Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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THE MYSTERY OF THE LOST DUKE [Continued from page 9] “Well, sir,” replied the butler, leading the way. “If I might venture to say, sir, in all respect to ’is Lordship, sir, ’e sometimes h’is subjected to sloight h’attacks of lethargy, whereupon ’e remains in h’a stupor h’until someone wakes ’im. H’it’s a disease ’e got h’in the Tropics, sir, but I don’t believe this mental h’inadequacy made ’im disappear. H’it daon’t stand to reason, sir.” “Quite,” said Wolmes. “Is this the cellar?” By now we had reached the lowest floor in the house, and John conducted us along a dimly lit hall to a little, dusty door near the end. After it was unlocked, we stooped and entered the murky gloom of the wine closet. It was the usual damp affair, such as you see in any castle, with its rows of stained casks covered with cobwebs. “H’it’s just as I said, sir. ’E daon’t ’tseem to be ’ere,” said the butler, triumphantly. “Quite so, quite so, but what is that queer gurgling noise over in the corner, John?” “That’s the main water pipe, sir. H’it supplies water for all the commod- ities in the manor, sir.” “And who’d be using water at this time?” “Why, I cahn’t say, sir. The servants moight be doing the laundering, sir, but they usually does h’it on Saturday morning, sir,—” But suddenly Wolmes burst out excitedly, “Of course,—of course. I have it! Quick, Hotson. Follow me up stairs and run as you’ve never run before, if you ever want to save his life!” And away he ran, and I followed him as soon as I could recover from my surprise. “Hurry, Hotson, hurry!” I heard him cry, as he rounded a bend in the stair case. I found him in the hall on the top floor feverishly opening all the doors. “I sye there, Wolmes,” I called. “Wot are you doing thet for? You cahn’t do thet. Really, ole chappie, it just isn’t done.” “Quick, Hotson,” he urged. “Help me find a locked door. We may not yet be too late.” “Come, come, old chap,” I soothed, “Let’s go down to the study and I’ll get you a cool drink of—” “Ah, here it is!” he exclaimed triumphantly, as he rattled the knob of a door near the Duke’s bedroom. “Here, Hotson. Come and help me break it down.” Bewildered, I sprang forward to assist him, when the voice of the portly butler, who had just arrived, gasped, “Blimey, but you mustn’t do that. H’it’s’s Lordship’s private bathroom.” “Exactly,” said Wolmes. “Now, all together, one—two—three-push!” It took three such shoves to smash the heavy oaken door down. Then it [Continued on page 22]

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NOTHING TO DO HAT do you do when “there’s nothing to do” ? Some people prefer ill spend their spare time at the theatre, or in other forms of passive amusement. Others go much higher in search of diver- sion, penetrating the fields of science in their dabblings with chemistry, astronomy, radio, taxidermy, and similar hobbies. It is not uncommon to hear of a person who developed his proficiency in photography, radio, or taxidermy from just an idle interest into a means of earning a good living. It can be done and it is done. One man’s hobby is another man’s living; anyone who calls a hobby a waste of time has never had one. During the recent hard times more than one stamp collection brought enough money for a few meals, and more than one individual, losing his regular job, was glad indeed to fall back on his hobby as a means of replenishing a cupboard that was fast becoming bare. So when “there’s nothing to do”, snap off the radio, put away the cards, and choose a hobby to your interest. Not only will it add to your earning power, but it will also give you solid enjoyment and a merited pride in us- ing time so profitably. THE HOUSEKEEPER The day does housework with the wind for a broom, And cleans with light dark corners of gloom. The day feeds trees and flowers by her one Eternally life-giving breast—the sun. Later she rises and goes. Does she hear Of housework in some other hemisphere? Selma Whitehead

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ALUMNI I CAME— I C A W I CONQUERED— Harriet Elliot Sanders of February ’33 Describes Her Mediterranean Cruise EARS and handkerchiefs—excitement—expectancy—all sorts of funny feelings surging through one poor body as the band struck up and the “Saturnia” left the pier. One last glimpse of my family and friends. By late afternoon we were well at sea. No more land for days to come. A deplorable appetite ... new acquaintances .. just living from day to day with no cares or worries except that I might awaken from a glorious dream. After a week of the majestic, friendly ocean we arrived in Gibraltar—at daybreak. I wanted to dress and go up on deck, yet I hated to leave the port hole for fear of missing something. The great rock loomed up from the dark water, the top hidden in misty clouds. Gradually the sun grew brighter and by the time we started ashore, it had all taken on a different aspect. In the four hours there we saw some of the most important and interesting places as well as having a chance to poke about in numerous shops. Time always passes too quickly, but as there was more in store for us, we returned to the ship without misgivings. Off again... Algiers the next morning. Merchants, in turbans or fezzes, wooden shoes or barefeet, rowed out to the boat with their wares, all ready to contend with tourists determined to buy everything for nothing. Two boys swam out and dived for coins passengers threw down to them. From the harbor one would never suspect just how busy the city really is... horses and wagons clat- tering along the streets ... little cars zig-zagging through a maze of traffic, steering clear of pedestrians who pay no attention to the vehicles.. new