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

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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

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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.”

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THE CHRONICLE 15 Tomorrow's Dawn The music waxed louder and faster. The girl spun around the slippery floor in the circle of her partner’s arms. The boat lurched suddenly and one of the women screamed. The dancing couples took a few quick steps to keep their balance. Caro went on gazing over her partner’s shoulder at the boy sitting at the edge of the dance floor. At times the dance would carry them farther down the floor, or another couple would block her vision, but always her eyes turned toward him again. “Tommy,” she said, “do you know young Lochinvar over there?” Her escort pivoted and glanced across the room. “Oh, that one. I haven’t ever been able to find out who he is. He’s quiet as last year’s stock market and doesn’t seem to know anyone on board.” “Well, he isn’t having much fun. I hinted to Jim's father that he looked lonely. 1 thought that he might introduce me, but he didn’t bother!” “What a girl!” said Tom. “Just because Jim’s father introduced us doesn’t mean that he knows every Tom, Dick, and Harry on board, but if you're really interested in this fellow, 1 “Tommy, you old mind reader. I knew that you would. Do you think that you can arrange it?” “Leave it to the old maestro,” he said, as Jim cut in. The next morning Caro was on the top deck, playing deck tennis with Jim and another couple. She threw the ring, Jim caught it, tossed it back over her head, and out of bounds. She turned to go after the ring and saw7 that her lonesome friend was standing there holding it. “You would do much better if you sent a twister like this—” the boy said, as he threw the ring back, and Jim off his guard did not catch it. Suddenly the boy lost his casual manner and looked around in embarrassment. Tommy came running up and saved the situation. “Caro, I want you to meet Jack Hobart — Carolyn Livingstone. Can’t stop. On my eight laps around deck. See you later. His words drifted back on the wind as he sped down the deck. Caro laughed. “Well, Mr. Hobart, she said, “now that we are properly introduced, suppose you proceed with your lesson on the twister, as you called it.” “No, that can wait. Let’s walk.” He was, Caro could see, impulsive and determined. As they rounded the stern, she said, “Tell me about yourself. There isn’t much to tell. Went to college and flunked out because of Alfred. He’s my best friend, but Dad doesn’t approve and is sending me across to give me a chance to improve myself. Will you have dinner with me tonight?”