Bristol High School - Green and White Yearbook (Bristol, RI)

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I II l£ OREEN AN D W H I I E 11 never rings on time, so I’m a-going to fix up tliet bed into a fust-class alarm clock bed. and I connect it all around, and in the morning, instead of ringing it’ll make the bed shake just enough to make yer feel it rock. Gee. it’ll work great, too!” “Mum.” canto his wife’s rejoinder. Then, after considering for a time, she said : “Well, you can hev the bed. but I know it won’t be any good. And with this encouraging remark, she rose abruptly and began clearing the supper table. In a week’s time the alarm clock bed was finished and installed in the house. The first night they slept in it a peculiar thing happened. About 2 o’clock in the morning the bed began to rock gently, back and forth, then gradually it shook more and more, but Hiram and Mirandy slept peacefully on. Finally, as the bed was shaking rather violently, and the sleepers, who had been awakened by it. were preparing to arise, the bed gave one last violent shake and collapsed with a loud bang. Hiram managed to roll off in time, but his wife, with a shriek, placed her head under the pillow and fainted. Mr. Jones, for once spry, ran about looking for the vinegar bottle. He found a bottle, but in it was blueing. This he applied to his wife’s nostrils after he bad pulled her from beneath the ruins. Mirandy came out of the faint, not as the result of the smell of the liquid, as Hiram thought, but because the coolness of it revived her. The very first thing she managed to say was “Well, I told you so. didn’t I?” Hiram groaned and put his hands to bis head: then, as he saw his wife’s face by the dim light of the candle which he had lighted, he went off in gales of laughter so long and so loud that Mirandy. for the first time in her life, joined him in a laugh which she made sound even louder than her husband’s. JESSIE MOLASKY, 20. SOME OF OUR LITTLE-APPRECIATED TALENTS A great feeling of sadness often comes over me when I think of the talents in our schools so little appreciated. The manner in which the accomplishments of the pupils are disregarded, and even laughed at. is to me the saddest matter of all. Now. think of Harrv Young. Every one realizes with what fluency and accuracy he translates his Latin, and yet. the members of the class merely look at him when he finishes, as if his translation was an ordinary one. He neither receives praise nor encouragement from his classmates, and to me his never-faiing endurance is a constant source of admiration. Also. Olive Coggcshall’s sweet voice, which is always able to reach the high notes in singing, has always seemed to be unjustly overlooked. I have often thought of the unfairness of not allowing such a tall, strong boy as John Walsh to play on the baseball team when that tiny, little boy. George Cooke by name, and that weak little Baker boy are allowed to play. If more of the pupils took advice from Mr. Doran and followed his motto: “Always Have Your Work Done on Time,” I am sure that they would be helping themselves a great deal. Of course. Mr. Doran always follows his motto, especially in the case of History and Geometry. Little do the pupils realize what skill in drawing James Sullivan has been showing lately. On account of ignorance his friends do not appreciate the pictures which he sometimes modestly shows to them. Joseph Kelley is at last arousing the school to the knowledge of his oratorical skill. After a long, hard struggle the force, coherency and clearness of his speaking have won their way into the pupils’ hearts. Those who have attended the Junior geometry class have bad the pleasure of seeing Miss Theresa Morrissey work out exercises and realize with what brilliancy Miss Morrissey is endowed. However, I have heard pupils talking who have considered Miss Morrissey of ordinary ability. Do we really honor Milton Hill sufficiently in regard to geometry? We are obliged to admit that he always knows his geometry perfectly without asking a Question. Is Mr. Palmer held In high enough estimation? The one who is always willing •to help his friends and always knows the place when called on. And so it goes on. as it always shall— great talents, little appreciation. OLIVE COGGESHALL, ’20. THE DIARY OF A ROOKIE June 1. I marched for three miles to-day and when the captain told us to Ditch tents I threw mine into the middle of the road. The captain didn’t seem to like this. June 5. I don’t believe I like the captain. He hasn’t anv manners. The other day the captain told us to come to port arms.” While I was standing there he came up and. without asking me. took my gun. I looked very hard at him, so he gave it back to me. June 7. The other day the captain asked the company a hard question. I was the only one that could answer it. He promoted me to the front rank. June 8. I guess I will leave the army. Last night I was on guard duty, the first sergeant came along: I asked him for the countersign. The first sergeant said George Washington.” I told him I hadn't asked for the first President of the United States and I put him in the guard house. Now I am in the guard house, for the reason that “George Washington” was the countersign. June l.L One boy in my tent received a box of pills supposed to cure kidney trouble. Thev only made him sick and he missed drill that day. I have taken five nills so far and missed four days. The fifth dav the camp doctor found out what I was doing. Now be has forbidden us to take pills without his nermission. June 14. 1 have just learned that we arc to be moved to South Carolina. June 28. I have been travelling for a couple of weeks. Now we’re in South Carolina I have been made corporal of the thirteenth squad. July 1 Been on a furlough for three

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10 I HE GREEN A N I) WHIT E the card with his little finger, “is a code. Presently we will decipher It. And now the box! Mr. I-told-you-so grew quite neTvous. He started to take off the paper wrapper, hut his fingers shook so that he told Mr. B. Buttons to do it for him. But when he saw the mess that Mr. Brass Buttons was making. Mr. I-told-you-so rebuked him loudly and said that he could do better than that himself, so he took it and carefully put the wrappers back in place, then began to take them slowly off. It took three beginnings before he could make an end. but finally the papers were off and the box was ready to be opened. Mr. l-told-you-so tried it. and gave it tip. Mr. Brass Buttons tried it. but he, too. gave it up, so it was left to Mr. Maxwell, who took out his jacknife and cut out the bottom of the box. Plunk! Bang! Something fell to the floor. Mr. I-told-you-so grew livid, and gasped, expecting every second to be nlown to atoms. Even the florid-face of the policeman grew a shade lighter, and he used some of those same vehement expressions. Mr. Maxwell gazed anxiously at the thing on the floor, but nothing happened! There was no smoke, no fire, no noise, nothing exploded, nothing flew about the room in a thousand pieces, everything was quiet, everyone holding his breath, while Mr. Maxwell picked up the infernal thing. But still, everything was not over yet. The “thing” turned out to be a very beautiful candy Easter egg—but who could tell what was inside. Mr. I-told-you-so “alicmed” very loudly, took the egg and held it under the water. Slowly, slowly, it dissolved away, and as time went. Mr. I -told-you-so grew very agitated. He stepped from one foot to the other, cleared his throat, and changed the egg from his right hand to his left, until Mr. Maxwell could stand it no longer. He took the egg and began to break off small pieces, while Mr. I-told-you-so wildly protested. hen the egg had grown quite small something red shone through, and finally a red glass heart lay in Mr. Maxwell’s hand. He stared at it dubiously, so did Mr. Brass Buttons. It was obvious that thev were both very much disappointed; but Mr. I-told-you-so—he had vanished into the air. “How do you suppose it got there?” asked Mr. Maxwell. “1 dunno! Some mistake somewhere!” said Mr. Buttons. Perhaps a simil—-” started Mr. Maxwe'l. but his words were cut short. The door banged and in bounced the young man of the monocle. He was hatiess. nis coat was unbuttoned, his jeweled scarfpin was gone, his collar was turned around, his tie was streaming out behind him and his monocle w;;s dangling restlessly at his side. “You!—You!” lie gasped, so out of breath lie could hardly speak. Mr. Maxwell pounced on him. Have you got my suitcase?” he shouted. Xo—I left—it!” gasped the young man. “Where?” thundered Mr. Maxwell. “On the train, of course.” answered the be-monocled. feeling somewhat better, as be had just returned his monocle to his right eye. Mr. Maxwell .sank in a chair, but recovered when he remembered that his name was printed on the suitcase. What’s all this trash?” asked Mr. Buttons, looking about the room at the soaking suitcase, the patchwork, about which was a little puddle of water, and at the empty box. “This trash is a proposal to a girl,” answered the young man. drawing himself up haughtily. “I pride myself on my original proposals. And the patchwork.” he added, catching sight of it. “I put that in there so as not to jar the egg. So you see. Pm very clever.” “Yes, awfully clever! Here, you can look to this man for damage.” said Mr. Maxwell, nodding at Mr. Buttons, “and. meanwhile, I’ll go to see if I can get my suitcase.” He went to the station and luckily the bag was there, so he took it. then stood on the corner for his car. He looked at his watch and saw that it was 4.15, and that he had missed the car. but he also saw that if he walked home he would miss his mother-in-law. EMILY SAX FORD. ’21. I TOLD YOU SO An inventor’s wife no doubt has her share of the world’s burden of troubles. Mrs. Hiram Jones surely thought her share of them complete. Tall, angular, with sharp features as well as sharp voice and manners, she cared for the small farm on which she and her husband lived, in such manner that it not only paid well but also enabled her to set aside a little money for a rainy day. Hiram Jones, as tall and as angular as his bustling and neat wife, was shiftless, and especially lazy when there was any work to be done. His wrinkled face spelled good nature, and his wife often remarked that If Hiram had kept all he’d given away, we’d be as rich as John D. Rockefeller by now.” By occupation Hiram was a farmer, but by profession an inventor, and what things he did invent! He found means of modernizing everything he came in contact with, and as a result, all things modernized by him were practically useless ever after. “Well. Mirandy.” he said in an indignant voice one day. “if you wasn’t forever naggin’ and hollerin’ ‘I told yer so.’ every time something don’t work just right, mebbe I’d hev the courage to invent something that would bring a fortune. But when someone like you is forever hollerin' 1 told yer so’—why. how va gonna do it?” And he made an appealing gesture to his wife, who pretended she wasn’t listening. One evening he slouched into his seat at the supper table, looking unusually submissive. His wife, who could read him like a book, kept silent. Finally, without raising his eyes from his plate.’ he said in an ordinary matter-of-fact voice: “Mirandy. do you mind if I take the bed out in the shack to-morrer?” “What!” came the sham voice of his wife. “Wall. I’m jiggered! Xow what might yer be a’ goin’ to do with thet bedstead?” Well, yer see. thet alarm clock of our’n

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12 THE GREEN AND WHITE days. 1 had a good time. To-day 1 heard a rumor that we are going to France. July 2. We are not going on a hike to-day as the captain is sick. July 3. All the hoys have been storing up fireworks. I haven’t any money, so I will have to borrow my fireworks. July 4. 1 guess I have all the bad luck in this world. To-day I am assigned to do “Kitchen Police” and to-night J have to be on guard in a vacant lot. July 5. Last night 1 was on guard for about ten minutes when a friend of mine came along. He said that if 1 wanted, he would go on guard if I wished to go to the village for half an hour. When I came back and had been on guard for about ten minutes, the captain came up and said that 1 need not guard any longer. I went back to the village for three hours. July 6. I had a fight with the corporal of the tenth squad and have been reduced to the ranks. July 9. I got square with the corporal of the tenth squad. I went to the village and bought some molasses candy. 1 heated the candy and I put it in his bed. I haven’t been found out yet. July 10. Yesterday I received a box of cigarettes from home. The ONE I got was very good. July 12. Fifteen of our boys have been sent over to France. July 13. Yesterday while we were all standing in line and nearly dying with heat the captain dared to propose that wc form a baseball team. July 14. I am in the guard house for not saluting the captain. July 15. This morning I wrote a poem and took it to the editor of the camp paper. He read it through, put it in the wastepaper basket and pointed to the door. Some people don’t know what real art is. July 10. I asked the captain if he thought 1 would be able to go “over t he re” in time for this new drive. He said it would be a wonder if I got over at all. July 18. Yesterday I received a box from home. When I opened it I found that my mother had sent me a muffler and a pair of woolen socks. I wonder if she knew where I was when she sent them. July 19. I can’t write a diary any more. I am going to France. ON THE WAY July 19. 1. Private Tom Black, in a company of some three hundred fellows, am on my way to France. July 20. The ship’s cook must put lead in the food and it makes me kind of sick. Of course I am not sea-sick. July 21. 1 guess I am sea-sick. 1 have been on a ferryboat twice, so it is a wonder I am sick. I wonder if the captain will put back for me till I get well. July 23. I am all over my sea-sickness. I’m some sailor, hey! We have been issued “tin hats.” Mine made me have a headache the first day. Wc have drill every day (I mean lifeboat drill). July 24. Saw a submarine to-day. The fellows think I’m afraid, but it was only a headache that made me faint. I am not scared of ten submarines. July 25. Still sailing. No excitement. July 28. Landed in France. People were all glad to see us. One man must have been blind because he thought we were girls and kissed us. Just learned that kissing is a French custom. Wish I lived in France. July 29. In Camp—I’ve forgotten how to spell it. but it’s a French camp, anyway. July 30. Just pushed a corporal into a pool of water, so I suppose I am in for it. I didn’t know it was a corporal or I would have held him under the water longer. Aug. 1. In guard house. Aug. 8. Been in the guard house for seven days and this morning a man let me out by mistake. Aug. 9. Drilling nearly all day. Aug. 10. Had a great time last night, went to a party. Aug. 11. Hear we are going in the trenches soon, hope so. Aug. 20. Going in trenches to-morrow, can’t write any more for awhile, Sept. 2. Wounded. In “Blighty.” WALTER WENNERSTRAND. ’21. BEATEN AT THEIR OWN GAME It was during the war that Mr. Meade, a wealthy man of about 30 years, dark and ratber tall, dressed in a light gray suit, gray cap and low brown shoes, had been spending a few weeks in Canada on important business. He had bought a number of articles—among them a costly set of furs for his wife, whom lie had left with relatives in Detroit, and whom he was to join there. He would have to pjiy a large duty on the furs and he was trying to think of a plan to avoid the duty. As he was boarding the train for the line, he spied a pretty girl of about 25 years, and he decided to ask her if she would like to wear the furs. She readily consented. They had a very pleasant chat while on the journey. When the customs officer made his examination he. of course, thought the furs belonged to their wearer, so asked no duty for them. As they boarded the train for Detroit Mr. Meade noticed that a man of about the same age as the girl seemed to be interested in them. He sat a few seats in behind them and on the opposite side. The girl. Miss Cameron (for that was her name), noticed that Mr. Meade seemed to be disturbed by the other’s presence. As they neared the Detroit station. Mr. Meade said, “May I have my furs now?” “Your furs?” she said, seeming surprised by his question. “I thought you gave them to me. Didn’t you?” “Of course not. I only let you wear them so 1 would not have to carry them. I desire that you give them to me.” he answered. “I will not. You told me to wear them and I intend to do so.” “You will oblige me by returning my furs, madam.” “I will return nothing, sir. You gave me the furs to wear and am I not doing as I was told? The furs are mine and I intend to keep them.” “I intend for you to return them,” he replied. “I will not,” she flared up. “I will call the police if you do not give them to me.” he said hotly.