Rockland High School - Cauldron Yearbook (Rockland, ME)

Page 22 text:

18 THE CAULDRON We turn the hot water knob and start to whistle a cheery tune while we wait for the tub to fill. But what is this! Nothing happens! Oh, well, fsighj, per- haps the pipes on the second Hoor are frozen. We'll have to postpone that lovely warm bath 'till the sun rises high enough to thaw the pipes. As we skip down the stairs, a sense of foreboding fills usg but we shrug it off and put our mind on more pleasant things, such as the little woman in a frilly little housedress standing by the stove watching the bacon and eggs-and that coffee she makes! It makes our mouth. water just to think about it. Rounding the corner into the kitchen, a startled gasp escapes our lips. There is no coffee, no bacon, and no eggs, all is in an uproar! There on the floor the little woman! Her hair is disheveled, her dress is torn and dirtyg and she is surrounded by piles of newspaper, a wrench, and several candles. She is evidently having some trouble under the sink, as her head disappears every so often, leaving :just her legs protruding from under the sink as if it had suddenly swallowed her up. Having regained our senses, we Hy to the rescue, like the daring Young knight on a silver charger. VVe calm the little woman and send her off to clean up while we do the job up brown. VVhen at last we have bundled her off to church, we settle down to the task at hand. Now let's go at this in a scientific way. We decide, first of all, to examine the pipe and discern the ailment. As we attempt to squeeze our head and shoulders into a space large enough for a very small pekinese, we see that this method of examination is all wrong. Now, how are we going to see up under the sink? Ah! An idea hits us! Where did Billy keep that toy periscope? We dash upstairs, ransack Billy's drawers, fremoving them entirely from the bureau and putting them on the bedj and fly down again with the toy periscope in hand. After standing on our head holding the periscope in one hand and balancing iourselves with the other, we finally hnd the source of the trouble. just as we thought. The pipe is frozen in the elbow between the sink and the cellar. We decide that the only way to fix this is to disconnect the elbow and bring it up to the kitchen to thaw out. VVe enter the cellarway with caution. lfVow! It's dark in here. Groping around for the light switch, we hit our head on the cupboard door. Ah l There's the light! No, it's just a star. It must be over here. Ouch! So that's where she keeps all the niousetraps. At last we find the switch. A sorry sight greets our eyes. There are a clothes basket full of dirty clothes, an axe, an ironing board, and a wooden saw horse, complete with buck-saw, arranged carefully just where we want to step. Oh, well, it won't take long to move them. We were right-half an hour isn't really long. VVhen at last we get down cellar, and shut off the water, we discover that the pipe is screwed on so tightly that it is impossible to remove the elbow with our wrench. Fired with enthusiasm, we dash upstairs and bring back the hammer. Holding a flashlight between our teeth, the wrench in one hand, and the hammer in the other, we finally extract the elbow. Now let's see. That kettle would be iust the thing to put it in. lVe'll simply take it up and set it on the stove. It will be all right in a moment. Crash! What's that? We dash madly into the cellarway, only to find that the clothes basket has fallen down cellar. Well, we shan't give up all hope yet. We

Page 21 text:

THE CAULDRON 17 the faded manuscripts. After carefully restoring them, she preserves them by covering them with a special sheer cloth which is nearly transparent. All papers are then placed under glass or in dust-tight cases. e It was interesting to hear her tell of this intricate and exacting work and we wondered if she had had any particularly interesting experiences with her paper patching. After some prodding she told us this story: About six months ago. two men came to my work room and asked me if they were right in understanding that I could re-assemble the parts of a mutilated letter. After carefully producing a box containing seemingly hundreds of pieces of writing paper as small as confetti, they asked me if I would be willing to put this letter together for them. I enjoy unusual requests and so set to work. As I spread out these fragments they told me why they had come. It seems that a month before a young lady was found with a bullet wound in her head. Her estranged husband was now on trial for her murder. This man, who was on an out-bound train half an hour after her death, had no way of proving that she was alive when he left her apartment. His fate seemed sealed, until in searching her room for evidence, these scraps of paper were found in her waste basket. Evidently she had intended for no one to read them, for not a word could be read. 'l'he court had sent these men to me in the hope that if the papers were mended so that the letter could be read, it might furnish evidence which would decide the case one way or the other. Now that I had the pieces spread out and knew the importance of my task, I set out eagerly to assemble my puzzle in the endeavor to save a man's life. At the end of the second hour. I was finished, and the men excitedly read the results of my efforts, after which they thanked me profusely and left, exultantg for in this letter rested the one scrap of evidence which would prove that this woman was alive after the accused had left her. In the note the dead woman explained that, her husband no longer loving her, she had nothing to live for and was going to shoot herself. Apparently she decided not to leave the note and so destroyed it as completely as possible. Her husband would have soon joined her in death had it not been for the help of this quiet old lady. Did we once think her work dull and monotonous? BETTY HEMPSTEAD THE GREAT STRUGGLE or PLUMBING IN THE HOME Due to the shortage of experienced and well-trained plumbers, many of us are now discovering the pleasures and joys QU of doing our own plumbing. Cn a peaceful Sunday morning as we are just opening our eyes, luxuriously stretching, and chuckling over last night's party, we feel a sense of security and contentment that only a good night's sleep can bring. WeV rise and shine, only to discover that it is quite chilly, fnot to say freezingj, and make a dash for the bathroom to indulge in a nice steaming hot bubble bath Capple blossomj.

Page 23 text:

THE CAULDRON 19 toddle down the stairs and gather up the clothes. They were dirty anyway, we try to tell ourselves. By this time our spirits are pretty low. XfVe remove the joint from the pan and attempt to get it back in place. After an hour's toil, we finally succeed and, stag- gering up the stairs, flop on the couch. :af as vs PK :if The little woman comes home from church and finds us there, snoring tenderly. 'llhe sound of her voice awakens us and immediately our spirits soar at the thought of showing OH our handiwork to an appreciative audience. Making a good story out of our trials and tribulations, we take her by the arm and lead her to our masterpiece. VVe turn on the cold-water faucet, step back and-Wfhat? The water's hot? Desperately we clutch at the hot-water faucet fperhaps the cold-water will cool off laterj. No such luck! The hot water is cold. We stutter and stammer our way out of the embarrassing situation by saying that we can easily switch the faucets and there you are-a job well done. She sighs and says, Oh, well, dear, you tried anyway. EIDITH CARR SEA CAPTAIN Cap'n Zeb Halloway had, for many years, lived in the small sea coast town called Anchorage Anchorage was typical of any little sea coast town with its customary wharves and white-washed cottages and sailing vessels returned from all over the world. Cap'n Zeb, however, was the outstanding person in the town. His history was as colorful as a new patch work quilt. He was of average stature and slightly bent with age. His skin was as weather-beaten and brown as an oak leaf in November, and the fringe of hair that showed from beneath his hat was silvery grey. The one outstanding feature of the old sea captain, however, was his eyes. 'llhey were of the deepest blue imaginable and they could make life-long friends or enemies. 'llhey could be kind or cruel, they could cut like a knife or be filled with tenderness and pity. For many years Cap'n Zeb had been docked like the many old sailing vessels of his days. but even now the young captains-and not only the captains but the ordinary seamen-came and talked with him, asked his advice about certain courses, talked with him about the old days, as Cap'n Zeb called his sailing days. Cap'n Zeb's career as a seaman began when, at the age of twelve, he ran away to sea and became a cook's helper. His career as a galley boy soon ended, how- ever. when one of the ship's deck hands was lost at sea and Cap'n Zeb was taken out of the galley and made a deck hand. From the time Cap'n Zeb could remember, he had wanted to own his own ship. Many were the times that the first mate would find him day dreaming when he should have been working. Cap'n Zeb's first voyages were short ones, not even out of the United States, but after a while he was offered a position as an able-bodied Seaman on a ship