Arlington High School - Indian Yearbook (Arlington, MA)

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6 ARLINGTON HIGH SCHOOL CLARION. baited with hens ' feathers ’n he says he’s a goin ter ketch the big one. Oh shucks ! Lord, what fools these city folks be ! ” The next morning 1 tried my luck and was well rewarded. The pool where Enoch said that the big fish lived was certainly a fine place for a trout’s home ; smooth waiter above, rapids, and then the dark, deep pool, on one side bounded by a rocky bank and on the other by a high turf bank. There was no big fish for me that day and I soon went home to show Enoch my catch. He was greatly surprised at my being able to catch anything with that “ horse whip ” of mine, and, while I was reading my mail that evening, I heard him tell his companions about it, and he wound up with, “ How he could ketch the biggest feller caught this spring with that pesky little pole ’s more ’n I know ! ” For several days there was no big fish for me, but one morning my line twanged, my reel buzzed, and — my line broke, leaving a vague vision in my mind of a great something darting through the pool. I went home, got out my best line and went back, determined to have that fish or | “bust; ’’but he would not strike again, in 1 fact all the trout in the pool became so accustomed to my hook that they would not even rise to it any more. One morning about a week later, after a j fruitless effort, I was lying on the bank j scratching my head and trying to think how I could catch my prize, when something happened. A little field-mouse, perhaps on the way to visit his prospective mother- in-law, started to swim across the still water above the pool, but becoming tired, was quickly drawn into the rapids. Suddenly, as I was wondering how I could help the little fellow, there was a rush and a swish ; the mouse was gone, and I had an idea 1 I went back to the barn, found an old mouse trap, and placed it in the granary. The next morning I had several mice at my disposal. After several attempts I rigged up a very respectable imitation mouse out of one of the captured skins and fastened it to my best hook. My mouse swam beautifully but my hopes were falling, when suddenly a great white belly flashed for a moment in the sunlight, there was a tug on the line, and — the bank gave way beneath my feet and I found myself gasping in water up to my arm pits, but still holding the pole, while on the line was firmly hooked the big trout ! There ensued the hardest and most ex- citing hour’s work that I have done for many a day, but at last the fish was safely landed and I, wet and bedraggled but triumphant carried the big fellow home. That night Enoch told his astonished cronies all about it. “Yas, he ketched ’im with his hoss whip pole, his spider web line ’n a common little no ’count barn mouse, ’n Jabez couldn’t The Litchfield Studio Studio Building Arlington i Photographs that almost speak CLASS PHOTOGRAPHER 1900, 1901, 1902, 1903, 1904

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ARLINGTON HIGH SCHOOL CLARION. 5 mouthed astonishment, then “ Laddie ' s sing- ing, Laddie is singing,” they shouted. Sure enough the music had touched some chord in the old dog’s soul, and he lifted up his voice and sang. “ Play some more,” begged Betty. “ Come Laddie.” The dog rose, stretched himself, then solemnly sat down before the children. Harry played a high note and “ Ooow ” came in one prolonged howl. Then he went down the scale and “ Wow, wow, wow,” the dog’s notes slipped from tenor to bass. The children danced around him in high glee, shouting “ Good dog, good Laddie,” and Laddie wagged his tail as if conscious that he had conducted him- self wisely. Six times he sang, now high, now low, then as if ashamed of his un- wonted frivolity, he stalked back to his corner and laid down, nor could any amount of coaxing from the children, or any strain, however enticing, from the har- monica, induce him to break his dignified silence. ’05 THE BIG TROUT. What’s that? How did I catch that trout ? Well, he does look fine since I have had him mounted, and he recalls to me a very pleasant experience which I had last su m mer. I had determined to spend my vacation away from the usual haunts of vacationers and hearing that there was fine fishing in Ames, N. IL, I determined to spend a few weeks there and try my luck. It was a typical New England farm with a typical New England farmer owning it, and what was best of all, the river was only E. E. UPHAM PROVISION DEALER. The Choicest Beef, Pork, Lamb an d other Heats. BUTTER, EGGS, LARD, CHEESE. GAME and VEGETABLES of all kinds in their n TEL. CONNECTION. about a half a mile away and full of trout. My host, Mr. Enoch Carver, was much interested to see my fishing outfit and dur- ing my unpacking he told me the story ol the big trout. “ Yas,” said he, “they be fishin over ’n th’ river ’n ye can ketch em ’bout anytime ’n anywheres, ’n good ones too; but ye’ilt not git th’ big one.” “What’s this ?” said I, “have you got a special trout over in the river ?” “Yep, and ye’ill not git ’im either. No- body can’t git him. He’s busted more’n a dozen poles ’n lines in th’ last six vears ’n I reckon he’ll break yours too. Jake Haskins’ boy who’s in th’ “ T ” wharf came up las’ summer with a cod line, ’n a hook, bigger’n yure fist, ’n a reg’lar flag pole ’n the bloomin fish busted his line th’ fust cast.” I simply answered, “We will see.” Enoch had meanwhile carefully examined my fishing tackle and I could see that he regarded it with a great deal of scorn ; but he said nothing more. After supper we went up to the store ; a typical country store with the dry goods on one side, the groceries on the other, and the customary group of farmers and loafers in the center about the stove, industriously chewing their cuds or eating the customary, germ-infested rations usually found in such places. While conducting some business with the postmaster I overheard Enoch describing my fishing outfit to his interested listeners. “ Yas. he ’s one ’o them ’ere city whipper- snappers with a boss whip fer a pole, a piece ’o spider web fer a line ’n a hook DR. ( W. YALE, DENTIST, POST OFFICE BUILDING, ARLINGTON.

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ARLINGTON HIGH SCHOOL CLARION. 7 ketch ’im with a cod line ’n a hook bigger ’n youre fist ’n a reg’lar flag pole fer a road, b’ gosh ! Some o ' these city fellers ain’t sech fools ’s they look ter be ! ” Fred S. Mead, Jr. ’05. riOZART’S LAST HYMN. An old man, his silvered hair shining in the beams of the setting snn, reclining on a low couch, a crutch resting beside him ; a beautiful young girl, her face seeming fresher and more striking in contrast with his, sitting at his side ; a cheerful fire, its light vieing with that of the sun for pre- cedence ; and last, an organ of dark ma- hogany, to whose sides the passing of years had given a sombre richness, its ivory keys glistening in the firelight and seeming al- most to look with yearning toward the couch; this is the pleasant picture. Let us turn back a leaf and see this other picture. It is the great cathedral, the empty aisles and transepts flooded with light from the stained windows, in one of which is pic- tured the form of St. Cecilia, smiling benig- nantly, with a halo shining about her brow ' . From above are heard the magnificent tones of the great organ. A young man sits be- tore the key-board, his face fired with de- votion to his occupation. The sound ceases, the organist rises and begins to descend from his height. Sud- denly he disappears; there is a sound of falling, a low moan, then all is still ; and through the painted windows the light streams unfeeling, and St. Cecilia from her place smiles down as benignantly as before. Tender hands carry the helpless man away ; afte r long weeks he gains strength, but only to find that he can no more follow the occu- pation of his love. Let us turn to the last picture. Again we see the little room with the organ. As before, the firelight flickers gaily and once more the sun shines brightly, but now ' there seems to be a tincture of sadness in the at- mosphere ; the face on the couch grows paler and w ' eaker and a strange look of pain possesses it. “ I am dying,” comes from the faded lips, and the wan face silently reiterates it. His eye, still bright, rests upon the organ in the corner. A smile lights up his face and he whispers, “ Lead me to it.” The girl takes his hand, and he totters to the instrument. A hesitating note — and then suddenly, and with infinite tenderness he brings forth the solemn strains of Mozart’s Last Re- quiem. On and on he plays, his face is suffused with a peace like a beatitude. Then the touch glow ' s weaker, the white head falls upon the breast, the hands drop from the keys — and the girl is left alone. Howard S. Russell. P LEASE CALL AND SEE US,— We may have something to interest you ; it wiil us if you buy at the central dry GOODS CO., 477 MASSACHUSETTS AVE. QUALITY CHOCOLATES Our stock is always complete and when you buy of us you can depend upon the quality being the BEST. ' Yerxa