Biddeford High School - Olympian Yearbook (Biddeford, ME)

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THE OLYMPIAN NEVER PUT OFF TILL 'li0MORRQXN' . . fl'here. said Elaine Hastings. this Say, Phil. could you sort of help me? time you had better not forget. She I--. well--, that is-. had just tied a string around her hus- band's finger and given him a dozen warnings. l-le left their cheerful subur- ban home with a hrm step and an even 'firmer determination to carry out his wil'e's request. Phil was a modern young man with a good little wife and they were veiy happy. but he had one fault. You see. he was apt to be soft-hearted and some- what unreliable. This bright Monday morning, he had part of last week's pay and a pocketful oi unpaid bills. Time after time in the past. he had set out on just such a Non- day morning. with his pay in his pocket. --and. ot course. the bills. Somehow. he always happened to meet some friend who needed money and, being a friend in need. slipped him the necessary amouni. XVhen he returned home at night. with slow. guilty step and crestfallen look. Elaine always knew she could expect some flowers. candy. or other peace- offering. But this morning. it was dif- ferent. Phil told himself over anfl over again. .Xs he sat in the bus on his way to work, he felt a 'friendly hand on his shoulders. 'Tli there. palfl lt was Sam XVilliams, an old buddy. VVhy, hello. Sam. he answered with a preoccupied look. Phil recognized the old build-up. but this time he wouldn't give in. Now. hadn't he promised the little woman just this morning? Fifteen minutes later, Phil stepped off the bus minus S10 and plus a guilty 'feeling in the pit of his stomach. VVhen you 'Figure out this problem in arithmetic. what's the solution? lYhy. there it was. staring at him from that store window. Elaine had wanted one ot those tor a long time. and when she saw it. she wouldn't be angry any more. That night he walked in with a larsre bundle under his arm. Phil Hastings, l'll never trust you with a penny again. You didn't pax' those bills. did you? Oh. evervthing's all right. l.ook what down-payment on I've got! I made a a new vacuum cleaner. so now vou won't have to work so hard. Gosh. honev. there's another pay-dav coming soon and then we'll take care of the billsf' Oh, Phil. Elaine choked hack a si'-'h and dropped into the nearest chair. it was sweet of you to get that for me. but it won't be of anv use to ns. Vo-1 f1if'--'+ pay that light hill. and now they've shut off the electricity! . MIGNON NE lVlAiccH.Li: MAINE hflainc, the home of the stately pine. VVill always live in tlns heart of mme: Its rivers, mountains. and beaches ot sand Are the symbols of our Vacationland. The waves beat on its long white shores And seem to whisper. Come back once H! l'l'lO1'C. A voice which haunts you o'er again. Hurry back. hurry back, to dear old Maineft IILEANOR ROBINSON. '40 H61

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THE OLYMPIAN THEIHG Personally. il feel there is no reaction comparable to that produced after hav- ing had one's first glance at a pig. His skin reminds one of a slightly bald, old man with a pink scalp and scurvy. His coarse, sparsely sprinkled white bristles come nowhere near covering up his ter- rible complexion. And his eyes! l.ong. sandy colored lashes, shading little squint eyes that seem. as l remember them. to be blue. lmagine a pig having blue eyes! His snout has a wet end and looks like a sawed-oti' elephants trunk that has been doused in water and then rubbed in gar- bage, The only pleasant thing about a pig's appearance is his tail. XVouldn't we women be pleased if our tresses were as permanently curled as the pig's rear appendage! lt gives the general effect of a corkscrew thumb-tacked onto his derriere. The only other thing that meets the eye is the pig's home. Knee deep mud. a messy trough hlled with milady's waste, mixed with some kind of grain and warm water. His home is a low-rooted but with a gloomy interior and old torn potato sacks to stuff the ehinks and soften his nightly repose. However. seeing a pig is nothing com- pared to smelling him! The odor is im- possible to describe. but its eHeets are a sullocating, nauseated 'feeling followed closely by a great desire to go home and have a bath. The table manners ot a pig are deplor- able. VX-'hy even an experienced social reformer like Emily Post would stand no chance with him! 'Whether he has a mouth or draws his delectable meal up through his nasal protrusion. I do not know: but whatever his table technique may be, a11d whether he masticates his food thoroughly or not, he makes a tas- cinating sound. described in animal books as slurp. slurp, slurp, ugh g the ugh denoting deep satisfaction. Think of all the uses he is put to! His dirty white bristles do the most talented things when fashioned into an artist's paint brush. His filthy boots, delicately Havored by years of mud wallowing, are carefully pickled and eaten. His tongue is, according to those who have known its epicurean delight. a real delicacy. He makes roast pork. ham. bacon, Vork- chops, and glue fthe glue coming from his bones, as does a certain something which goes to make gelatin jelll. He also makes tasty sausages. hot dogs. and smoked shoulders. His school girl skin is tanned and fashioned into shoes, bags. jackets. and footballs-no, not tootballs, l stand corrected. His salt pork goes into our Saturday night beans. No doubt there is some use for his tail: it there isn't, some genius will find one. But worst of all, imagine worshipping one! A dirty, smelly creature with an annoying grunt! VVell the Chinese and Hindus do! lX'lARGAR12T BIQECROFT, '40 OCTOBER l like the month of October. The month of falling leaves. The wind howling round the windows, And whistling through the trees. The leaves on the trees turn bright colors, And slowly fall to the groundg And some blow about in the cold w1ndy ai r, Making a rustling sound. Tniziznsa BOURQUE, '42 I4

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THE OLYMPIAN RETRIBUTION Peter Krag was standing just inside the entrance of the supply tent belonging to the Colonel Frederick Hates Expedi- tion, twenty days march deep. in the African jungle. His right hand was lirmly planted against the ivory tusk of a prime bull elephant. His left hand was hooked in his belt. Krag's sun- burned brow was deeply furrowed. There were twenty-nine more tusks in the large tent. ghostly in the dim light of early evening. Peter Krag was planning to make one-half of this fortune in ivory his own. lf any accident should befall the owner of an expedition while in the bush coun- try. the guide of the expedition received lifty per cent of the value of the cargo for conducting it safely back to civiliza- tion. 'llhis was the law of the bush country: it was recognized by the lirit- ish Colonel Troopers. who were the only law enforccrs. And Peter Krag was the official guide of the Frederick Hates Ex- pedition. Krag was not a villainous looking man. but looks. in his case were deceiving. lle was of medium build, possessing unruly brown hair streaked by the sun. l'lis eyes only betrayed him. They were hard and flinty and they mirrored his soul. The realistic looking smile, however. upon his pleasant mouth served to offset this characteristic. A native goat. destined to be used as lion bait by Colonel Bates for his eve- ning hunt, was tethered to a stake, just outside the tent. lts contented bleat mingling with the drone of evening in- sects fell lightly upon Krag's ears as he stepped out of the supply tent. Quickly crossing the small court, he entered Colo- nel Bates' quarters and took the Colonel's big-game riHe from the rack. The old Colonel was a methodical man: he was planning the next day's hunt with the natives. He had plenty of time, for tue old Colonel never came back to his quar- ters until after dark. There were still lifteen precious minutes of daylight left. All the natives would be in the main tent with Hates. No one would see him. King produced two medium caliber ritle cartridges from his pocket and dropped them into the breeches of the double barrelled .50 caliber ritle. The small cartridges slid well up into the breech. so that there was ample room for the regular .50 caliber cartridges to slide into place. VVhen the trigger was pulled and the smaller cartridges blew to pieces just ahead of the larger ones-well, the ivory was his. or half of it at least. Enough to make him rich,-he. Peter Krag! l-le could live a life of ease, but it was not over yet. he must hurry. He replaced the Colonel's rifle and stepped out into the court yard again. lt was growing dark now and soon Colo- nel Bates would embark upon his lion hunt. Krag walked past the goat toward his own tent. He stumbled, looked down and saw that one of his boots had be- come unlaced. Kneeling. he tied the boot, straightened up and looked into the eyes of a full grown male Nubian lion. Krag was between the lion and the goat l Neither Krag nor the lion moved. :Ns the goat caught scent of the beast he began to blat loudly. They stood there for what seemed to be hours lo Peter Krag until he heard a low whistle behind him. Turning his head slowlv so as not to aggravate the beast, he saw Dak, the Colonel's native man servant. approaching with a heavy rifie in his hands. Dak did not understand how to Ere the rifle. but he was absolutely fear- less. Wfalking slowly. he approached Krag, the rifle in his outstretched arms. Krag's eyes were again glued to the lion. who was becoming more irritated as Dak moved closer. I-le did not dare to look at Dak again, but kept his eyes on the lion. After many more long hours. he felt metal and wood in his hands. l-le was safe now! -lust bring the gun around. aim quickly and squeeze , . . Everything went black before the eyes of Peter Krag. I47 l