Arlington High School - Indian Yearbook (Arlington, MA)

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8 ARLINGTON HIGH SCHOOL CLARION. knees with almost a human expression of pity. The fire crackled and he looked at his watch. Five minutes of twelve, he straight- ened himself in his chair and began a tremulous, faint whistle of “ Home, Sweet Home.” After the third time of whistling he heard a faint, but unmistakable, sound at the door, a breathing, wheezing sound as if the old fellow had been hard-pressed to arrive at the appointed hour. Then a clock struck but not loud enough to hide the persistent breathing and a rattle of the door. Then a knock, another rattle, while John, with his eyes nearly bursting from their sockets and his hands tightly grasp- ing the arms of his chair, stared, like one overpowered straight before him. The great town clock was on its last stroke when the door was flung open and — “Oh, John, be ye killed ?” “ Maria, for the land’s sake 1” rang out on the still night air. Marjorie Sutcliffe. QUALITY CHOCOLATES Our stock is always complete and when you buy of us you can depend upon the quality being the BEST. WHAT I DID NOT DO. I was met the other day In the hallway at recess, And asked to write for our paper Something more or less. That was easy to say, But there was also the stipulation That I write not of what I did While off on my summer vacation, Spent at the mountains or shore, Or some such similar sight; For descriptions of that sort Were getting decidedly trite. Since I can’t write what I did. The only thing left to do Is to write what I did not. And so, that course I’ll pursue. I didn’t wish that school was open, And through every long, hot day That I was pouring over Greek In a very studious way. I didn’t go to Europe And buy up Paris gowns, Or wander through Westminster, Or quaint old Scottish towns. I didn’t go to a hotel And hire out as a cook Or chamber maid or second girl, No such task I undertook. In reality I simply did — But there, I must not tell, For I promised that I wouldn’t And I must keep my promise well. Mabel F. Coolidge. •W. W. fc C. R. NOYES, IMPORTERS OF TROPICAL FRUITS, Fruits and Produce COMMISSION MERCHANTS 13 fc 14 N. MARKET 13 CLINTON STS. O. R. NOYES. BOSTON • W. G. ROLL E.

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ARLINGTON HIGH SCHOOL CLARION. 7 as we started to leave, said, “Ain’t you forgot somethin’, sir?” Sir Roger made a hasty inventory of all his immediate posses- sions, and replied, “N-no, I think not ; I thank you, none-the-less, for reminding me. ” I absent-mindedly left two coins on the table, and with a glance at the grinning men, left the room. We walked up town and descended the stairs to the East Boston Tunnel, although before going down Sir Roger suggested our buying battery lamps, like one I had shown him at home, in case we should want to find our way. He was amazed at the bril- liant glare of the lights below. Having got into the car, the old knight was prone to bow to all within, and when we sat down he asked a young woman by his side, in a perfectly courteous way, for the state of the little boy’s health, who sat beside her. I immediately engaged him in a brisk conversation, which I continued all the way over, although I could not help hearing a man opposite remark to his neighbor “ Butt wise de fly old sport, tryin ’ ter talk t ’ Alderman McGinnis’ wife. He better cut it ; McGinnis has got de biggest fist in de ward ; dat’s right ! ” Very fortunately my friend did not hear this, for it would have deeply pained him to have what he intended for a kind remark, seem rude. Upon ask- ing him what he thought of the tunnel, he said, “ A very great work ; truly, a remark- able work ; although the conversation so interested me that I did not much notice. ” After an evening at “ Hamlet,” where he aroused the good-natured mirth of those about us by his quaint remarks on the players, and mine by his references to and comparisons of Ophelia and the perverse widow, we rode home slowly, discussing the play on the way. “A great man, was Hamlet,” said he, “ verily, a truly great man. His grief did remind me of that of Tim Tender, when he lost his last colt in the mire. Yes, he was indeed a noble soul, and in his silence in public, I do appreciate the silence of my very dear friend, ‘ the Spectator,’ in the days of the ‘ Spectator Club.’ ” Charles Gott, Jr., ’06. A MIDNIGHT EXPERIENCE. “ Me ! Maria, afraid of a ghost ? Hum, well I guess not,” and, with a great laugh but a strangely beating heart, John Lakely turned to the door preparatory to spending his first night as electric car starter. The man who had formerly held this office had recently died and his ghost was said to ap- pear every night at twelve. “Well, John,” began his wife timidly, “ they do say — ” “Oh hush up, Maria, there arn’t no such things, I tell ye.” So, with a brave slam of the door and a great tramping down the steps, he strode off through the darkness. When he threw open the door of the little station, where it was believed the ghost came, he found nothing more disturb- ing than the loudly ticking clock and a cat purring by the stove. All went well until about quarter of twelve. Then the cat, by some occult influence, who had hardb ' moved before, began to stir uneasily, the to move about and rub against the man’- Take Your Prescriptions to PERHAM ' S WHERE THEY ARE PUT UP BY REGISTERED DRUGGISTS.

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ARLINGTON HIGH SCHOOL CLARION. 9 A flODERN GEORGE WASHINGTON. George Washington Jones was a small boy, and like most small boys, was over- flowing with fun and mischief. On his tenth birthday, his father, a patriotic man, presented his son with a complete “ Life of Washington,” with handsome, brown paper covers. As he handed the book to George, he said, “ My son, take that noble man for a model.” So George, with the adaptable nature peculiar to small boys, after having perused a few pages, which described the childhood of the great George Washington, started off in search of a hatchet. “ Pa thinks a heap o’that cherry tree out back o’the barn, but it’s the only one on the place, an’ I guess he won’t mind s’long as I tell the truth.” So our little hero-to-be hunted diligently in the wood shed for a hatchet, but could find nothing but a large, heavy axe. He dragged it to the foot of the cherry tree, and by much hacking and scraping, finally induced the slender trunk first to bend, then to break. “Now I’ll go tell pa. He’ll more’n praise me for telling the truth — and ’sides, I want to go to that circus,” murmured George. just then Mr. Jones happened to come into the barn yard, whistling “ America.” “ Pa ! O, Pa I I done it with my -er-big axe !” cried a shrill voice, as George came running up, arms extended, anticipating the hearty embrace, which must, as he thought, follow this conscientious confess- ion. “ Done what ?” thundered Mr. Jones. “ The cherry tree, pa, I-er-o-o-o-o, I’ll never do it again. Boo-hoo-hoo ! You told me to do what Washington did and — ” “ You young rascal 1 Did I — my cher- ry — ” but Mr. Jones’ wrath choked him, and, after administering a good spanking to the small offender, he started off to view the remains of his precious cherry tree. Subdued, but not discouraged, George thought he would next try his hand at break- ing in colts. The man on the next farm owned several fiery colts, and into the pasture where they were wandering George crept, a rope in his hand. With a great deal of manoevering, such as was described in the “ Life of Washington,” George sprang upon the back of the colt nearest the fence, and flung the rope about the animal’s neck. Terrified by such an unusual proceeding, the fiery beast ran at full speed across the meadow, straight over the stone wall, direct- ly into the river, and up the steep bank on the other side. He deposited George head foremost in a patch of blackberry bushes, and then dashed on in his mad flight. George sat up and rubbed his head pondering. This imitating George Wash- ington wasn’t quite so much fun as he imagined it would be. Now this last ven- ture had been unsuccessful, and he was un- decided whether to go on telling the truth or to keep quiet. Suddenly a bright idea struck him “ I’ll ask the Wogglebug.” And what did the Wogglebug say ? Ruth Whitten. AGAMEMNON’S PRAYER. Iliad, Book II, Lines 412-418. O Zeus, both best and greatest of the gods, Thou cloud-wrapped dweller of the skies above, Let not the sun its shining orb conceal, Or the shades of night o’ertake me lingering here, Till Piiam’s smoky roof I level low, And overwhelm his house with hungry flames ; Till Hector’s mantle round his breast I rend, Brave Hector’s mantle torn with sword of bronze. And grant that round his body, many friends, In agonies of death may bite the dust. Howard T. Viets.