Weymouth High School - Campus / Reflector Yearbook (Weymouth, MA)

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E (Ehriatmaa RriUrtor It was the Christmas season, and the usual rush and excitement was going on everywhere in the little college town, Cornell. A certain stalwart looking young man was unmindful of everything going on about him, as he walked to and fro before a prominent jewel- er ' s store. Each time, as he passed, he would look longingly at the card in the window which said: Remarkable Sale of Diamonds. Buy he ' r one for Christmas. If so desired, you may open a charge account. As Dick Dan- gerfield was passing the window for the sixth time, his eyes caught the words Charge Ac- count. ' ' Oh, I didn ' t see that before. That ' s just what I ' m going to do. With a determined look on his face he walked into the store. May I help you? asked the clerk. Well — er — if ynu don ' t mind, I ' d like to see the diamonds, replied Dick. Here is a beauty, and only $650. Well, Dick replied, I can only pay about half the price. Wait, here is one almost as good as the $650 ring, cried the clerk. All right, I ' ll take it. Wrap it up and charge to my credit, said Dick. Phew! I ' m glad that is over with, Dick smiled as he turned homeward. Dick Dangerfield was the college football hero. He happened to be, at this time very much in love with Barbara Louise, a very pretty co-ed. On the campus Dick met his chum, Ted Waite. What ' s up? said Ted. Let me in on the secret. What ' s in the little box? Come up to my room, and I ' ll tell you all about it. When they were settled comfortably in Dick ' s room, he began: Ted, I want to propose to Babs tomorrow night, but I don ' t know how to begin. Will you show me how? You ' re so much experi- enced. Sure thing, old top, gaily replied Ted. I ' 11 meet you up here after supper and show you how to propose. With this he left the room, grinning mischievously. Ted at once rounded up his so-called Gang. He told them that, if they wanted to see some fun, to plan secretly to get into Dick ' s room, be- hind the curtains. Bashful Dick Promptly after supper, Ted went up to Dick ' s room. He saw to it that Dick would be delayed in order to give the boys a chance to hide. The boys were already there. Now for some fun, laughed Ted, and for Heaven ' s sake, be quiet. Sh, here he comes. Hello, old top, I ' m all set and raring to go. Come over here on the divan. I ' ll be you and you be Babs. All set ? The first thing to do is kneel at her feet, hold her hand, and put your other hand to your heart ; then be- gin: Dearest, sweetest flower of my heart, I love you more than wine. Please won ' t you say you ' ll be m ine? But, interrupted Dick, I can ' t re- member that kind of poetry. Well, say anything that comes into your head. She ' s supposed to know what you ' re trying to say, all the time. ' ' No, Ted, I-l-I ' m afraid I c-can ' t do it. A sneeze was heard from behind the cur- tains. Who ' s there? cried Dick. Oh, it ' s only the boy in the next room. He has a bad cold. Come on. Here is the sec- ond way to propose. Darling, you ' re going to marry me to- night. No, don ' t protest, because it won ' t do any good. Give me your hand. Now, kiss me. Ted started to hug Dick. There was a scramble which ended with both boys on the floor. Behind the curtains the boys were stuffing their mouths with their handkerchiefs. Bob. a huge fellow, forgot himself and leaned up- on a couple of boys in front of him. Then bang] The boys landed on the floor about the same time as Dick and Ted. The boys could not suppress their laughter any longer, and the room was in an uproar. Dick stared wide-eyed and mouth open. When Dick at last recovered from his amazement, he fixed his tie, and combed 1m dishevelled hair. With a goodnight he left the room. He went downstairs to the telephone and called Barbara. Hearing her voice at the oth- er end of the wire, he said, Dearest, be pre- pared to pretend that it ' s leap year when I come over tomorrow night. Ruth Duff ' 31

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in r iimn nth High rhanl r passed the door of her own room, she saw Marian trying on her new dress. She shrieked, ran in the room, and seized Marian by the arm still screaming angrily. Marian was so astonished at Evelyn, for she have never seen her like this before, that she was rather frightened. Evelyn ran down the stairs, and told where she had found Marian and what she was doing. All she thinks of is herself. I never saw such a conceited, selfish girl in all my life. I save my money and buy myself a dress and there she is with it on. Oh — I hate her ! No. Mother, don ' t try to stop me. I ' m going and going in a hurry. Where am I going? I ' m taking my things to a hotel, and I ' m staying there so I can live my own life the way I Christmas on Henry Burton, forest ranger for the United States Government by choice, and trapper, hunter, and fisher by nature, sat alone in his comfortable log cabin in the Pentier Forest, a beautiful tract of government land situated near the Sandy River. As he sat there in an armchair smoking his pipe, he looked the very soul of comfort. One thing, however, was hanging on his mind, and that was food. True, he had bacon, flour, coffee, and some venison, together with a few minor articles, but Christmas was the next day, and the near- est village was about twenty-five miles away. Also, outside, a storm was raging furiously. Still, he reasoned, I am lucky to have a warm cabin and enough to eat for a few more meals, but I ' ll have to go to Holdston soon. As he spoke, a knock sounded on the door. Come in, he said. The door swung open and an Indian stepped into the cabin. Well, hollo Joe, what are you doing traveling around in this storm for? asked Burton. Me want bacom, replied the aged In- dian. ' ' Sorry, Joe, but I haven ' t any to spare but I ' ll give you a good, square meal. Me want bacom, repeated the redskin. ' ' I can ' t let you have any, but what do you say — want some supper? Yes, returned Joe. You had better stay here tonight — you can ' t reach the peak in a blizzard like this, ' ' went on Burton. want to and not give up everything to Marian. I ' ve done that for seventeen years. I ' m through, now. Money ? I ' ve saved about three hundred dollars or more. I can earn my own living, too, if I need to. Marian wouldn ' t low- er her pride enough for that. I ' m not afraid that it will hurt me. Good-bye. The following Wednesday afternoon a note came for Marian. Sister, If you hang up your stocking to- night, I ' m warning you that there won ' t be anything in it. There always was and always will be a big hole at the bottom. A hole-self. Evelyn. Marjorie Burne ' 31 Sandy River He then quickly prepared a meal of which they both did justice. After the meal, Burton gave the Indian some tobacco and a pipe, which contented Joe very much. Soon Joe began to nod his head and almost fell asleep in his chair. Henry aroused him and gave the redskin a comfortable bunk to sleep in. Need- less to say, it did not take either of them long to drop into a sound slumber. It was early morning on Sandy River. The storm had cleared and the sun shone into the log cabin windows. Burton sat up, rubbed his eyes, and jumped out of his bunk. He then looked over to the bunk where Joe had slept. It was empty. Quickly pulling on his clothes, he opened the door. Outside were the footprints of heavy boots. ' ' I guess the rascal must have headed back to the peak ; so I might as well get breakfast. ' ' Going over to the cupboard, he opened it. The big slab of bacon was gone. He searched the cupboard ; there was no trace of the miss- ing bacon. Henry then went over to the large fireplace to put more wood on it. On the hearth lay a beautiful, glossy, black fox skin. Picking it up, he turned it over. On the back was written in rude, sprawling characters in charcoal: To paleface. I took bacom, Joe. As Burton held the skin, he laughed softly to himself. Who in the world would think that anyone would get a Christmas present in this wilderness? he mused. Frank Thomas ' 33

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(ShrtBlimiH Srflrrtnr Ganga The cold, frosty air forbade any fun that evening for the boys and girls of Cripple Creek. Jean echoed the sentiments of the en- tire company by remarking in a decidedly hopeless tone, There ' s nothing interesting here nowadays. This village is the dullest place ! But Bob, the youngest of the party thought of a daring plan. Why not, he suggested, ' ' go over and visit old Ganga ? ' ' Ganga was the nickname that had been given the old Hindu who had come to Cripple- Creek such a long time ago — cold, hungry, and penniless. He had been taken care of by the kind villagers. In return for their kindness, he had proved himself of great value in the matter of weaving mats and rugs. His queer, eccentric designs held a cer- tain fascination for the simple Creek-people, and they paid him well for his wares. Gradually the more ambitious folks had wormed out of him part of his life history. He was a real Hindu, born in that beautiful and primitive city of Calcutta. His parents w ere of high caste, but had met reverses, and died in poverty. Before ill-luck overtook them, their love of progress showed itself in the education of their only son. He had been educated at Oxford, and returned to his home to find his parents dying of a terrible plague that had been sweeping the city. After they had gone, he gave the little money left him to his relatives, who were terribly in need of funds. Then, broken-hearted and desperate, he had left the city. A mule was his only companion through the hills and tangled forests. Everything went smoothly, as he was an experienced tracker, and knew how to avoid the wild animals and snakes which were so common at that time. But, just as he caught sight of the city where he planned to start his life over again, he was attacked by several wandering dacoits, or bandits. They beat him and left him sup- posedly dead, carrying away all his belong- ings. After being unconscious for two days, he recovered. His mind, however, was a com- plete void. He wandered about from place to place for about a year, when he recovered his mind quite by accident. It was then that his natural Oriental superstition gripped his mind, and forced him to the conclusion that he was destined by Allah to be a wanderer all the rest of his Life. He traveled Europe on foot ; sometimes in plenty, and more often in want. So he had come to England, and found a home among the folks of Cripple Creek. On the night of which I have spoken he was unusually despondent, and welcomed the knock which summoned him to the door. Opening it, his surprised eyes rested on six eager little faces upturned to his. Please, sir, we want a story ; that is — I — we — ' ' stam- mered Bob. Come in, children. You will be frozen, bowed the old Hindu. They came gladly. Then, after making their wants known more clearly, and having gained the Indian ' s consent, they sat in a semicircle before the fire. His old face transfigured by the light of memory, the Indian began his story. At one time I was acting as guide for an Englishman, who wished to explore a cer- tain territory for byon, a ruby-bearing soil. He was a very brave and venturesome man who I do believe did not know the word fear. But one strange thing was that he insisted on bringing with him, as a mascot, I think he said, a small white puppy. I did not particu- larly care for dogs, but to please the Sahib, I determined to like this one. On the dog ' s neck was a beautiful collar studded with rubies and pearls. That we did not meet any dacoits, fortun- ately, all of the way up-country gave us great heart, indeed. The Sahib and I prospected for rubies, and met with great success. We packed them in iron-bound chests, and prepared to go back to the town from which we had come, where the Sahib would board a steamer for England. Everything being prepared for our departure, we took a last look at the beautiful hills surrounding us. Then, glancing down, I noticed that the puppy was not in his usual place at his master ' s feet. Some vague in- stinct warned me that something was wrong. I strode over to our neatly piled packs, turned the corner, and then recoiled in horror. Swol- was the little white dog, and just disappear- len so that he could scarcely be recognized, ing into the jungle was one of the worst, and