s aunt’s
farm. He had met her when she was
a dark wavy-haired girl of about ten.
She had come to visit her aunt who
lived on the big farm over the hill
from Karl’s father’s little farm. Karl’s
father was helping Carrie’s uncle do
some work on the big farm, and he
had brought Karl with him. The two
had played together while the father
and uncle worked.
As the two children grew older they
came to love being with each other
more and more, and Carrie began to
visit her aunt more often. As they
grew out of the playmate age they be
gan spending their time roaming
through the forest, over hills and
through vallies. Together they studi-
(Continued on page three)