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

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REFLECTOR S Mrs. iS mart Learns to Skate Don ' t you think skating is dreadfully good exercise? I do and I ' ve been trying it lately. I ' ve got so I really can skate better than some of these young folks, even if I do say so myself. Joshua said I was rather old to go into such childish business, but I don ' t see any reason why an old married woman shouldn ' t enjoy herself if she can. I ' d like to see Joshua Smart stop me from skating. He never was big enough to. Even old Grandma Smith, who has hobbled around on crutches for ten years, tried it. Al- though she fell down, smashed her specs, and barked her nose, she claims she has a good time. Well, as soon as it got cold enough to freeze the millpond, I made up my mind to see what I could do at skating. I went to town and bought myself a pair of skates. Then the dressmaker said I ought to have a skating costume. I took the hint, and started to make one. I took a pair of Joshua ' s red flannels and put two rosettes of green ribbon into the bottom of each leg. Then I took a yellow petticoat and sewed five rows of blue trimming around the bottom of that. For a hat I took one of Joshua ' s cast-off stove-pipe hats, and cut it down. I had a wide piece of red flannel around it, and stuck a rooster ' s tail feather in the front of it. Joshua said I looked like an Indian. (I don ' t know how he could tell, because he never saw one.) Early Tuesday morning I set sail for the mill- pond. When I reached the pond, I found it crowded. It was too late to go back; so I sat down and strapped on my skates. I got on the ice, but my left foot began running around the other one. The first thing I knew my heels were up and my head was down. I thought it was night and all the stars were having a shooting- match. After getting up, I started out again. I found out that my chief difficulty was in stopping my- self. I had the wind at my back and it filled my petticoat so that it floated out like a sail. I was coming to the place where the skaters were pretty thick. The first thing I knew I was mow- ing them down right and left. Hats, gloves, coats, men, women, children, false teeth, and wigs were all mixed up together. Jim Pratt ' s toe caught in the braid of my pet- ticoat. I went down, striking the back of my cranium. I thought it had broken my skull, and seemed to hear the rough edges scrape together. Sam Parker untangled me and escorted me home. I was sore for a week and had to eat off the mantel piece. I ' ve been skating regularly now. I ' ve frozen both my feet, barked up my face, and got the rheumatism, but I ' ve learned to skate. So what do I care! M. Poole ' 35 Resourcefulness is Next to Courage Mrs. Barnaby Briggs sat up in bed, having been rudely awakened by a slight noise from down stairs. She listened intently. Yes, there it was again. She leaned over and shook her husband. Barnaby, Barnaby, there is someone prowl- ing around this house, she whispered fearfully. Huh, wha ' you say? yawned Barnaby, blinking his eyes. There is someone in this house. Oh, my precious antiques! I just know they will get my antiques, wailed Mrs. Briggs. Go down, Barnaby, go right down and order them out. Oh, my nerves! What shall we do? Barnaby, a timid soul, preferred to turn a deaf ear to his wife until she, with brute force as usual, routed him. There was nothing to do but face it after Mrs. Briggs ' s wail of Oh, to think I married a coward ! Quivering and shaking, poor Barnaby crept down the stairs, his knees knocking, his teeth chattering. Nearer and nearer he came to the living-room. He peeped in and his heart sank. His worst fears were realized. There was some- one there, and in that someone ' s hand he caught the gleam of metal. Just then the intruder saw Barnaby. Poor Briggs was paralyzed. Then with a heroic ef- fort he said, Don ' t mind me. I ' m just walking in my sleep, and fled to the upper regions. Resourcefulness is next to courage. Ruth Stoddard ' 32 Paqe Nine

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owner of The Standish Times had purchased the rights of the Standish Manufacturing Company. This company began to grow, as had The Times. In a month, Mr. Edward Sidney (a name which Sid had been using) had not only made a success of two fast failing businesses in the city, but had also written a book, What College Didn ' t Do for Me. The first thing Mr. Edwards did when he found that the unknown procedure was legal was to direct a detective agency to find the owner of the mill and The Times. The next day the detective reported to him. I ' ve found him, Mr. Edwards; he is at present in the office of the Manufacturing Com- pany. I hope I didn ' t do wrong, sir ; I told him to expect an important gentleman in twenty minutes. In twenty minutes Mr. Edwards walked into the office of the Standish Manufacturing Com- pany, and was surprised to see his son sitting there. Sid, boy, you ' re working! Why, I didn ' t even know you were in town. Are you secre- tary to the mysterious Mr. Sidney? No. Whom do you wish to see? I want to see the owner. I ' ve an appoint- ment. The owner? Oh, he ' s right here! This is no time for fooling, Sidford. I must see Mr. Sidney, and at once! Sid rose from his chair, stood up to his full height, and could he be blamed if, besides the tender look in his eyes, there was on his lips the faintest suggestion of a triumphant smile? Sorry, Dad, Mr. Edward Sidney will be very busily occupied for the next few minutes ; in the meantime, I am going to give you a lec- ture to pay for all the lectures you ' ve given me since I was knee high to a toad. First, I ' m afraid I ' ll have to disagree with you that every boy, because he can ' t do every- thing in college, is a slacker. That he ' s a slacker just because he loves and plugs at one special thing. College professors forget that. They forget that a fellow may love his chosen profession as much as his own parents, and hates the other unnecessary things, as much as he hates his father ' s worst enemy. Ah, no, I ' m not running down the heads of any college. I love my own too well, but people didn ' t understand that my life was — is — writ- ing. I had to show them — by golly, I think I have — that my extraordinary love for journalism and English literature and neglect of more im- portant subjects has not done me any harm. I can look you in the eye, Dad, and tell you I ' m a success, a clean success. So can the people in Standish. But the one big thing I learned I didn ' t get in college. I wanted something, and I ' ve learned that if you want something long enough and hard enough you can get it ; that keeping everlastingly at it is the thing, and it ' s the fellow who dares stand out against the bunch who wins. You needn ' t look bored. You came here to see Mr. Sidney. A word or two before I introduce him. He ' s a young man, but he has worked hard to show his elders, especially his dear old Dad, that he could get somewhere, that he was worthy of consideration. It ' s been hard, Dad, but you wanted to meet Mr. Sid- ney, didn ' t you? Mr. Edwards, allow me to present to you Mr. Edward Sidney of Standish. But where — I don ' t see anyone but y — Well, I like that, Dad. Dad, pleadingly, I am Mr. Edward Sidney! You, Sid, my boy! You! But how — where? You own the mill, the paper — you wrote that book, that wonderful book, ' What College Didn ' t Do for Me? ' You did it to show me — for me, boy? I see it all now. Mr. Edwards spoke in a dazed way. Hicks ' s disappearance, your help, worth my consideration? I guess you are! Boy, I ' m proud of you! It took a long time to make me see the light. You ' ve got a dunce of an old Dad, but — oh, Sid, I ' m proud of my son! Virginia Donley ' 32 Two gentlemen went up to a restaurant for lunch, when one of them saw a sign which caused him to turn around and go to another place. He asked his friend to come with him and told him that there was no one in the res- taurant. He then told his friend to look at the sign. His friend looked at the sign and read, All Home Cooking. Page Eight

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Tke Dude In a small Western town in the Deadwood Hills, a group of dry and dusty cowboys had gathered from the surrounding ranches to quench their thirst and play a few games of poker. It was the first of the month and most of them had their month ' s pay to squander as they saw fit. Here she comes, boys, yelled some one, and the local stage coach and its six horses came to a skidd ing stop. Two strangers jumped out. One, a drummer of the usual type known to Western towns, was given but a single glance. The other, a tall man, evidently of English an- cestry, was the cause of much talk. Dude! says Bill Johnson of Cross V to his pal Dick Jones. Yep, says Dick, look at those spats and the hunk of glass in his eye. I ' ll bet his mother doesn ' t know he ' s out. These and other comments were heard as the two strangers went into the hotel and regis- tered, the Dude giving his name as Algernon Forthergill of London. After asking for a room with a bawth, which caused several loud guf- faws from the cowboys, Algernon and his friend, the drummer, strolled into the barroom. After a few drinks the Dude began to boast. I can ride just as well as any cowboy, and I won ' t bar Buckskin Sam. Now Buckskin Sam was a famous bronco buster and rodeo rider and there was no man in the West who did not envy him. Bill Johnson was dying for some fun, and a little easy money was never turned aside by any of the boys. Say, feller! You think you can ride. I got a little bronco I ' ll bet two to one yer can ' t stay on, and I ' ll ' low yer ter pull leather. The drummer backed the Dude, and soon all the boys had their month ' s pay on Bill Johnson ' s broncho. A wild-eyed pinto who had never felt the cinch of a saddle was brought out in front, and the Dude looked calmly on, in fact some thought too calmly. Algernon strolled to a sidewalk chair, care- fully laid down his cane and monocle, and then rolled up his London tweeds. Whoa, boy! he said as he grasped the reins, and like a flash he vaulted on the startled bron- cho ' s back. The pinto reared and kicked. His fore feet pawed the air, but Algernon stayed on. Soon a crack was heard in the vicinity of the saddle cinch. He ' s done fer now, yelled Bill, but when the dust lifted, he saw the Dude safely astride his bare-back broncho. Well, the Dude and his friend collected, and pulled out on the stage that evening. The cow- boys, still dry and much disgusted, went to Hank ' s liverv stable for their horses. Who were them blokes? some one asked. Old Hank laughed and said, What ' s the matter, boys? Done yer up? That Dude was Buckskin Sam. Ruth Clifford ' 34 School Life Education has been defined as the process by means of which the individual acquires experi- ence that will function and render more efficient his future actions. So often we go to high school or college with one definite aim — that of plug- ging until we have mastered the knowledge we get from books. Often in our zeal we forget the experiences which we might acquire outside of school hours when our time is our own. Are not these experiments equally important to our future? If we are going to leave school at grad- uation to start upon a life of merely applying our knowledge, our future will not look happy. In any profession or occupation we are going to mingle with other people. Our success will de- pend much upon our ability to get along with these people. We have an unusual opportunity at our high school to prepare for this event. Here we may enter into club activities, and participate in sports and in organizations. It is here we learn to accept the opinion of others. If happiness is largely in remembering, what pleasanter experience could we have to remem- ber than our happy and profitable years spent in work and play together at Weymouth High School ? Dorothy M. Branley ' 32 Paqe Ten