Lyman Hall High school - Singer Chronicle Yearbook (Wallingford, CT)

Page 13 text:

THE CHRONICLE 13 Tramp Meets Tramp On a windy November night a group of hungry knights and a few ladies of the road gathered around a bright fire near the railroad track and ate greedily of canned beans. As Mike, one of the younger men in the band leaned forward to get some dessert (more beans), he noticed a girl shivering on the edge of the 4 jungle” in a ragged hat and coat, staring longingly at the fire and the food. “Hey you,” he called, “come in and join us. Matthews has just laid a cheery fire in the open fireplace, and the fourth course will be served presently. 1 was just having some beans a la can. Want some?” “Well, my stomach has been craving company for a couple of days,” she admitted laughingly, as she came eagerly toward the fire. The others glanced up, grunted some greeting, and began to ply their forks more vigorously to make up for lost time. Mike watched the girl as she ate, thinking of how pretty she looked in the flickering light. When she had finished, they moved a short distance from the rest and sat down to talk. “I’m known among the Four Hundred as Mike Davis,” he said, grinning at her. “What’s your handle?” She laughed and answered with an aloof air, “I’m listed in the Blue Book as Barbara Crane, sir.” “Well, the Vanderbilts would never recognize you in that rig,” he said, as he looked critically at her battered attire. “And you’re no model for Esquire yourself,” she retorted, returning the inspection. They chattered gaily for a while, and then suddenly Mike grew serious, saying, “This life doesn’t suit you. Why are you here?” “Why is anybody?” she answered evasively. “1 lost my job and had to move on; so — here I am.” “But you don’t belong —” “But I’m here and that’s that,” she interrupted curtly. “Shall we change the subject?” They talked for an hour or two, exchanging experiences, and then parted to join their respective groups for the night. For several days Mike and Barbara travelled along with a few others, hopping freights when they could, walking the rest of the time. As the train drew into Chicago, Mike said reluctantly, “Here’s where I get off, Bob. Got some business to attend to.” “Why, how nice!” exclaimed Barbara. “I intend to stop here, too. I’ve always wanted to see Chicago.”

Page 12 text:

12 THE CHRONICLE i Who Me? Who me? I'm not afraid, but still Some things do my heart with terror fill; Phantom footsteps who what's behind me? One quick glance and no one there. See!! Over-hanging trees, inky skies, few stars, An urge to whistle, well, only a few bars, Blustery weather, these rustling leaves Or was that leaves? One look my fear relieves. Who me? I’m not really scared and yet I'm not anxious by goblins or ghosts to be met; A shrill scrccch the wind, of course; But, then, has the wind such awful force? Hair on end — thoughts of mystery thrillers! Those gruesome, adventurous, horrow-fillers! A dark stretch ahead, and no street light, Be-gloved hands, hence no nails to bile. Who me? I'm not easily frightened, except Surely, something has beside me crept!! Chattering teeth and quaking knees are not for me; Those are left for “fraidy-cats”, you see. There’s nothing so stirring as a twelve o'clock walk; But if you don’t mind, I’ll walk and stalk At twelve o’clock; yes, at noon in the sun; Don’t you think (Oh, I’m sure!!) it’s much more fun? Betty Davitt, ’37

Page 14 text:

14 THE CHRONICLE Mike helped her down and they started ofT. He soon left her to attend to his business, and both seemed averse to parting, as though it were the last time they would ever meet. In the office of the Chicago Times, Editor Green was loudly praising Michael Dennis for his story on the life of tramps. “These pictures are “tops’ too, Mike,” he said. “Say, these’ll beat anything the Star could ever get. They’ll be sorry they ever started this competition for the best story on tramps. “Hey, wait a minute,” he gasped, as he stared at the picture before him. “Where’d you meet this girl?” “She was with the gang all the week. I got most of my information from her. Gee, she was swell,” Mike sighed. “I’ll say she was swell,” the editor bellowed. “A swell masquerader! Do you realize that’s Barbara Blair of the Star? And you got all your information from her! You imbecile:” A similar scene was taking place in the office of the Star, where Barbara was islaring open-mouthed at her rival’s countenance grinning at her from the photograph. “You two have ruined the whole thing,” the editor fumed. “You’re my best reporter, Bob, but get out of here before I lose my temper and fire you!” Later Barbara was gloomily ordering supper in a restaurant, when a voice behind her said, “Hello, Bob Crane. Know any jungle roundabouts where I could get some grub?” “Well, if it isn’t Mike Davis, the tramp. Sit down and join me. What will you have?” she asked, her eyes twinkling. “Let’s have beans a la can,” was the answer, and they began to laugh uproariously. Josephine Gallagher, ’37 Fetie Nose so pink and eyes so bright, Romping hard from morn ’til night, Just a baby setter pup, Petie. Coat so silky, tail so long, Ne’er a care, life’s a song, Just a baby setter pup, Petie. Lars so floppy, tongue so wet, He’s grown a lot, growing yet, Just a baby setter pup, Petie. Marcia Williams, ’38