Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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TAMING OF THE SHREW ( With apologies to Bill Shakespeare') By Dorothy Hunt TAXI stopped before the ex- clusive men’s Club in the midst of the hustle and bus- tle of Manhattan. A young man, slender and well-dressed, jumped out and paid his fare with a flourish. Entering the lighted por- tals of the Club, he showed his card to the doorman, then stood tucking ing it back into his wallet and look- ing about him. There was a group of young men around him the next moment. They noisily greeted him with fond back- slaps and warm hand-clasps. “Petruchio, old pal, how’s tricks!” “What’s the idea of stayin’ away so long, kid?” “Goa have mercy on us, he’s rais- ing a mustache!” Petruchio twirled the budding mustache above his upper lip with apparent vanity. “Say, what’s been doin’?” They entered the lounge, talking together and drawing out cigarets. Seated in large, comfortable easy chairs they related to Petruchio the recent happenings in New York City. “And I?” Lucentio mourned sadly, “have had my wedding postponed again.” Petruchio laughed at the woeful expression of the young man. “Why?” he asked. “It’s that darn sister of hers! The old man won’t let Bianca marry me until Katherina is hitched up. And before that dame snares a guy, Ni- agara Falls will be running up-hill!” Amid laughter the others agreed. “And why,” asked Petruchio, “is the young lady so distasteful to you?” “Why!” cried Lucentio, “just wait ’til you meet her! Of all the disa- greeable, conceited, insufferable . . .” “Wait,” Petruchio laughed, “could you manage an introduction for me? I’m half in love with the girl al- ready.” Lucentio looked worried. “I could, but I think too much of you, Petru- chio. If you didn’t get a kick in the teeth during the first five minutes, you’d get your eyes scratched out before the evening was over.” “Playful lass,” decided Petruchio. “Who’s her father?” “Old Baptista, and he’s bound to make Bianca and me wait ’til that devil of a Katherina is married.” “I think,” said Petruchio, crushing out his butt, “that I will pay a visit to Miss Katherina very shortly.” “For cryin’ in a cup, Petruchio, there’s plenty of good-natured girls around!” “Granted,” said Petruchio, “but variety is the spice of life.” Baptista and Petruchio waited in the drawing-room for the appear- ance of Katherina. Baptista was ill at ease and frequently wiped his brow with a large white handker- chief. Petruchio sat coolly looking through the latest “Ballyhoo.” “I—er— I—” Baptista pulled at his collar, “I feel I must—er—warn you. young man.” “Yes?” Petruchio looked up cas- ually. “Er—yes. Katherina is a rather unruly girl, that is—” “Oh, have no fear. I’ve known her a long time and now I find I’m really quite fond of her,” lied Petruchio earnestly. “I’m afraid you don’t give her credit for her charm and gra- ciousness.” Baptista looked bewildered and unhappy, and truly baffled. He con- tinued to pace up and down and ponder uneasily. Suddenly a young man rushed into the room, holding his hand to his head and making queer sounds in his throat. “I’m through, I’m through!” he cried. “This is the end! I can stand no more! I am a gentleman, sir.

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12 THE GOLDEN-ROD THROUGH A SUB’S EYES The Short, Short Story By ED. GOODMAN “Oh, I always knew that you had to have a drag to get on one of Coach Jones’s teams, anyway. Why did I ever come out for basketball? Look at Dick Smith floundering around out there in my position. Why doesn’t the coach send me in? What’s that, Coach, you want me? Oh. you want me to get the first aid kit in the locker room? Oh, no, Coach. I wasn’t swearing under my breath.” (Intermission is over and the second half begins.) “Gee, it seems as though the coach is looking at me. What's that, Coach, you want me? Oh, you want to see Robinson in back of me? Look at that, he’s sending in that third string substitute. I always thought that the coach was cockeyed and now I know it. I know 1 shouldn’t be thinking this, but I wish some- body would get hurt out there so that I could strut my stuff. Wouldn’t Pa be proud of me if I should come home with a great big sweater with a red “A” emblazoned on the front. And won’t Mary Smith be proud of her big athlete? Is that Ma and Pa up in the stands or are my eyes de- ceiving me? Is that the Coach look- ing at me? It is. Go in in place of Smith? Okay. Gee, I always knew that the Coach was a good fellow. He certainly knows his stuff.” And substitute Jimmy Johnson went out on the floor and gave his all for good old Abadaba while half a score of substitutes watched, with dreams of their winning games for the old alma mater written all over their faces, meanwhile cursing the Coach, team, and everybody in gen- eral. And ’twill ever be thus. Continued from Page 1« truchio had not seen before. He promptly declared it looked disas- trous on her and commanded her to take it off. Just as promptly Kath- erina took off the hat. The guests, though impressed, laughed and joked at Katherina’s submissiveness. “My dear, it’s silly,” said Marie, lighting a cigaret in a foot-long holder, “to let your husband have such complete control over every- thing you say or do.” “It’s a wife’s duty,” said Katherina coolly, “to love, honor and obey her husband.” Petruchio smiled to himself and set down another score for himself. Riding home through the night dusk Petruchio and Katherina were silent. The round, yellow moon hung above them in the wide heaven. Presently Petruchio said, “How bright the moon is.” “Yes,” said Katherina. Petruchio smiled down at her. “You’re sure it’s the moon?” “Oh, yes,” said Katherine, smiling back at him. Petruchio found it necessary at that moment to stop the car and put his arm around his wife. “Now,” he said, “protest if you dare.” “I don’t,” replied Katherina, so consequently was promptly kissed. TWILIGHT Just to see birds homeward flying. And to hear the forest sighing Because the sunset's dying. When it’s twilight. Just to hear the wavelets babble On each tiny stone and pebble; Sound like a bluebird’s treble Just at twilight. Just when stars begin to quiver, And a rising moon gleams on the river. Would that it would last forever But it’s only twilight. Frances L. Carlson. LIZZIE’S GANG I just love my Aunt Liz-zie, When she comes with her familie: Cousin Clarence—ain’t he cute Tearing up my school note book? Then there’s Sis—into my room She strolls, and everything goes boom! Powders, perfumes—what a mess! But this is just the life. I guess. Uncle Daniel—he’s a peach! Always trying to make a speech. None of them have manners, gee! What’s that in a familie? Don’t this show’ just what a pang Is left when Liz goes with her gang? Dee Burr.

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14 THE GOLDEN-ROD and a gentleman does not accept such treatment without comment of some sort!” “Most decidedly not,” agreed Pe- truchio firmly. “What’s the matter?” The young man eyed him scorn- fully and turned to Baptista. “Your daughter broke the music-rack over my head, sir. That makes the sev- enth this week. I’m through!” He turned haughtily toward the door and left. Baptista sighed wearily and mopped his brow again. “Katherina will have her little jokes,” laughed Pe- truchio. At that moment a slim young woman with black curls and flashing blue eyes en- tered the room. “Hello, Kate,” Pe- truchio grinned. “My name,” said the girl frigidly, “is Katherina!” “Not to me it isn’t,” declared Petruchio; “I like Kate better.” “How dare you be so familiar, you young fool! ” cried Kather- ina. “Leave at once!” “Nothing d o i n ” said Petruchio, light- ing a cigaret; “I’ve only just got here.” Baptista was almost biting his finger nails with worriment. “And besides,” continued the young man, “I’ve got something to tell you.” “I’ll listen to nothing you have to say,” stated Katherine icily. “Sure, you will, Kate. Listen, we’re going to be married next Sun- day; isn’t that swell news?” “You,” said Katherina with con- viction, “are insane.” “Oh no,” objected Petruchio. “Quite sane. Your father has given his consent,” Baptista nodded miser- ably, “so I’ll be seeing you. Be good ’til Sunday.” He donned his hat and coat and left, sending a gay grin over his shoulder to the fiery-eyed Katherina. Sunday at the home of Baptista and his daughters brought a gala occasion indeed. In the gravel drive- way stood many low, gleaming cars and on the wide, cool veranda were grouped lovely young women and trim young men, laughing and chat- tering. Katherina and her father sat in the parlor. Baptista paced and Kath- erina sulked. She looked beautiful in her white gown, but her brows were pulled together and her lips were tight. One silver-shod foot tapped the floor furiously. Petruchio was an hour late and Katherina thought she would burst with pent-up anger and hu- miliation. The radio hummed with the sound of Arthur Jar- ret’s sentimental theme song and Kath- erina jumped up and stamped over to shut it off. When Petruchio ar- rived it was with great noise and color. He stopped before the veranda in a very an- cient contraption one might have called an automobile in 1900. It was unpainted and exceedingly rusty. The mud-guards were dented and the left rear one was absent. Petruchio was dressed in dirty tennis pants and a torn orange sweater much too large for him. He hadn’t shaved all week. Jumping over the side of the car he ran up the steps of the ve- randa, calling greetings to his friends. Consequently, there was much commotion. The friends screeched and applauded and laughed. Every- one liked the effect and raved about Petruchio’s originality. That is, all except Katherina. She stood like stone with her hands clenched by her sides.