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

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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?”

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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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16 THE CHRONICLE “Why, I — I Caro was not expecting this. Tlien she answered quickly, “I usually eat with Mother and Dad when Mother is about, but this is the last night, and I know that they won’t mind.” While they were dancing after dinner, Jack announced, “At midnight we are going to pass a light which we shall be able to see on the horizon. I have arranged with the chef for a little snack after we have seen it. I hope that you have a heavy coat. It will be cold.” Caro was excited. She had always wished that someone would talk to her like that - order her around. They sat on the deck that night until they had passed the light. Then Caro looked at her watch. “Heavens!” she said in her callous way, “I have to go in or Mother will scalp me!” “Good night, Caro, and good bye.” Panic struck her. They were to dock in the morning. ‘Mack —” she started, and stopped. “Yes, Caro, some day we’ll meet again,” he said, and was gone. That night the fire alarm sounded. Bedlam reigned. In the red glare ugly seas snatched at the lowered life boats. The headlines in the New York papers on the following morning announced: “Huge ocean liner sinks twelve hours from Southampton. Five passengers and crew drowned. Among the missing were Miss Carolyn Livingstone of this city and Mr. Jack Hobart.” Betty Shelley, '37 Satisfaction She sat in the big swivel chair behind the huge, shiny mahogany desk. How large and roomy it was, with so many drawers. It was so different from those in the Old Building. Battered and worn, scratched and marked, and worn smooth with long usage, those desks had known many years of hard work. She was so glad she didn’t work in the Old Building any more. She glanced around her. She marveled. Everywhere were evidences of great wealth. Secretly she wondered if these wonderful things would last as long as those things in the Old Building. What did it matter, anyhow? The owner would probably redecorate all the offices here in ten years. She was glad she didn’t work in the Old Building any more. She looked at the beautiful, glossy, hardwood floors. Mentally she compared them with the floors of the Old Building. Those had served the foot steps of many years, and she was in a way familiar with them. But these new floors, well, they sort of did something to you — like making you want to dance — even though you couldn’t. And she was glad she didn’t work in the Old Building any more.