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

Page 8 text:

VHc iimonth High rbool A Christmas Stocking with a Hole Marian Young, at the age of nineteen, was very independent. The way she shot around through the traffic in her green roadster in the centre of New York proved it to her friends as well as to the police. Since her parents had always given her just what she wished, she was a selfish girl. She had parties at any time and any price, provided she didn ' t bother her mother and father, because they were busy getting up parties of their own. However, her sister, Evelyn, seventeen years of age, much taller, darker, and hand- somer than Marian, was just the opposite. She was quiet and calm and had never at- a young man, Bob Stevenson, who was a per- fect match for her. He was just a little taller, tended a party. By chance, one day, she met a young man, Bob Stevenson, who was a perfect match for her He was just s little taller, a little darker, and, it might be said, a little handsomer. He was giving a Christmas party the following Wednesday night and had invited Evelyn as guest of honor. Her first party would be a success. As she had saved her allowance for her cloths, she wouldn ' t have to ask her father for money. He had to buy too much for Marian. A week before Christmas, Marian decided that she would like a Christmas party. She sat down at her telephone and called for the hall she preferred. Then she began to plan whom she would invite. She would ask Gerald Milton; he was such a dear, even if her friend, Myrna Halloway, had just about owned him for the last year. And then — yes — she would have mistletoe. That wouldn ' t do though, if Myrna were there. She would have to leave Myrna out. Finally she had her list all made out and started to call the different ones. Just as she hung up the received after telephoning to Gerald, whom she called first, of course, her mother knocked at the door and came in. My dear, my dear, she sobbed, I have some bad news for you. Not for me, because I can ' t be bothered with bad news. I have enough to attend to. Run along, Mother. Marian, listen to me! I will not — must I repeat? I will not, I will not, I will not! Ill tell you, anyway, now, said her mother who had as spiteful a disposition as Marian ' s. Your father says we can ' t have any more parties or clothes for at least two months. He says there ' s no need of them, anyway. ' ' But, Mother, I ' ve already planned a party for Wednesday night and I ' ve already called Gerald Milton. What shall I wear? I ' ve simply got to have a new gown. Dad will just have to give me some money. ' ' My dear, he hasn ' t any money ! ' ' ' ' Hasn ' t any money ! Mother, stop kidding me. I ' m in no mood for fooling. It is tied up in stocks, Marian. And please stop that language. ' Kidding ' — how I hate that word. It ' s all right, Mother. They all say it because I do. You see, I ' m the favorite. In a different tone, Oh-h-h! What will Gerald think of me ? I ' m humiliated, to say the least. By the way, Mother, what was Evelyn doing in the ' Fifth Avenue Fashion Shoppe? ' She had on the most gorgeous evening dress I ever saw. She looked charming, too, but I bet I ' d look better in it. I ' ll tell you, Marian, if you ' ll not men- tion it to her. She has her first boy friend and a real one too, because he ' s giving a Christmas party for her. She ' ll be the belle of the ball. But where did she get the money? I thought that dad didn ' t have any. ' ' She saved it out of her allowance. You should have done the same if you wanted a dress. That ' s all right to say, but she isn ' t as popular as I am and she doesn ' t have to spend as much. I ' m going to get that gown and wear it. She won ' t mind. But she ' s wearing it Wednesday night herself. She doesn ' t need it as much as I do. Dad will have to get me some money. I must have it, do you hear me? Speak to your father. It ' s up to him. He ' ll say, Bo as you like, as he always does. Thus, Wednesday evening passed, and Thursday morning dawned bright and clear. Evelyn and her mother and father were wait- ing for Marian, as usual. Her father finally sent Evelyn after her. Evelyn looked in her room but she wasn ' t there. Then, as she

Page 7 text:

(TbrtBtmaa ftrflrrtor 5 You ' re too late, my dear. I ' ve asked Merri- vale over already. I was going to tell you about it, but I forgot it. Why, Jim, you ' re marvelous! cried his wife running to hug him. I surely have a smart husband. ' ' Of course you have, my dear. If I weren ' t smart I probably wouldn ' t have married you. You see ' great minds all run in the same channels ' . Christmas Eve came and with it a heavy snow storm and a high wind. The snow was wet, and it clung to Helen ' s fur coat as she struggled blindly toward the Benson ' s home. It was dark, and the lights of many houses shone through the thickly falling snow with a misty gleam that seemed to pierce the heart of the lonely girl and instill some of the Christmas spirit into it that long hours of charity work had failed to arouse. Behind her she heard someone stamping snow from his shoes. She turned around, glad to have a companion for the rest of the walk, and came face to face with her ex-fiance, Jack Mer- rivale. ' ' Why , hello, Helen ! How are you V ex- claimed the young man pleasantly. Oh, I am quite all right, thank you. How do you do, Mr. Merrivale? she asked in a frigid tone, as if it were necessary to ask but that she didn ' t care to know. You ' re still the same old Helen, aren ' t you? the young man continued. I don ' t believe that I have changed my name or habits ! So I suppose I am the same old Helen, she said mimicking him. May I walk to the Benson ' s home with you, Miss Van Dyne ? he asked, sarcastically emphasizing the Miss. You may if you want to, she said un- concernedly. Thus quarrelling, they went up the steps to the Benson home. As Helen ' s hand went out to ring the bell, Jack ' s larger one closed over it. Helen darling, won ' t you foregive me? I ' m terribly sorry for everything. Please look at me and say that you forgive and for- get, he pleaded. Jack dear, it was all my fault. You for- give me please, she said without turning her head. Now I think I-I-I ' m a-a-afraid that I ' m going to look at you ; turn around. ' ' She got no more than a look, for Jack ' s arms closed around her immediately , and all wa ; forgotten and forgiven. The door curtain swayed slightly; then the door opened, silhouetting them against a background of light and merriment, a per- fect picture for the Spirit of Christmas. Marjorie Cass ' 32 Strange Happening The night was wet and cold. The snow, a disagreeable kind, stuck like glue to my cloth- ing. As it fell on my face, it turned to water and trickled slowly downward. The streets were covered with a slippery cloak of slush. The rays of automobile headlights failed to pierce effectively the swiftly falling snow. The automobiles went on their way slowly, stopping at every corner and then continu- ing cautiously onward. Now and then some reckless individual, growing impatient, would speed up and then be forced to skid around the corner. Suddenly a car driven by a chauffeur slurred around the corner where I stood. Just at that moment, I noticed an old man, dressed as a Post Santa Claus, about halfway across the street. I called aloud ; but as he turned, the car swung around and knocked him completely over. I made my way, as quickly as possible, to the injured man ' s aid. Just about the time I reached him, the door of the sedan opened and a well-dressed man of about fifty jumped out. He gave a quick or- der to his chauffeur; then with some assis- tance from me, they managed to place Santa in the rear seat. The man leaped in front with his chauffeur, and they drove off. Two days later, when I was reading the morning paper, I noticed on an inside page a bit of news in heavy print. It read as follows : ' ' Striking Down of Post Santa by John Doe ' s Automobile Results in Christmas Dinner for Three Hundred Orphans at Sea Street Home. Malcolm D. Kemp ' 31 Doe: Will you serve the chicken? Waiter: Sure, what will she have? — Ex. ' ' Papa, papa ! I saved a nickel to-day ! I ran all the way to school behind a street car! Why didn ' t you run behind a bus and save a dime? — Ex.

Page 9 text:

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