Brattleboro Union High School - Colonel Yearbook (Brattleboro, VT)

Page 5 text:

Room IN TH THE good doctor was deserted by now. Don't you suppose that this confession will help the government to find Thunderbolt if he is in this coun- try ? asked someone. You know they think- They certainly ought to be able to catch him! broke in another, Why, there is one very important clue given here. Lightfoot says that Thunderbolt had something wrong with his right foot and had to wear a cork heel! Further remarks were cut short unexpectedly. Oh! john's fainted! screamed Mrs, Wilson. Some- one help me! There was a rush toward the doctor. Get some cold water! Will someone help me lift him to the couch? There, that's better! He'll be all right- It must have been this hot room! exclaimed Tob Weath- erbee, as he naturally took command of things. The crowd hovered about the young Mrs. Wilson who was kneeling at her husbands side. Then she slowly rose, turned about, and faced her friends. I am very sorry to have such a pleasant evening broken up so early, but I think it best that you all go home. It has been a very strenuous day for us both, and probably, as Rob says, this heat is responsible. I am sure that he will recover immediately. I think you're right, Mam. All he needs is a good rest, so we had better go along, agreed Tob as he and the others prepared to leave. After pleasantly bidding them all good night, Mrs. Wilson carefully closed the door and slid the bolt, She extinguished the larger lights, and then glided back to the sofa with a small lamp in her hand. She made room for the flickering little lamp among the china and glassa ware that cluttered a small table, and then she again knelt by her husband's side. After loosening his collar, she unlaced his boots-the left one dropped heavily to the oaken floor. The right stuck-it wouldn't budge. She tugged at it stubbornly-then it gave suddenly, and fell to the Hoor with a thud. She rose erect, as if electrified by the sound, then tot- tered to a nearby chair. She stared toward her husband with a look of incredulity .... E SLEIGHU Cui by Com Terrefi '39 THE snow had gone, and spring was here. The roads lay like ribbons of mud across the town. The Con- necticut, a brown dragon saturated with mud and silt, swerved around the mountain bases on its way to the sea. Two women, laden with bags, walked along the muddy road. Have you see Doctor Wilson lately, jenny ? asked one of the women. Not any more than anyone else has. He's hardly left the house since she left. I think it's a shame the way that girl acts. Why, she doesn't know when she's well off-at nice home, plenty of moneyf-a fine husband, and she wants a divorce! said the other lady. You're right there-she doesn't have any reason to leave. What a thankless person she is! But how is she going to get her divorce ? asked the other woman. I don't know. The other day she said that she couldn't live with or love a robber. Then she shut up tight and wouldn't say a word more. Look at that little white bun- galow up on the knoll. It's all right, but it's nothing like the Wilson mansion that she might be living in. She's probably in her room now eyeing everyone who goes by, said the other, as she gestured toward the small white house where the deacon lived. IK SF lk if :if Yes, behind those curtains the young woman sat, she was looking out of the window also, but not at the people. She never even saw them-her eyes were turned to the distant hills and to the fading red sun that cast its supernatural light over the land. She was sitting at a small writing desk, half turned toward the window. There was a hook open on the desk-its pages reddened by the sunlight that filtered through the rufiied curtain. Her hand moved back and forth, underlining again and again the same words. They were the words of Lightfoot as written in his confession: Thunderbolt had a cork heel! She raised her head from the page and looked again at the setting sun, now nearly lost behind the horizon. Then she murmured softly, as tears lined her uplifted face, I can never love him-a murderer and a robber! I can--and will-keep his secret, l4l

Page 4 text:

Thankless Person GEORGE SHAWV '39 OOD EVENING, folks! We're going to the wedding party that the Wilsons are having tonight. Want to come along with us ? asked Rob Weatherbee as he entered a small farmhouse that overlooked the Con- necticut. There's plenty of room in the sleigh, and there's an extra buffalo robe and a foot warmer in the rear! All the young folks in town are going to be there-and the Doctor has hired Old joe to bring up his bass fiddle, mouth organ, clapper, and all! he continued as he closed the door. Hello, Rob! Say, that was some wedding Doc Wilson had today-about the best I ever went to, put in jack Tyler, as he entered from another room, struggling with his collar. Yes, and the Doctor and the Deacon's daughter are a mighty hne pair-it isn't often that a young outsider like Dr. john Wilson can come into a small town and make good in just a couple of years, said Henry. He's a kind one, too! I'll never forget the time our old house burned, and I was so sick. He took wonderful care of me and then he wouldn't take a cent, but some day when jack and I get back on our feet we are going to pay him, added the lady of the house, Jacks wife, as he helped her with her coat. Hurry up and get your togs on before the sleigh run- ners freeze to the snow! Henry called back as he went out to prepare the back seat of the sleigh, The last light within the house dropped out, and the couple scuffed out to the sleigh, scattering the new fallen snow that had partially filled the recently shoveled path. Away they rode, the sound of the sleigh bells carrying far across the snow as if aided by the strength of the light of the moon, who seemed to find so much joy working with the co-operative snow. C OME on, john, dear! please dance just this one dance with me! After all, this party is in our honor, and we ought to dance at least one! Old joe says that he will play the Pidgeon Wing next, and you know how I love it! coaxed the young bride as she stood arm in arm with her husband. But-, the doctor tried to say. Yes, I know what you are going to say, john Wilson, my husband! 'Dancing proves that people's heads are lighter than their heels,' interrupted his wife. Now you're coming with me, and don't you take any of your silly flops-I sometimes think you do it just to attract attention. I wish you were right, mumbled the doctor as they walked to the middle of the room. What? You-, started the young woman, but some- one shouted to Old joe to Hit her up. So away they went in a giddy whirl, leading everyone out on to the floor, each following couple a diminutive nebula careening into the space of the open floor. All but Old Joe was in the grip of the Pidgeon Wing and, finally, he, too, raced about, clutching his giant fiddle, sawing away at the strings with his stubby bow, and puff- ing furiously into the mouth organ. Tra-la-la-la-la-tra-la-la-la-la- Suddenly there was a thunderous plop! then an up- roar of laughter. Hold everything, Doc! Doc's down! Don't trample him! Too much wedding strain, I guess! What kind of a husband are you? Old Joe stopped playing and pushed his spectacles up his nose to viewing position, for in the process of the Pidgeon Wing they had been greatly shaken about by his prancing. After these preliminaries, he saw the doctor flat on his back in the middle of the floor, with the crowd standing about in pairs, trying to suppress the laughter that had gushed forth so readily before. Doc sure ought to practice his dance steps! He always falls in a heap right in the middle of a dance! I used to think that it was a joke, but if it is, it is surely wearing out! said one young man who was out of the doctor's hearing. I.et's go closer,'T whispered his buxom partner. Now the doctor rose to his feet with a very much red- dened face, but before anyone could speak, one young man, who happened to be by the door, remarked in a voice that seemed to halloo through the stillness of the room, Why, look who's coming in! It's Jed Higgens! I wonder what made him so late. Hello, folks! said the smiling fellow as he entered. Sorry to be so late, but I've been pretty busy down at the book store today. You see, the first edition of the 'Confession of Lightfoot' came in, and I had to put it in order for the big sale tomorrow. Here, I brought along a copy-it's the first off the press and I thought that you would like to see it. It tells about the robberies and mur- ders that Lightfoot and his boss, Thunderbolt, C0111- mitted! E31

Page 6 text:

Chimney Spell N through the congealing gray of dusk, stretched the rutted line of a country road. Whiteness velveted either side and stretched its shadowed folds to the black line of pine that gripped the horizon far beyond the fields. The distant white of the hill top fused with the indefinite skyline just where the road dipped over the crest, and gave one the vague impression that the road hung, frozen in mid-air like an icicle. A vast sense of loneliness blew coldly down the rough path and whistled through the early twilight. A pencil-marked shadow appeared to the left of the road. Humped almost invisibly under the snow blanket lay a low stone wall. Like so many potatoes under a sack, the ice-coated rocks of the wall scattered in untidy heaps and seemed to argue the course with the road, for often they lay caught in its icy clutches as though the road had been a brook, ice- bound in the act of flowing over them. Automatically now, for I had tramped three miles over this winter-chained country, my numb feet lifted their heavy boots to crunch over the irregularly molded ice- trail. My breath was thickly white in the rising wind, I quickened my uneven step. How bleakly empty the sur- rounding scene seemed. No tree or fence marked an ex- pression on the white-masked meadows. Slight shadows only accented the white claim of winter to the land. Piercing cold swept through me but I could not hurry over the unyielding ground. The distance to the hill top looked short, yet I never seemed any nearer to the crest which the graying sky had begun silently to trace. How much farther over this rocky waste had I to go? Wind-drawn tears stung my eyes and froze on my face. Powdered snow whipped my cheeks like Hung sand, but I struggled on, for to return would be as hard. Slowly, I trudged upward, as the frosted blast tore at my coat and flapped my hood about my head. Finally, the top of the hill shouldered the heavy tread of my feet. I had reached the summit. I STOPPED, shivering, to peer through the semi-dark- ness at the shrivelling road's continuing line. As it had ascended, it went down the other side, frozen earth, snow-crusted and crooked cut through the shadowed farm- land. It was so still that I imagined that I could hear the intense quietude. The darkened heavens drew closer to earth and, like a huge octopus, reached out long arms to cover it. Earth, a road-the invisible skyline-, my eyes swept over these. A gasp-the ghost of an exclamation material- ized in the cold air! for there, to the right, black against the fast disappearing horizon, a chimney breathed warmly into the night! It was as though it breathed life into my stilled body, life from its great, warm, red-brick heart, for an inner warmth crept over me at the sight of it. A f Cul by Marian White '40 CHIMNEY SPELL chimney-warmth, rest, food-companions, too! How life-giving that homely symbol was! Feet, no matter how numb, could not have resisted the beckoning of that chimney's smoky finger. The vast emptiness of field and sky was filled with its friendly presence, the wind was not as sharp nor was the road as stubborn. That ugly old chimney was a call in the winter wilderness, and my lost heart answered with a loud halloo ! l