Arlington High School - Indian Yearbook (Arlington, MA)

 - Class of 1925

Page 12 of 138

 

Arlington High School - Indian Yearbook (Arlington, MA) online collection, 1925 Edition, Page 12 of 138
Page 12 of 138



Arlington High School - Indian Yearbook (Arlington, MA) online collection, 1925 Edition, Page 11
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Arlington High School - Indian Yearbook (Arlington, MA) online collection, 1925 Edition, Page 13
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Page 12 text:

10 THE ARLINGTON HIGH SCHOOL CLARION they look like this: 0, 1, 2, .° , 4, o, 0, 7, 8. 1). Jason made these figures ah day long and lie finally became so expert that lie could say, “Put 4 and carry 1-G and 5-11-19, and 6-25. Put 5 and carry 2 — with one part of his mind while with the other he jour- neyed from pole to pole in a highly- improved aeroplane of his own inven- tion ; sat on a Sultan’s throne and or- dered Mr. Brockton, the partner with the walrus mustache, to choose between losing his head and raising his, Jason’s pay ; or joined a gang of Western cow- boy desperadoes and held up trains or kidnapped the daughters of cattle kings and held them for ransom, then mar- ried them, after getting the ransom money from their papas, however. Rather silly for a grown-up man, you say? But then grown-up men are apt to do idiotic things. Ask any woman. Each Saturday Jason received a small white envelope which always con- tained exactly twenty dollars. Twelve dollars of this he gave to his landlady, in return for which he was granted oc- cupancy of one nine by six hall-bed- room and the privilege of partaking of the boarding house meals, which had a singular sameness of flavor. After supper the boarders divided into two groups: — those who were go- ing out that evening and those who were not. Jason was of the group who were not. In winter this group adjourned to the parlor, where Mrs. Jenkins, the plump widow, promptly took posses- sion of the large armchair (the only really comfortable seat in the place! which stood under a pink-shaded floor lamp. These articles had been pur- chased during the period of war time prosperity and were now slightly frayed, but then continued to have the most conspicuous place in the room, as they undoubtedly would for some years to come since the remaining fur- niture consisted of two types not cele- brated for beauty — Mission and Victor- ian. Miss Jamie, the thin spinster, a 1 way- arrived exactly fifty seconds after Mrs. Jenkins and her scarf, necklaces, eai rings, bangles and bracelets had set- tled themselves. Miss Jamie then cast an indignant glance at the aforesaid Mrs. Jenkins who pretended not to set; it. After looking helplessly around Miss Jamie sat in the same corner of the Mission sofa upon which she had sat for the past seven years. 8he then produced from a small black bag a small white doily upon which she im- mediately set to work after murmur- ing something about “very poor sewing light over here, really” which Mrs. Jen- kins did not, hear. More ladies entered along with a few men who proceeded to look un- comfortable as the women began to chat and then to decide they needed a cigar and, finally, to slip out of the room, one by one, until Jason was usu- ally left alone, sitting on a genuine horse chair with black walnut carvings. He always sat stiffly upright (it was impossible to sit any other way) with a newspaper held open before him but, although the light in his corner of the room was very dim, there was little danger of his straining his eyes, for he never turned beyond the second page. If you have not already noticed that Jason was a remarkable person, here is proof : — he could sit in a room with eight or nine women all talking at once and think! On summer evenings the people of the square came out and sat on their steps or strolled round the little park in the center and sat on the benches. Jason, by reason of a claim established

Page 11 text:

THE ARLINGTON HIGH SCHOOL CLARION ) not a horse or rider was in sight, but in the distance 1 saw something ap- proaching. As it came nearer I could make it out to be a hug” or in other words a small sport runabout, bright red in color with an extremely loud cut-out. Whether it was the color or the cut-out that spurred Lady on, I never really knew. But as the car came within ten feet of us, Iter Honor” reared on her hind legs, pranced about for a minute, then with a mighty leap started galloping down the road. Oh yes it was great to ride, and all that! — but when one lands on the back of a balky horse, whose ribs penetrate one’s legs like a saw, why it isn’t quite so much like sport, as 1 soon found out ! Standing up in my stirrups, I pulled muscularly on the reins, but without any effects. Lady only seemed to lake this as a bidding to move faster, which she readily did. On and on we gal- loped until we caught up with the others. But catching up with them was not enough, for precious “Lady- bird” stopped not at them, but kept on going at her excuse my dust” speed. Presently 1 fell something give away and myself being thrown for- ward on the horse ' s neck. All 1 could think of for the moment was that she was on the verge of a fatal collapse but found out presently that she had only stumbled over a stone in the road. I had hardly been settled in the saddle again when Lady, still going as strong as ever, suddenly turned down a side road. “Gee,” I gasped, what is she going to do now?” She was headed straight for the lake, which was about fifteen feet ahead. Suddenly I heard a roar and a splash of water and before I knew it my old faithful nag was carrying me far into tin depths of Lake Sunapee. Long be- fore I had seen visions of angels but now I saw more than visions! How- ever I did not completely lose my senses, so loosening my feet from the stirrups I plunged into the unknown depths of the water. 1 soon found out that the water was not over the noise’s head and as luck would have it, the stump of an old tree was protruding out of the water. I threw the reins over this and then started to swim back to shore. Just as I reached the mainland who should come dashing up, but Maurice to the rescue ! One by one the other riders approached the shore and all began to talk and joke at once. The only thing I could do was to point to my dear enemy,” and the groom took in the situation at a glance, laughed heartily and said : Let her stay there awhile, maybe it will cool her oft.” “Yes, let her stay there,” 1 agreed, but say, Maurice, that horse certainly did change her mind.” “Well,” drawled Maurice, grinning broadly, it’s the privilege of a lady.” Pem” Brown, ' 25 . CONCERNING A DREAMER ANI) BOOKKEEPER AND NOT VERY MUCH ELSE Jason Jefferson was a man and he dreamed dreams. Also, lie worked in a millinery establishment as second as- sistant bookkeeper. Not because he was particularly interested in book- keeping as a profession but because eating was one of his habits. He sat all day on a high stool in the corner of the office of Brockton-Smith, Milli- ners, hunched over a ledger with his legs wrapped around the legs of the stool and made figures. There are ex- actly ten different kinds of figures and



Page 13 text:

THE ARLINGTON HIGH SCHOOL CLARION two summers earlier had reserved a bench for himself and there he spent his evenings, quite alone, for lie dis- pensed with the newspaper in summer. That is to say, he looked alone to pas- sersby, hut Jason himself never felt lonesome. Indeed, he was seldom more , than half conscious of his surround- ings. The inhabitants of the square agreed that lie was “queer” hut discussed him no further. Readers (if there are any) are going to say: “This fellow, Jeffer- son, wi ll now do some wonderful thing and conclude this story.” On the contrary — Jason Avas inter- ested merely in dreams — not in their fulfilment. Jason had gazed at space for a long time one evening Avhen he was rather annoyed by a girl who, sauntering sloAvly, absorbed in a book, halted be- fore him in such a manner as to com- I pletely obstruct his view. After she had remained there about rive minutes, i Jason coughed. The girl raised her head, startled, and looked at him for a second. Then she sat down on the other end of the bench and continued reading. Jason looked at the ground and wished he hadn’t coughed. At length the girl closed the book and murmured to no one at all “That Avas some book!” Jason looked at her sharply. She seemed harmless, so he ventured to ask, “What’s the name of it?” She replied, in a very enthusiastic tone, “It’s called ‘White Cliff Trail’; I a man named Darius Taylor wrote it. It’s all about cowboys and Indians and a wonderful dog. There’s a rich man in it who tries to buy cheaply the land on which the hero is trying to start a ranch, because he knows there’s oil on it, but the hero doesn’t, see?” “Oh, yes,” said Jason Avhen her stream of talk halted for a minute. “I think I’ve read that book, too. It’s 11 pretty good, but — you know the scene in the library ? — well, I’d change the place where the hero comes in. I’d have him come in AA r earing the clothes he does on the ranch, big, heavy boots, plaid shirt and those funny-looking Avoolly trousers coAvboys wear. If the scene Avere written that way you’d see the difference between the coAvboy avIio’s trying so hard to make his ranch a success that he can ' t spare the money to get a regular suit of clothes and the rich Millieuse in his evening clothes. Then I’d have him, Millieuse, afraid Ingleton would mark up his floors with the big boots but Millieuse Avouldn’t dare speak to him because he’d be afraid he’d make Ingleton mad and then Ingleton wouldn’t sell him the land he wanted. “And then the place Avliere Ingle- ton ' s dog rinds the letter that tells about the oil on Millieuse ' s lawn and brings it home to Ingleton — I wouldn’t have it a letter — I’d have it a map, a geologist’s map with the places where oil Avas marked on it. Millieuse would probably have only one letter, but he might have half a dozen maps and he’d probably not miss the map as soon as lie would the letter, see?” Jason stopped. He Avondered Avhat had made him talk so much. He had never said so much before in all his life. He had never talked about his dreams ! in fact he Avas rather ashamed of them. What must this girl think of him? Well, it was her oAvn fault. She’d started him. He glanced at her. She was- listening intently, fascinated. So he talked on. When the entire book had been revised — this took about an hour — and he had to stop for lack of material, the girl spoke. “Why,” said she. “You tell stories well, really. Better than this author, I think.” Jason, a little embarrassed by the compliment, fell silent and occupied

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