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

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14 (EhrtHtmaH RrfUrtor Now Won ' t You Study? John Doe had just reached the Gates of Heaven, but, having lost his identification card, stood at a loss when Old Saint Peter requested him to present it. John D. — Honest, Saint Peter, I did have an admittance slip. Saint P. — I ' m sorry John, but I ' m not allowed to permit anyone to enter these gates unless he has an identification card. John D.— Oh, mercy, Saint Peter! The wind was so strong as I was coming up that the card blew away. Don ' t tell me — Saint Peter, spare me this much. I got hit by an auto, so that I might come here. Oh, I beg of you ! Don ' t say that I must return. ' ' Saint P. — No, there is one chance. I shall question you, and if you answer pleasingly and truthfully to me, I think I can secure your admittance. John D. — Oh, thank you, sir. Saint P. — ' ' Did you ever make an inexcus- able error in English, such as a comma- splice? John D. (shamefacedly) — Yes, Saint Peter, I fear I did, way back in my school days. ' ' Saint P. — That, of course, will diminish your chance of admittance, but there is still hope, John, though I am deeply grieved at your carelessness. Did you ever hand in a composition with the adverb ' very ' in it? John D. — Truly, Saint, I did once in a careless moment. Saint P. — Bad, bad, careless again, but there is yet another chance. Of course you never failed in English. John D. — You must listen to me, Saint Peter. I got H in Science, and how I did shine in German. Now what of it if I did get an F once or twice in English? Saint P. — O John, you do not realize the importance of this beautiful language, which the angels speak. When a soul comes here who knows English, we realize he must indeed be fit for heaven, having taken an in- terest in this subject. John D. — But remember, I attended a school which accepted nothing but one ' s best, and I did not have time to do my best. ' ' Saint P.— What was this school you at- tended? John D. — Weymouth High School, and I studied English under the renowned Pro- fessor Brown. Saint P.— Oh, Weymouth High School! Then the gates are open to you. Surely if you attended such a school, I need question you no further, for you must know our beau- tiful language thoroughly. Enter ! ' ' Archie MacKean ' 31 The Lone River The Lone River begins away up in the peaks of the Rocky Mountains, where it is fed with melting snows and torrents of rain. It winds its course over glens and around huge boulders that stand in its way now, as they have done for thousands of years. With its ceaseless flowing, it has dug itself a bed which gets deeper and deeper, and winds about, forming queerly-shaped figures as it goes. Some distance from its source it separates from the rest of its tributaries and goes on in silence, which is broken only by the swish and gurgling of the water lapping gently against the obstacles that lie in its path. It has been many years since a craft of any kind has been on this river, and those that were once there belonged to the Indian. But the Indian has long ceased to paddle his canoe here as he holds a dread of the river. So Lone River winds its solitary way down the mountains and on to the great sea be- yond. Archie Craig ' 34 Christmas Voices Over hills and over plains Clash a thousand bells ; Each the same great truth proclaims; Each the story tells — Old, old story, ever new, Wondrous story, ever true. Shepherds watching once by night, Watching long ago, Heard a seraph choir bright Murmur soft and murmur low, Good will and love, love and good will! Then angels spoke, and all was still. Alice Blanchard ' 33

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fflrummrth High rhuol He gathered her in his arms, and rushed to the rail. The last boat had been lowered. Frantically he yelled after it but it was too late. Margaret gained consciousness, and he threw a life-belt over her shoulders, then one over his own, and arms enfolded they jumped into the icy darkness of the hungry sea. All night long they fought death. One by one tiny saw their companions sink below the surface. Still, grimly they fought on. Toward morning they found a piece of driftwood large enough to support their two bodies. Then, from the remains of the ship fell a beam. Margaret saw it coming, and tried vainly to pull John to safety. It was of no use. It struck him between the shoulders, and car- ried him quickly to thej bottom. He had loosened his hold on Margaret, but falling into a dead faint, she collapsed completely, and, as her strained fingers slowly loosened their grip on the plank, she slid slowly, quiet- ly into the water, to join once again her faith- ful lover. Helen Jones ' 32 A Good Time A good time is as pleasant as the person enjoying it wishes it to be. Some people enjoy themselves immensely by plodding through swamps and under- growth with guns over their shoulders, and, upon returning to camp, by eating burnt ba- con and soggy, half-baked potatoes. To others a smashing game of football is the life. To go into a football game and get bruised and kicked, stepped on and cut, and then to return home, battered and tired, but happy, is great fun. Some people I know will get up at two o ' clock in the morning to fish for distance on the radio, and thereby gain great satisfac- tion and pleasure. There are many who spend their spare time in reading all available books. Some are movie fans, and these sit through evenings in a stuffy theatre, while some one at the left giggles at the wrong time, and on the right someone else is chewing ing gum, noisily. This shows that, regardless of any accom- panying difficulties, people will have a good time according to their likes and dislikes. C. Parsons —13 Concerning My Christmas Emotions I wonder how many of you feel the way I do about Christmas. Perhaps I ' m getting too personal ; but, just the same, I ' m going to tell you all about my kind of Christmas spirit. I have always believed that it is more blessed to give than to receive. ' ' Why, I don ' t know of anything in this world that makes me more happy than buying Christmas presents, espe- cially when I know that I have woi ked hard for the money I spend. I shouldn ' t want to buy Christmas presents if I knew I hadn ' t earned the money, for such presents would not be my own gifts. In others words, I should be a pretender and my gifts would be false. What sacrifices would I be making in a case like that? It ' s just the fact that I know I ' m doing without things I need that gives me that certain satisfied smile that never fails to twitch about the c orners of my mouth round Christmas time. Yet there ' s one thing that repays me, always repays me, for my hard work and sacrificing ; that thing is the sight of Mother ' s face on Christmas morn- ing. I ' ve never yet failed to see sweet tears of gratitude in her eyes. It ' s the same with your mother, with everybody ' s mother. Even if it were some silly, little trifling thing from the Five and Ten, I know and you know that she would love it. Expensive presents — what do they mean to loving mothers and true friends? Not a thing. I don ' t ever want to feel that I ' m giving someone a Christmas present because I know she expects it. To be very colloquial, I shouldn ' t get any kick out of that. I ' m certain that I ' m not the only one who feels this way ; that ' s why I ' ve taken the liberty of expressing my Christmas emo- tions so openly to you. Ola Jean Taylor ' 31 A Woman ' s Strength They don ' t give girls credit for endurance, And they say that they lack strong assur- ance — But let me say this : There isn ' t a miss That cares what the weather does to her toes, As long as there isn ' t a shine on her nose. Viola Goldsworthy ' 31

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JUrymDtttb; Bujb $rhunl The Blizzard 15 The dawn broke cold and clear on a Jan- uary morning. The sun had not yet risen, and the filmy whiteness of the hoar frost cov- ered everything. The mercury had risen above the zero mark as the sun ' s golden rim showed on the horizon. A death-like stillness per- vaded the bleak hills in the interval between darkness and daylight. As the day advanced, the cold abated somewhat. Soon the sun was hidden behind a cloud-bank that had ap- peared from the north. A slight breeze swayed the topmost branches of the taller trees, and a few snowflakes had drifted down on the air, and had settled softly to earth. Suddenly, a great gust of wind came from the north, increasing in volume under the pres- were twisting and swaying under the pres- sure of the oncoming storm. With the wind, Society Mrs. Mortimer Reginald St. John was at her wits ' end. No one would dream that she was the daughter of a poor Kansas rancher, Hank Peters. Twenty years ago she had mar- ried St. John and came East. Besides, she took care that no one knew her past history, which, for social reasons, she kept a secret. She was at her wits ' end, because some high- class ladies, whose acquaintance she desired also for social reasons, were late for a bridge party. Her ground-floor apartment, in Park Avenue, was ready for the tardy guests. Suddenly the door-bell rang. Rogers, the butler, hastened to the door. Before he reached it, however, it opened, two young men dressed and looking exactly alike. (They were dressed like cowboy characters from a dime-novel ), rushed in, grabbed Rogers ' hand, and shouted, Howdy, brother- in-law! Rogers stiffened, Begging your pardon, sirs. There must be some mistake! Here Mrs. St. John appeared, all smiles, to welcome her guests but when she saw who they were her face changed. For a moment it looked as though she were going to faint. One of the strangers asked, What ' s the trouble, sister, be ' a ' nt you glad to see us? Yes. moaned Mrs. St. John. But why did vou have to come now V came snow and sleet in such quantities that the ground was covered with a white blanket instantaneously. The wind howled, and the trees moaned as the blizzard increased in fury. Now and then a crash could be heard, as a woodland giant fell to the earth. At night the storm was still raging, in sharp contrast to the warmth and comfort of the warm fire- side many people were enjoying. The storm continued for two days and two nights. On the morning of the third day, the world woke to find the clouds breaking and the sun shin- ing. None ventured into the deep drifts and the bitter cold, until the sun had warmed the air a slight degree at noon. Then, and then only, did the boldest, with freezing fingers, attempt to clear away the snow from their dwellings. B. Minns ' 31 Bridge The two strangers were John and James Peters, her two brothers, who were only five years old when she left Kansas. Hurriedly sister explained the bridge party, and begged them to keep out of sight. They agreed to do so and picked the basement to hide in. They were no more than out of sight when the guests arrived. The ladies had played only a short time be- fore muffled talking was heard: John, you know I be a better shot than you, accused a husky voice. James, I reckon you gotta prove it! challenged an equally husky voice. See that light bulb there? Yeah. Boom! The floor splintered underneath a table. Simultaneously a bowl of olives on it flew into fragments hurling olives in all di- rections. In the ensuing confusion Mrs. St. John could be heard groaning like a cow with green apple colic. The muffled voices again : James, you hit her plumb centre! Mrs. St. John recovered her faculties and quieted the ladies down with a made-up ex- cuse. They started playing again, although a bit nervously. I bid two diamonds. Don ' t do that, ye danged fule, replied a muffled voice.