Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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THE GOLDEN-ROD 11 “I never did—before ’ he whispered: “but when you say it, Diane, it sounds diderent, homehow!” “Does it, Bruce?” and the golden head was bent. Her voice seemed vibrant with emotion, though Bruce couldn’t see the twinkle in her eyes. “I’m glad, Bruce, so glad.” IV “Gosh, Diane, you’re a nifty swimmer. I never thought a girl could swim so well.” His tone implied that he hadn’t thought girls could do anything. Ken and Diane splashed with their feet as they sat on the edge of the pool. “You swim well, too, Ken,” Diane whispered. ‘ D' you real v think so?” Ken asked, eagerly. “I certainly do, Ken, and do you know, I think there’s something awfully patri- cian about you.” “Really?” “Yes, really,” and Ken felt an absurd desire to kiss that golden hair, glistening in the sunlight. V “Mn! That was delicious, Mr. Gal- braith.” Bobby’ smiled across at the golden- haired girl. “Let’s forget the conventions and use Christian names.” “Let’s, Bobby. How’s that?” “Great, Diane. You know, I think Diane is a beautiful name. Diane Star,” he mused. “The name was made for you.” “I’m glad you like it,” she whispered, huskily, as she bent her head. “I like you, too.” It was spoken softly, earnestly, and the girl’s fair skin was tinged with pink. “Oh, I’m so glad, for, you see, I like you, too.” VI “I’m falling in love with someone, some one girl—” “Oh. Mr. Travers, I didn’t know you could sing like that. You sing wonder- fully.” “I don’t—usually—but, you see, I have an inspiration now.” “Oh!” “Yes, you see, I’ve hitched my wagon to a star, and a golden star at that.” The girl hung her golden head. “You know, sometimes it’s dangerous to hitch your wagon to a star.” “Why?” “Sometimes another wagon’s hitched there first.” Bill frowned. “You know, you’re pretty, Diane.” “So I’ve been told.” “I like you.” “And I like you.” “Oh, gee!” Brown eyes smiled at blue. VII “I tell you, Charlie, you have to!” “Sure you do, Charlie. Gee! it’s not fair to give a fellow only one dance.” “Gosh, no! Aw, come on, Charlie, be a sport!” “I tell you, boys, it’s impossible!” ex- claimed Charlie. “All her dances are taken.” “Aw! yesterday you said—” “That was yesterday,” Charlie replied, significantly. “The fellows hadn’t seen her then. I gave you fellows first chance, and you had to be coaxed to take even one dance. Now you’re left, and who’s to blame?” “You are!” retorted four voices. “Well, of all the nerve!” “You certainly are!” Bruce cried. “If you’d showed us her picture, or told us about her, or—” “Well, I’ll be jiggered!” Then, to the four irate boys’ surprise, Charlie sat down and rocked with laughter.

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10 THE GOLDEN-ROD Ken nodded, mutely, then brightened. “Well, fellows,” he replied, “it will only be for one night. Not till Saturday, and this is only Wednesday. A lot can hap- pen in four days.” He was right. A lot can happen in four days. II A sudden hush fell over the room as the “Shun-them-four” entered the tea room. Pretty girls nodded at each other, as they realized that here, before them, were the famous four woman haters of Red- wood College. The four fellows, as if ignorant of the quickened heart-beats their coming caused among the feminine occupants, crossed the floor four abreast, and came to a halt at the table where tea was being served. “Aren’t they wonderful!” one girl gasped, and instantly all eyes were focused on her. She blushed and en- deavored to hide her discomfiture. The four, however, seemed deaf to the remark. Then, a voice behind them: “Fellows, just a minute.” They turned around and confronted Charlie. With him was a very attractive Miss, with curly golden hair and large blue eyes. “This is my cousin. Miss Star. Diane, meet the four Shylocks. They stay shy of golden locks as well as other feminine tresses. The four club members bowed grave1}' and whispered a suitable rejoinder. Ken was devoutly praying that she wasn’t one of those girls who haltingly lisp baby-talk. P ruce sincerely hoped she wasn’t one of those gushing women he’d read so much about. Bobby hoped she didn’t have a squeaky voice. Bill was silently praying, but he didn’t know why. Then she spoke, in a soft, musical voice. “How do you dor” Four sighs of relief were heaved in unison. Four faces were wreathed in smiles. They chatted merrily for a few min- utes. Then Bruce recalled an important engagement. “I’m sorry, Miss Star, but I’m afraid I’ll have to leave. I’d be thrilled, how- ever, if you’ll play a set of tennis with me this afternoon. Could you?” The girl hesitated, glancing at Charlie. Charlie returned the glance without a flicker of his evelids. “I’ll be delighted, Mr. Beldon.” “It’s a go, then. At four.” Ken bowed gravely, and announced his immediate departure. “How about a swim, Miss Star? In the outdoor pool at seven?” “Thank you. Mr. Waring. I’ll love it.” “And could you have dinner with me at eight?” Diane smiled at Bobby. “Yes,” she replied, her eves dancing, “I could.” “And how about a walk with me at nine?” Bill urged. “I’ll be thrilled!” she promised. Outside, the four woman haters looked at each other. “A knockout!” Bruce exclaimed. And the other three agreed. Ill “Congratulations, Miss Star, you’re a fine player.” “No. Mr. Beldon, I’m not at all. But you are a good sport. Letting me win—” Bruce flushed. “Now. Miss Star, I didn’t let you win. You simply outplayed me.” Diane smiled, knowingly. “Anyway, Mr. Beldon, I like you very much. And you are a skilled tennis player.” He smiled at the small, upturned face, and the slim arms swinging the racquet. “I wish you’d call me—Bruce,” he ven- tured. daringly. The blue eyes smiled at him. “Oh, how did you know that I wanted to?” she cried. “I love the name Bruce, don’t you?” Bruce kicked at a small pebble.

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12 THE GOLDEN-ROD VIII It was the night of the Prom. The gym had been transformed into a verit- able fairyland. The running track above it presented a startling picture, with its soft silk draperies and glowing lanterns. A mysterious delightfulness surrounded the gym. The four boys had each received his appointed dance, and were, at present, glaring at Diane’s partner, who was proudly whirling her around the room. “Geei?‘ Ken said, “I wish they’d let a fellow cut in!” “Huh!” Bobby snorted. “What do you think this is—the Class Rush:” “The next is the final dance, isn’t it, Bruce:” “Yes, and she’s dancing it with Char- lie.” The lights were lowered as the orches- tra began the final waltz. Four boys, flattened against the wall, were immersed in their thoughts. At last the lights went up. “Gee!” Bill cried. “Here she comes, with Charlie!” The four boys smiled. Diane smiled back. “We’ve decided, Charlie and I,” she said, shyly, “that you’re just the ones for ushers.” “Ushers for what:” Bruce asked. “Why, for our wedding. Charlie and I are engaged. We’re going to be mar- ried in June.” The four boys stared, stupefied. Their faces paled perceptibly. Four tanned foreheads were puckered, frowningly. Then, slowly, their faces changed color. Hushing painfully, they looked first at each other, then at the smiling boy and girl before them. Bruce started to speak, gulped, stam- mered and stopped. Ken recovered first. “Why didn’t you tell us, Charlie? Shouldn’t have secrets in the ‘frat,’ you know. Anyway, I suppose congratula- tions are in order.” “It—it just happened,” the bride-to-be whispered, as she bent her golden head. IX Four boys came down the campus, arm in arm. Happily, they chanted their ditty: “Drive all women from our door, For we are ihe 'shun them four,’ To a party we go stag— And a femme we never drag. Rah! Rah! Rah! The Woman Haters’ Club!” And the four clasped hands. JUNE William Lord, June. 1932 Cat birds in the thickets, Robins in the trees; All the flowers nodding, Shiv’ring in the breeze; Loads of bees are hustling, Winging to and fro, Gathering up sweet honey From bright meadows as they go; Birds arc singing everywhere. Summer’s at its crest, Trees arc at their greenest, Nature’s at her best. THE ISLE OF MY DESIRE William Lord, June, 1932 'Hiere is magic in the moonlight On that palm-fringed silver shore, Where the waves are rolling, ever onward, To break and crash and roar; There are rainbows in the spray that’s flung From the jagged coral reef. And the perfumes, fruits, and birds of jungle Nowhere else one-half so sweet. The surface of its vast lagoon Is of brightest burnished gold. And underneath its glimmer There is scattered wealth untold; So, is it any wonder That I long to hear the thunder Of the curling, crested breakers On that far-off southern shore? GLOOMY GRANGE Dorothy Squire, June, 1930 On the Heyton Road, set well back near the cemetery, there still stands the