Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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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.

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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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THE GOLDEN-ROD 15 “You can’t do this!” she cried. “It’s impossible for you to appear like this! You’re insane!” “You look swell, Kate,” declared Petruchio with a grin. “I won’t permit this!'” stormed his bride-to-be. “Say, babe, you’re marrying me, not my clothes!” “I’ll marry neither!” cried Kath- erina. But the ceremony went on. Pe- truchio spilled cocktails at every op- portunity. Katherina wept and the guests enjoyed themselves. Petru- chio would not stay for the lavish wedding supper which Baptista had prepared. He took his bride away in his old, rusty rattletrap and they jounced over all the worst roads leading to his home. At the top of a high, rough hill the car suddenly wheezed to a stop and rolled back down to the bottom. Petruchio swore and shouted and Katherina sat huddled on the hard seat as he tinkered beneath the hood, crying with misery and hunger. “You beast! You contemptible pig! Take me home!” “How dare you talk to me like that!” “Then shut up!” Katherina wept in vain. They arrived at Petruchio’s home, a rambilng old country house set back among elms and wide lawns. Upon entering the hallway Kather- ina went straight to the telephone table. “What are you going to do?” asked her husband? “I’m going to call my father and tell him what a fool he is! He forced me into this marriage and now he’s going to get me out of it. You and he are the two most contemptible wretches I ever met!” Petruchio leaned carelessly against the doorway and regarded his bride with a grin. “The telephone’s dis- connected and anyway it’s time for supper. Come on.” “I’ll not go a step farther with you!” declared Katherina hotly. Whereupon Petruchio picked her up bodily and took her into the din- ing-room, where he sat her down none too gently before the table. “What, no caviar!” stormed Kath- erina. Petruchio looked exceedingly sur- prised and echoed, “No caviar? And look, Kate, the lousy grub they ex- pect us to eat! I shall fire all the servants!” He stood up with dignity and swept all the dishes into his arms. Katherina looked on fear- fully. “The rest is all right, Petruchio, don’t take it back.” “I’m sure,” said Petruchio gallant- ly, “that my bride is worthy of a better supper than this upon her wedding night.” He marched away with the dishes and Katherina, weak with hunger, burst into tears again. In their bedroom Katherina sank down into a deep armchair and closed her tired eyes. Petruchio sat down on the bed to take off his shoes. As soon as he touched the bed, he sprang up and swore loudly. Katherine opened her eyes and looked at him apprehensively. “And how is anyone expected to sleep on this mess of rocks!” cried Petruchio. He ripped off the bed covers and yanked at the mattress. “Those servants, I shall fire them all!” “Petruchio, stop it!” cried Kath- erina. “But you can’t sleep on a bed like this, Kate, it would kill you!” He continued to pull off the mattress and sheets. Katherina was almost at the hair- tearing point. She sat up all night lamenting her fate, while Petruchio paced the floor and cursed the serv- ants. The next morning Petruchio, sun- ny-faced and cheery, brought his wife breakfast. Katherina bright- ened a little at the sight of the sav- ory food, but it was all snatched