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

Text from Pages 1 - 32 of the 1922 volume:

UJ H r £ c z UJ UJ u UJ r GHEBN AND WHITE EDITORIAL STAFF Front Row. Left to Right—Margaret Nerone, Samuel Eisenberg, Regina Morris. Joseph Walsh. Mary Morris, Walter Wennerstrand, Frances Hopkins. Back Row. Left to Right—Stetson Clowes, Eileen Moore, Sara C. Callan, Annie D. Sisson. James Ruggiero. 3 ie St reen ana ' Y ite VOL. V. JUNE, 1922 No. 1 ISSUED BY THE STUDENTS OF THE COLT MEMORIAL HIGH SCHOOL, BRISTOL. R. I. Editor-in-Chief. JOSEPH WALSH, ’22 Assistant Editor JAMES RUGGIERO. ’22 Business Manager MARY MORRIS, '22 Literary Editors REGINA M. MORRIS. '22 SAMUEL El SEN BERG, ’23 Exchange Editor FRANCES HOPKINS. ’23 Assistant Business Manager MARGARET NERONE, ’23 Joke Editor WALTER WENNERSTRAND. ’22 Circulation Manager STETSON CLOWES. ’22 Alumni Editor ANNIE D. SISSON. ’14 Assistant Circulation Manager EILEEN MOORE, ’23 PRICE Faculty Advisor SARA C. CALLAN 2 5 CENTS TABLE OF EDITORIAL 4 LITERATURE ...................... 4 The Haunted House ............... 4 The American Girl ............. 6 The Groomless Wedding ........... 6 To a Book Report ..........-..... 7 Let There Be Peace .............. 7 A Life of Dreams ............... 7 The Steel Armor ................. 8 The Mystery of Brandon Mill ..... 9 Only a Bomb ..................... 9 CONTENTS Playthings of Fate ........ 10 A Mysterious Stranger ......11 Tom’s Christmas ........ - 12 Wednesday Morning ..........12 SENIORS ................... 13 Class Notes ...... -...—..13 Plays and Players of C. M. H. S.13 ATHLETICS ................ 14 CHIPS ......................14 ALUMNI .....................16 4 THE (iREEN AND WHITE Editorial GREETINGS At last the 1922 edition of the “Green and White” is at hand. The editorial staff has striven, to the best of its ability, to put forth a magazine embracing the literary achievements of the pupils of the Colt Memorial High School. We hope that you will receive it gratefully and give it your ardent support. -----o------ PREPAREDNESS Few pupils of the Colt Memorial High School realize the importance of preparedness. They wait until the last minute to do their work and then, on account of the great haste, their work is not properly done. When they are given a lesson to do. they neglect it until it is too late to do it well and in their great haste they made numerous, careless mistakes that would not have been made otherwise. A number of pupils go through the school year in an indolent manner, just getting by, and when examinations come they fail to do their work conscientiously, and likewise the pupils fail to respond to the call for material for the “Green and White” until the end of the school year draws to a close and thus the school paper is not as good as it should be. Therefore, in behalf of the school, we ask you to respond promptly in the future to the call of the “Green and White” staff and not wait until the school year is almost over, which makes it necessary to exercise great haste. EXCHANGES We have accepted with pleasure the following exchanges and only wish the list were longer: “The White and Gold,” Woodbury, N. J. The “Argus,” Shelton, Conn. “The Enfield Echo, Thompsonville, Conn. “The Gleaner,” Pawtucket, R. I. The “Red and White, Rochester, N. H. The “Maroon and White,” La Salle Academy, Providence, R. I. The Bulletin,” Lafayette, La. The “Weathervine.” The “X-Ray,” Sacramento, Cal. The “Echo,” New Iberia. La. The “Shield,” Haddonfield, N. J. ------o----- AS WE SEE OTHERS Gold and White: Always good and most interesting. Fine editorials. Maroon and White: More stories would improve your very interesting book. The Argus: Your Literary Department is especially good, only there is not enough of it. The Gleaner: An all-around funny, amusing and interesting paper. THE HAUNTED HOUSE The house was haunted. The whole town said so. Old Doc Winters had seen a ghost in the window of the southwest chamber on the second floor. Jim Ames, the village grocery-boy, had heard queer rattlings a number of times, as he had passed by. No one had lived in the house for twenty years. It was the old Stanton homestead. The last of the family to live there was young Bob Stanton with his wife and two THE GREEN AND WHITE 5 tiny golden-haired children. The wealthy Stantons had always been great favorites with the townspeople. But one day something happened. Bob Stanton’s young wife and their three-years old son were stricken with a fever that these Northern people had never before heard of. Four days later they were buried in the little cemetery and Bob Stanton found himself left with only his baby daughter, Priscilla. Bob Stanton had always loved to roam about the world at random. He had done little traveling since he had been married, but now Louise was gone—and he was alone, he must get away. He could not stand the house where he and Louise had been so happy with their two children. At every turn he saw her face. In the diningroom; in the garden; in the village; she was always there. Suddenly he made his decision and he immediately wrote to Cousin Jane in New Hampshire to come at once as he was leaving for Africa in two weeks. Cousin Jane came, Cousin Jane saw, but Cousin Jane did not conquer. Within two weeks Bob Stanton was aboard ship from New York to Africa, and Cousin Jane wras journeying northward with the motherless Priscilla. The Stanton house stood empty for the following twenty years, while the owner traveled from one unknown place to another. When Priscilla was fifteen, she joined her father in London and they traveled all over Europe and Asia for the following five years. But one day in France, Priscilla’s father was in an automobile accident. After two weeks of suffering he died and was buried in Paris. He had never returned to America since that sorrowful summer, twenty years ago. Now 'that Priscilla was left alone, she longed for America and home. The first of May found her back at the old Massachusetts town. The house was in a wretched condition. The gardens which had once beeni the pride of the country were now over-run with weed's; the white paint had peeled off in many places; the hinges on the doors and shutters were rusted; and the panes of glass in many of the windows were broken. Shortly after her return Priscilla received a typewritten letter from Morton Jackson, attornevs-a’t-law. Again fate was against her. Through an investment she had lost all of her money save a few hundred dollars. Aunt Jane, as Priscilla called her. had again answered Priscilla’s call and had come to Massachusetts to live with Bob’s daughter. In June, Ravmond Moreland, a young lawyer, appeared. He was alone in the world until he met Priscilla. Thev became firm friends and spent many hours together roaming through the woods or sailing on the bay. During her tew months in the old home Priscilla had frequently heard queer noises and flutterings, which seemed to come from the southwest chamber on the second floor. This room had been her mother’s. Priscilla openly scorned such foolish things as “ghosts.” But, sometimes—well, it was queer. The room in question had never been entered since that night twenty years ago. when her mother had died; and because of her dying of an unknown disease it worked upon the imaginations of the country people. One night early in July, Priscilla went to her room early. Ray Mooreland had gone to Boston two days before on a business trip to last a week. Priscilla was not sleepy and sat by the opened window. A number of times Priscilla arose and walked about the room. She fidgeted about. She began to realize that she was developing nerves. As she sat by the window a faint rattle reached her. It grew louder and louder1 as ft repeated itself. Prisciila gripped the arms of her chair and listened. The wind blew, but above it all she could hear the steady rattle. It was becoming very loud now, and Priscilla scrept softly to the room across the hall. As she stood by the door there came a loud crash. She screamed and someone gripped her from behind. It was Raymond, who had returned early. After he had calmed the trembling Priscilla he returned to the room and entered it. It was not long before she heard his ringing laugh and, creeping to the door of her mother’s room, she saw Ray seated on the side of the bed, laughing. The room was empty except for him. Suddenly he raised his eyes and saw her standing there and began to explain the ghost. “My dear,” he began, “the ghost has been laid, and here it is. You see for yourself that a number of the panes of glass are missing from this window. The wind is strong tonight and it has caused the shade to blow back and forth, and giving a hollow sound. That is the rattle you heard. Do you see that dress of your mother’s? Well, as you can see, wrhen the wind blows, it causes that dress hanging on the back of the chair to flutter back and forih. That is the ghost that Doc Winters saw that windy night last winter. Come to the window, Priscilla, and I will show you what caused the loud crash.” Below, on the piazza roof lav a blind which had fallen from its rustv hinges. The still trembling girl sobbed and Ray took her in his arms and murmured in her ear, “Never mind, Priscilla, dear, I have just come into a large sum of monev and together we will repair the house and gar- 6 THE GREEN AND WHITE dens. Please, dear, say that I may go to town tomorrow and hire the carpenters. We will have no more ghosts in the house of Stanton.” “Ray, you made a mistake. We will have no more ghosts in the house of More’land.” R. M. MORRIS, ’22. -----o------ THE AMERICAN GIRL The American girl, what is she? What does that adjective imply? Some would define her as an immodest, forward creature, with short hair and shorter skirts. The American girl resents it, why shouldn’t she? One of our foremost writers says, “The flapper, or, in other words, the American girl, is not a disease, but a symptom of one. Their mothers and fathers, and yes, even their grand parents were symptoms of that disease. For there is no disease that has not more than one symptom.” But what is wrong with our girl of today? Nothing, she is clear good through and through. The American girl, as a rule, is a healthy, well-developed girl with high ideals. She is honest, brave, and capable of taking care of herself; but she is not forward and immodest, as she is often criticised, especially by older women, for as a rule the modern girl appeals to the men because of her ability. The American girl swims, golfs, rides, and plays tennis. She reads good books, she travels, she cooks, she sews, she hikes, she talks fluently on any subject of the day, she works, and she holds a position, whether in business or in politics, as well and often better than a man could do. Like all inventions, as years have passed, the American girl has been improved upon. The Pilgrim and Puritan women, who were the first American girls, were endowed with courage, bravery, and above all, patriotism. These virtues of the American girl have increased as they have descended through generation after generation. An example of the American girl’s worth is shown by what she did during the World War. She enlisted as quickly as the men. American girls flooded France, they drove ambulances, and did many other worthy things “over there.” Many were cited for bravery. Those who were unable to go did their share “over here.” A number of them went in and did a man’s work and often work that many men had failed on. Yet it is this same girl that is being talked about and is being written about today, because she claims the privilege to dress as she pleases. The American girl and her modern dress is “efficiency” in the truest sense of the word. She is no longer hampered by trailing skirts and long sleeves; she is no longer bothered with head aches because of her abundant hair. The flapper has simply trained herself to fit into the place made for her and there has never been a cleaner type of girl through all the ages. REGINA MORRIS, 22. -----o----- THE GROOMLESS WEDDING At last the wedding day arrived. All the preparations were completed, all the invitations were sent out, and the lovely wedding dress was all made. Everyone was talking about the wonderful event; for a big wedding was a wonderful event in Ashton, especially since the bride was Mandy Gray, an old maid. Everyone had given up all hopes for Mandy, and even she had become alarmed when she reached her thirties still unmarried. But after a great deal of thinking she conceived a plan which she quickly put into action. She had put an advertisement in three papers, which read as follows: Wanted—a husband. Must be under forty, preferably in his twenties, respectable looking, not too big an eater, and of good parentage. Apply or write to Miss Mandy Gray, 23 Willow street, Ashton, Maine. Two rather young men had presented themselves at Mandy’s house in answer to the advertisement; but they both had been refused. One was too short and limped slightly when he walked: the other was too fast—indeed, he had a scandalous name, having been married three times. If the truth were known, the men were thankful for the refusals after having seen Mandy. Prospects were beginning to look quite doubtful, when a letter came from a small town in Ohio, containing a picture of a young man. It was from a Mr. Brown and told how he had lost his money in a deal, and would come to visit her as soon as he earned some more. Mandy at once fell in love with the picture, and, being of quite comfortable means, sent him a sum large enough to pay his debts, buy him a car ticket, and purchase a wedding outfit. The wedding preparations were made immediately, and1 at last the fatal day arrived. The groom was, expected to come in the morning, and the ceremony was to be performed at two o’clbck in the village church. At one o’clock he had not arrived, and the bride was on pins and needles. At half past one a letter came, and with trembling fingers Mandy opened it and read the contents to her friends and this is what it said: My dear Miss Gray:—Thank you very much for the money; I needed it greatly. I had no intentions of marrying you since I already have a wife. By the time you THE GREEN AND WHITE 7 get this letter I’ll be on my way to Europe. Again I thank you for your generous sum. I remain as ever, J. T. Brown.” NORMA MATHEWSON, '22 -----o------ “TO A BOOK REPORT” At stated times throughout the year They come to bring us woe; How to escape the book reports, We always long to know. The outlines always treacherous, Grow more so, year by year; That they will soon be fatal We very greatly fear. About a day before the date We to the iibrary flock; And when we glance along the shelves Oh, what a saddening shock; For some very brilliant students Have a month before the day Raided our well filled book shelves And borne the best away. Our eyes in vain, glance up and down, A volume slim to find; The ponderous ones now resting there Do not quite suit our mind. At last in haste a book we choose — But what’s the use of worrying; They say it’s best to smile. So we’ll be glad that Book Reports Are over for a while. RUTH SUZMAN. '22. -----o------ LET THERE BE PEACE It was a summer’s day in Belgium. The people moved around doing their daily occupation. As the cows were driven to pasture, some stopped here and there to get a mouthful of green grass with fresh dew upon it. The owner did not drive them on for he had the summer spirit, too. For that matter, everyone had it. Men and boys whistled at their work. With this spirit their work became play. In the distance there stood a great castle. Very wealthy people lived there. The parents taught their son, Alfred, to always try to maintain peace at any price. There was no need of maintaining peace at this time, for peace reigned over all the world. It seemed as though there could not be a war. Years later, however, there was war between France and Germany, and Belgium was invaded. Alfred, who promised to keep his mother’s plea of “peace at any price” at her deathbed, feared for a war. He fled to America with over a million dollars, and ordered an aeroplane hurriedly made. It was built according to Alfred's instructions, in the shape of an angel with outstretched arms, her hands holding a large sign, reading “Let there be peace,” which was illuminated by electric lights. Meanwhile Germany, who had her soldiers organized, took advantage of the weakness of Belgium, and attempted to pass through the country and on to France, with whom war had been declared. The great war demons in the three countries were now aroused. War was the order of the day. Little Belgium against big Germany, fought with all her strength. Soon Belgium retreated, for the German army outnumbered that of Belgium by twenty to one. As both armies fought viciously, there came from the sky7 an angel, bearing in its hands a sign. “Let there be peace.” The armies dropped their guns, and removing their hats, stood awed in the silence. “An angel sent from God,” they all muttered. “He is tired of war. Let us stop immediately and conciliate with our opponents.” Both armies moved toward each other, still with uncovered heads and without guns, and gave vent to their appreciation by thre lusty cheers as the “Angel of Peace, still hovering in the distance, went out of sight. DANA EISENBERG, ’23. -----o----- A LIFE OF DREAMS ON THE SEA OF HAPPINESS The sun was setting and it shone on the sapphire blue water, transforming parts of it to a blazing shade of red. All was peaceful along the ocean road except for the lonely sound of the waves, now and then splashing against the rocks. Poor Scott, poor, poor fellow, if he could only have seen that romantic sight, he would surely7 have had a knight on the rock of heart shape wooing his lady fair. Fortunately, my wish had come true, for there were two lovers on the rock referred to. They were taking an opportunity to enjoy this—.ves we might call it “Cupid’s Paradise 1” Was she a modern girl—a flapper? Ah! no, she was not that terrible type of person which is discussed so often in this wicked, disgraceful, modern generation, she seemed beautiful. Their heads were just showing above the rock. It was a pleasure to see that her hair was not abbreviated as is the case with most of these modern—no I believe it is unnecessary to mention what they are called, again. Her glorious golden curls were ruffled by7 the warm breeze and the sunset brought out all the fascinating glints of it. How the man admired her! He gazed into her deep blue ey7es and told her, from the bottom of his tender heart, how much he loved her. Life must have been wonderful for fhem; he just told her in the most 8 THE GREEN AND WHITE romantic way that they would live a life of dreams on the sea of happiness, forever. What a fascinating, extraordinary, supernatural being he was! His charming friend remarked to him that they never could do that unless they followed the flaming sun into the gorgeous West. Dante, wonderful poet, lived in the wrong age. This was the age to live in. Lovers had been misjudged, they should not be, for they are beauties of nature. Oh, all had failed 1 Such harsh, horrible, piercing words, “Come to life, put some action into the last ones! How could such a beautiful creature murmur such horrible, disgusting phrases? I thought that I must save those pupils of the school of romance from falling into the pit of unhappiness. I climbed off of the rock upon which I had been sitting and went over to my proteges and asked them not to quarrel because I Had loved and lost and I wanted them to be successful. “Well, we always have been and will be tonight, if you do not interrupt,” she said to me in the most reprimanding feminine tone. I was astonished and did not understand her meaning. “Women are so queer. I am Mr. Nolton and this is my wife,” her companion exclaimed. “Your wife? Mr. Nolton of the Hills-grove Stock Company that is mentioned in the papers so often?” I hysterically questioned. “Yes, I am the same person and we came down here in our roadster, to read our act before going into town to the Strand Theatre where we are playing tonight. It is now seven o’clock and our act is at eight thirty, so we must be starting. Will you not accompany us, Mr. —er— what is your name—Ah, Mr. Wallace— Wallace the poet! What a coincidence!” he declared. As my friends disappeared around the bend of the road, motoring to town in a modern automobile I sat thinking how I had let my imagination wander. I took a newspaper from my pocket and there it was before me printed in black and white, “The Life of Dreams on the Sea of Happiness,” starring Mr. and Mrs. Nolton, at the Strand Theatre. The best play of the season.” PEGGY NERONE, 23. -----o------ THE STEEL ARMOR The night was stormy and cold. The wind blew, and a great blackness hung down upon the earth as if in time it would crush it altogether. The little town of Carlton was asleep. Not a soul was moving but the night watchman, and a certain old man in a very dismal shop. This old man was covered with dust and dirt from the books that surrounded him. and as he sat there by a very smoky lamp, reading a very greasy book through very cloudy spectacles, he made an extremely forlorn and lonely picture. An old clock on the chimney place was ticking slowly, as if it loathed to add any more hours to its long existence. The hour of twelve was sltruck by the village church clock and the one in the old shop gave a hitch as if it remembered it was to strike also and did accordingly. The owner of the shop looked up as the! twelve unsteady strokes vibrated through the quiet house and his eyes saw something which prevented him from looking back again at the book on his knee. The rusty armor had hung on the shop wall for many years. In fact, when the aged one bought the house he had not taken down the relic of past chivalry, but had felt quite as if a book shop should not be without one. So it was in this that he had hidden his door key and it was the base of this that he called his “wine cellar.” each steel leg containing a bottle of old Port. But when the clock struck twelve and the old man raised his eyes, the suit of armor did not look natural. There was something so life-like about the arms. The visor was raised the least bit, giving a grinning expression. The shield, hanging on its right arm, was up against its breast as if warding off a blow, in short, the whole figure had taken a most terrible aspect. Robert Drew stared and stared until his imagination almost saw the figure move, but as his glance went towards the armed legs and feet, a stream of red came through the cracks in the steel toes and crept slowly along towards him. He sprang up in horror, his face as pale as death, his book fell to the floor, the crash bringing him somewhat to his senses. He grabbed his lamp, and glancing at the door bolts, he went upstairs and locked his bedroom door quicker than he had done for many years. The next morning RobeTt Drew did not want to face the room downstairs, but as he was poor and that was his means of earning his bread and butter, he slowly dressed and descended. The chair in which he had sat the night before was not in its usual place, as shown by the tracks in the dust. His glasses were where they had fallen. These and a dark stain on the floor were the only signs of the fright of the night before. The armor was in its usual place and as the old man opened his shop that morning, he said to himself, “I won’t sit up reading in this room, until twelve o’clock again. That’s one THE GREEN AND WHITE 9 sure thing. My! but I am sorry, though, to have half my wine cellar broken. Before I go to bed tonight I will mend that steel collar so it won’t fall on my other bottle, all right.” Now about the armor. Whether it really changed or whether it was the old man’s imagination, it is hard to tell. All 1 can say it the owner of the armor kept his word. Neither he nor any other man ever saw the phenomenon repeat itself. FRANCES HOPKINS, ’23. -----o------ THE MYSTERY OF BRANDON MILL It was a beautiful evening. The stars were shining brightly, and everything was calm and still. An old mansion stood out in its whiteness as a thing long to be remembered. On the front porch one could see the forms of an old man and a young girl. The man was Colonel Whitney, and the girl, who was his grand daughter, Ruth Maple, was on a visit from the North. “This is surely a wonderful evening, but I would like it better if you would tell me the story of Brandon Mill, which you promised to tell me,” said Ruth to her grandfather. “Oh, to be sure. This is just like the night when—well, I’ll tell you the story,” answered the Colonel. “When the war broke out between the North and the South, I enlisted as a lieutenant under the Southern flag, mv sympathies being with the South, as I was a born Southerner. A great many men, both old and young, enlisted at the same time. “There was a young girl near where I lived who had a sweetheart who enlisted in the Northern army. His name was John and hers was Sadie. Sadie’s father was a staunch Southerner. The day John left he said, ‘Remember, you are never to enter the house again, for you are to be a stranger to me.’ “Several months later while at the front, I received word that my wife was ill; so I obtained a furlough for a few weeks. Arriving home I found my wife much better than I expected. “In the town there were a great many Northern soldiers. John was among them. John had a great desire to see his sweetheart, Sadie; but knowing her father’s feeling towards him, he realized that he must meet her in secret. One night while trying to enter the house he met Sadie’s father, who taking him for a burglar, drew his revolver and shot John. Jdhn staggered away in the darkness until he met some troops who were camping neaT. Meanwhile, Sadie’s father learned that he had shot John. He was sorry for what had happened and tried to get word to John but could find no trace of him. “There was a mill in a large wood about a mile from town, called Brandon Mill. It had not been occupied for years. One night shortly after John was shot, a man on his way home passed the mill and heard someone singing. Of course the man was greatly surprised. “Soon after, Sadie’s father heard the singing, and he, with several men decided to search the mill. A few nights later they started out. As they drew near, they again heard the singing. They listened for a few seconds, then Sadie’s father told the men to wait and if he needed help he would call. There was a tower in one end of the mill. Up its stairs Sadie’s father ran. Suddenly he came upon a door. He opened it and came upon a beautiful picture. In the window sat his daughter, playing a guitar and singing. At her feet sat a colored boy and girl. They were listening to Sadie’s music. “ ‘Why, Sadie, what are you doing here?’ ” At the sound of his voice the girl stalrted. “ ‘Oh, daddy,’ Sadie pointed to the opposite side of the room, where, upon a couch lay the figure of a man. ‘Oh. dad. I had to come for John. For if he had died, I could not bear to think of you as the one to blame. I did not dare to tell you that he was here.’ “Sadie’s father sprang to John’s bedside and falced the man he had shot. Sadie then told heT father how she had found John, and how with the help of some of the soldiers she had carried him to the mill. “By this time John awoke. “ ‘John, will you forgive me and come home with Sadie and me?’ “John’s face answered him. They went back to the mansion and there John recovered from his wound. The war ended shortly after; then John and Sadie were married.” The clock struck twelve as the Colonel finished his story. They both sat motionless for a few moments. Ruth arose softl'v. kissed her grandfather and entered the mansion. LEVERF.TT EDGETT, ’24. ------o------ ONLY A BOMB Sambo lived near the wharf. Almost every day he was down at the water front to watch the big ships dock. These were loaded with all sorts of barrels, boxes, casks, heavy bags, and thousands of strange looking things which the men told Sambo were wizards’ bombs.” “Dey sure is funny things,” thought Sambo, hoping that one would fall off so 10 THE GREEN AND WHITE that he could get it. Frequently he was heard to say, “Gimme dat, mister!” So far he had never gained what he coveted. Instead, he always heard, “Next time, boy,” or “Get out o' my way, does vou all heah me?” Sambo’s uncle helped unload these ships when they came in. One day when the Empress of China” docked with thousands of these “wizards’ bombs” piled high on the decks, Sambo was sure that his next time had come, at last. The unloading began as soon as the ship was made fast, but Sambo’s “Gimma dat” and “Gimme dis” were at first unheeded by the busy men. “Gimme dat,” shouted Sambo once more, “Gimme dat, Uncle!” He kept shouting this as each big bomb” was tossed to his uncle on the shore. “Gimme dat! Gimme dis!” snorted the Uncle. “Boy, doesn’t yoh folks teach you all any manners in speakin’?” A moment later he shouted “Heah, take hit. and make yourself scarce!” He put the big “bomb” in Sambo’s arms. Sambo scampered off with his prize. It was clumsy, and he had quite a time in getting it home. Often he had to sit down and rest. Finally he burst into his own cabin, shouting. “Gimme dat axe. Mammy! Quick. Mammy, gimme dat axe.” for he wanted to see what was inside the “bomb.” “Boy, whar’s yoh manners?” asked his mother, looking at the queer thing he placed on the table. “What you all been toting home?” she added as Sambo ran to the wood! box to get his father's axe. Whar yoh git dat?” “Dat’s a wizard’s bomb. Uncle giv it to me offen de big boat.” “A wizard’s bomb!” screamed the mother, taking the axe. “Ah reckon yoh uncle is a-losing his mind. Better leave yoh hands offen hit. Don’t know what ’tis?” “Dis is a wizard’s bomb. Mammy! It cum from Honomaloala,” answered Sambo. “Gimme dat axe!” The “bomb” rolled over at this point. “It’s alive. Mammy, it’s alive,” shouted Sairibo to his scared mother. At this she crashed the axe down upon the “wizard’s bomb.” Her powerful strength sent the axe clear through the husk and shell of a cocoanut. The milk spattered all over Sambo. “Guess dat’s de Presto Change Man teaching you-all to say “please!” remarked the mother as she laughingly wiped the cocoanut milk from Sambo’s eye. KATHERINE BULLOCK. '24. -----o----- PLAYTHINGS OF FATE In a little weather-beaten cabin located eight miles from the city, in the midst of a wooded section of the country, a group of airmen, ex-military and civilian, gathere I each night to discuss the recent discoveries, and to exchange tales of adventure. It is strange that these one-time members of the sixty-third squadron should choose for their rendezvous such an isolated spot, away from the roar and grind of city life; but it is not beyond our understanding when one has learned the peculiarities of these men. Accustomed to outdoor life, adventure and solitude, detesting the bedlam and stifle of the city, this lonely and rough-hewn cabin fitted well with the men who occupied it. It was a late September night. The wind was high and shrill, and through the lashing tops of the spruce and hemlock trees the wind played a fitful dirge. Inside the meeting-place everything was warm and cheerful. The roaring fire in the hearth whooped defiance to the storm without, and cast around the four walls, which were adorned with pictures of flyers and airplanes, a ruddy glow. From the smoke blackened rafters hung several oil lamps which cast upon the assemblage an abundant shower of light. A half dozen members of the sixty-'third, who were responsible for these meetings, made up the group. There was Captain Langrick, Majors Hoyer, Bayes, Swift, Miller and Hoyt. Miller was an ace with seven planes to his credit. There was a lull in the conversation, while the men stared dreamily into the glow of the fire. The wind moaned dismally through the tree tops overhead, and the fire sputtered and flickered, sounding like the death rattle. Another gust of wind whistled around the corners, wailing like a lost soul in despair. Some of the flyers stirred uneasily, and Swift shuddered. “Someone is walking over my grave,” he said, gazing with a fixed countenance into the ruddy fire. The flyers looked up quickly and stared at Swift. He had been in a despondent mood for several days past, but this statement upset the calmness of the whole group. “Bosh.” exclaimed Hoyer, “What makes you talk so foolish?” “It isn’t foolishness, it’s a fact,” replied Swift. “What?” asked Miller. “That tomorrow I am going to crash, fall to my death At this time tomorrow night I shall be a corpse. I know it.” A long silence ensued, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the mantlepiece. “You don’t know,” contradicted Capt. Langrick, after a long deep sigh. “You don’t know when you are going to die. No man knows; it is not written so. Fate decrees that no man shall know when his hour shall come. He may get impressions— false ! He may dream—disordered stomach. We are no our own masters, we are all compelled 'ten. powerless in the hands of THE GREEN AND WHITE 11 Fate. Kismet commands and we obey. “That is the babble of a fanatic,” replied Swift. “Mr. Swift, you are wrong, we are mere playthings, helpless toys.” “Playthings of Fate!” exclaimed Bayes. Swift arose and faced the crowd. His face was flushed and a brilliant, metallic luster shown in his eye. Five minutes later, after he had gone, when the last faint echo of his powerful car was lost in the gale, Hoyer broke the silence. “Swift bears watching, gentlemen, take it from me,” he said. “I think his mind is on the blink.” There was a general stir in the cabin, putting on of wraps, and soon the cabin stood empty. Back in the heart of the city. Swift planned everything. Fortune had not favored him lately and what was once a small fortune now amounted to three thousand dollars. Swift had decided to end it all. so the following day he was to take a tail-dive while performing and crash to the earth. That would be the end. Swift slept soundly until ten-thirty the next morning. At eleven he started for the field of performance. He arrived at the hangar just on time. The mechanics had just begun looking over the planes when Swift motioned them away. He had just begun warming his engine when his club friend arrived and he said, “Remember what I told you last night, I am going to prove that point of the argument now.” He was off the next moment. The trim “Bristol Scout” swept across the field and soon began to rise. When Swift reached an altitude of twelve thousand feet he shut off the motor. Below him was the rabble, the herd, the ones who had paid fifty cents to see a man die. Faster and faster spun the plane, gathering more momentum and revolution every hundred feet it fell. The plane had fallen to eight thousand feet when suddenly through a rift in the sky, a long golden streamer flashed over the glistening side of the plane, making it glow like a beautiful golden bird. Instinctively, Swift straightened the rudder bar and placed the joystick in neutral. The machine ceased spinning and he brought it to a level keel once more. He opened the throttle and the engine picked up immediately. Something within him opposed the fall. Now he wanted to live, he no longer craved death. He rose to his former altitude and decided that life was still sweet. All this change had been wrought bv the sun. In the following hour the daring flyer literally emblazoned his name. He went through the entire series of stunts, and when about to do the most difficult of all. the reverse loop. Swift lost control of the plane. Kismet ruled. He was after all, a mere toy, a plaything of Fate. The next moment the plane, in a mass of flames, came tumbling to the ground. The wild cheers and applause of the crowd died away into the mournful dirge, as the lifeless form of the daring young aviator was dragged from under the burning fuselage. RENE DAGENAIS. ’24. -----o------ A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER It was one of those nights when all the forces of the firmament seemed combined to deluge the inhabitants of the small town of Greenville after they had prepared for their night’s rest. The rain poured down in torrents and the wind was playing havoc with the tall trees through which it whistled and howled. Had any of my readers been there, they would have been surprised and annoyed to find a small, stooped, old man trying with all the energy he could command, to make his way over one of the steep hills which bordered the village. From the direction in which he was slowly making his way, it was evident that he was leaving the town for some untold reason. What would force a man out of a comfortable home on such a night, is beyond my powers of reasoning. Not once did he turn to take a last look at the small group of houses he was so anxious to leave; never did his eyes rest on anything except the ground, to w'atch how he was progressing. He seemed indifferent as to bow the rest of the world fared on that wretched night. Steadily, steadily, he plodded on his way. no umbrella sheltered his bare head, and a thin overcoat covered his feeble frame. The puddles into which he walked almost every time he took a step, were soaking his tired and blistered feet. Where was he going? Could it be an underground saloon which wras still continuing its trade despite the law? From the way in which he kept his eves on the ground one would have thought it possible. Or could it be that he was going to join his confederates to plot and rob a house? Perhaps they would make counterfeit money, who knows? Then again it might be that he was going to a secret gambling house which, if it had not been already raided, would be liable to be in the near future. Whatever destination he was intent upon arriving at. it mustt have been an evil one. No other kind of person could have been forced from his home on such a night. And still he plodded along the muddy road. He wras well out of town now and seemed sorry to leave it, for he turned around to take a last look, but his only view was that of the hill over which he had just climbed. Suddenly a large wooden house, poorly lighted, loomed into the pathway. What 12 THE GREEN AND WHITE was this house? Was it one cf the places before mentioned? He entered it and was lost to view. You will be surprised to find that it was the '•POOR HOUSE.” ARLEEN HOLM. '24. -----o----- TOM’S CHRISTMAS It was the month of December, a cold, dreary month, with many severe storms which had played havoc with the small fishing vessels that sailed from Province-town harbor to the Newfoundland Banks. So far, the Iliad, which was the most up-to-date and fully equipped fishing schooner that plied the trade between these two ports, had escaped the wTath of the storms. It was in the middle of December, when the Iliad made her last trip from the Newfoundland Banks, when she encountered a terrible hurricane. The night was very dark and cold, and the wind was blowing a gale, driving before it a furious blizzard. Tom, the eighteen years old son of a lighthouse keeper, was a husky six-footer, and a Senior at the Provincetown High School. This stormy night he was alone with his mother to care for the light. His father had gone to Provincetown that morning to do some shopping, leaving Tom and his mother at home. While the lighthouse keeper was away, the blizzard came up, one of the most extraordinary ones which had ever been witnessed on the bleak shores of New England. Under such conditions, Tom’s father did not venture to return. That night Tom took his father’s place by attending to the large lamp in the tower. After Tom had lighted the lamp, and had partaken of his supper, he went into the tower again. While the wind howled fiercely about the tower, Tom was hammering. hammering away on the key of his wireless, which was connected to the tower. About nine o’clock, when he found he could pick up no message, and just as he was going to close the current and take off his receiving piece, he heard a faint buzzing sound in his ears. Now it was more distinct, and slowly he heard the death defying message : “S-O-S—Struck rocks off Race Point. L. H. about mile and one-half from shore, to the northwest.” With as little information as that, Tom decided to rescue the men if it were possible, for the Race Point L. H. was the very one he was attending. Tom quickly slipped on his oilskins, told his mother the message, and immediately struck out into the blinding blizzard for the life guard house. Tom ran the whole distance without even stopping for his breath. He arrived at the lifeguard station, rang the bell, a distress signal, and walked in, all out of breath. He delivered his message and ran back to the lighthouse. Soon there were three twentv-foot cutters starting from shore, towards the wreck. The billows tossed very high that night, and the blinding blizzard made it hard for the men to row. But Tom, who had gone back to the light, was not idle during this time. He had launched his father’s eighteen-foot dory, and was far ahead of the regular life-savers, for his father’s boat was much lighter than the cutters of the lifeguards. When he had reached the first mile, he was very tired but he would not give in. His sturdy hands clutched the oars more firmly and once more he struck out with all his strength. The lifeguards were now approaching, for Tom, nearly exhausted, could not row so fast, but he managed to reach the wrecked schooner first He took on as many men as his boat could carry, told the remaining crew that the lifeguards were coming, and made for shore. All had gone well so far, but now his boat was loaded to the limit, and it made matters very dangerous. Twice the cutter nearly capsized on its way to the shore, and more than once did the surge of some roaring billow envelop the frail craft as though it were about to devour her. The blizzard also added to the discomfort of the men. who were nearly frozen before they reached shore. Once more when only one hundred and fifty feet from shore the boat would have capsized, but for the strong and sturdy arms of Tom who could master the dory as well and perhaps better than a well experienced seaman. After the men reached shore, they were provided for. Two days later Tom was proclaimed a hero in all New England papers. That year he spent a most beautiful Christmas by going to Washington, where on Christmas day he partook of his dinner in the White House with the President of our country, and later in the day at a formal ceremony. Tom was presented a very beautiful gold medal—the highest honor bestowed on any one in this country for bravery and heroism. RENE DAGENAIS, ’24. ------o----- WEDNESDAY MORNING Oh! it’s awful to recite, You shake and tremble so with fright, And in the chair you sit and wait, Wondering if the next name will decide your fate. Then to the platform front you walk. You think your heart will surely stop, And when your piece you try to speak. You only stammer and gaze at your feet. The auditorium seems to whirl, And lips with a terrible scorn to curl, And eyes like arrows sharp. THE GREEN AND WHITE 13 Seem to pierce your thumping heart. Then your knees begin to shake. As though you were in the midst of a great earth-quake. But by this time your piece is through, And with a heartfelt sigh you recede from view. CATHERINE F. FAY, ’25. CLASS NOTES Nearly four long years ago a number of young students appeared at the doors of the Colt High School bright and early. They were as small and just as good as fairies are supposed to be. It was the Class of 1922. During their first year they gave a party in the Trinity Parish House, chaperoned by Miss Young and Miss Sisson, their class advisors. With the courage of lions they invited the Seniors. The party was a brilliant success. • By the next fall this class had become so learned that they were now Sophomores. When a Hallowe’en party to be given by the three upper classes was proposed, the Cass of 1922 was there to do its share. Members of the Class were everywhere, flitting here and there, ha d!v beinnr noticed, for they were just as tiny and quiet as they had been the preceding October. When the first day of May dawned clear and warm, the class was to be found in front of the beautiful high school readv for a May walk. There being no school that day, the May walk was turned into a picnic. While down at Poppasquash Point where the ever-watchful eyes of the Seniors and Juniors could not pry. these young people indulged in sports that they had forfeited when they had been raised to the high and esteemed state of Sophomores. The next February there was a very heavy snow-fall. All day there were faint whispers of “sleigh-ride.” At 1.15 plans were made for a sleigh-ride. That evening every member of the class appeared, bundled up like Eskimos. They waited and waited, and waited, and still they waited, but thmr coaches did not arrive. Finally the telephone rang. “We could have the sleighs but no horses.” They would not go far without horses. The class disbursed heavy-hearted, but still with hopes of a ride the next evening. But it did not come. Again they went on a May walk. The sun broke through the clouds like a ball of fire. The Juniors were happy as they walked briskly along. It was not long before they walked more briskly to find shelter, for Fate had decreed against them. The rain fell heavily and steadily, while the class took refuge on the piazza of the Potter house. At last it stopped and they hurried for home and dry clothes and then school. Then came the “Prom.” The most successful one ever given. It was in honor of the Seniors, but Sophomore and Freshmen were there and enjoyed themselves immensely. But best of all was the Senior year. It brought a greater wealth of dignity, sophistication and managing ability. This wonderful class gave its first dance October 28, 1921. It was a great success. Another dance was given January 27, 1922. and if possible it was more brilliant than the one before. Then came the Food Fair! The Cass of 1922 worked as i't had never worked before. These still small people fluttered about decorating, delivering, and doing errands until the auditorium was so transformed that it could not be recognized. Good work never goes unrewarded and this did not. On April 28, the Juniors gave a “Prom in our honor. Although the Seniors had not grown in height thev certainly had in dignity (Juniors note). Thank you, Juniors, for the splendid time you gave us. Now a number of the gifted actors and actresses of the Juniors and Seniors are rehearsing a play for our benefit. It is to be given in Tune and it will be like everything else we have given, at least in the money line. The Class of 1922 will soon be gone and before many of them lies a glorious future when their names will be spoken of with reverence and awe. REGINA M. MORRIS, ’22. -----o------ PLAYS AND PLAYERS OF C. M. H. S, PLAYS PLAYERS “Little Minister” .............. Edgett “Cat and Canaries” ............ Glee Club “The Old Nest” ....... Mr. Strong’s Office “Danger Ahead” .................. Exams 14 THE GREEN AND WHITE The Silent Call” ............... Probation “One Glorious Day” ................ Saturday “Forbidden Trail”.....Hope St. (At Recess) “Success or Failure” ............. Seniors Blossom Time” -------------- Graduation Let’s Go” __________________________ 1.15 “The Circle” ........... Complete Failure “Fables .......... Excuses for Tardiness Way Down East” .....Stage (in Auditorium) “Where is My Wandering Boy” Easterbrooks “Peck’s Bad Boy”............. Doran (Ed.) By LOUIS EVANS. BASE BALL At the close of last year’s base ball season, Stetson Clowes was elected manager for the coming season and Carmin2 Bruno captain. Practice started early in March, with a large squad of candidates. These were thinned out. however, by Profs. Wisbev and Thompson, the coaches, until only 12 remained to represent the Colt High School on the diamond. Monev was raised to defray expenses by selling pins and arm bands. We lost our first game to St. Marv’s School on the common. April 25, 14-4. We won our next game, which was at Central Falls, April 28, 9-7. Our next game was with Warwick, May 2. which was lost, 15-7. A week later we defeated Warren, 14-10. On Wednesday, May 10, we went to South Kingston where we were defeated 14-7. Our next game was played at Bliven Field, the use of which was kindly granted by the management of the Bristol Base Ball Association. Here we defeated St. Joseph’s High School of Newport, May 16. 9-8, and South Kingston, May 24, 6-3, which was their first defeat of the season, and Colt's first victory over them in four years. We defeated Central Falls in a return game. May 26. 9-6. The following games remain to be played : June 2—Warwick at Warwick. June 6—St. Joseph’s High at Newport. June 9—Barrington at Barrington. June 13—New Bedford at Bristol. June 16—Barrington at Bristol. June 20—Wa-ren at Warren. Open—Alumni. The Joke Editor will be pleased to explain any of the jokes not understood. They stood on the bridge at midnight. And he tickled her face with his toes; But he was only a mosquito. And the bridge was the bridge of her nose —Ex. Why is a girl like a pencil?” “I don’t know.” “Because every fellow should have one of his own and not borrow the other fellow’s.”—Ex. The editor may dig and toil Till his finger-tips are sore; But some poor boob is bound to say “I’ve heard that joke before.”—Ex. First Freshie: “They say a cat has nine lives.” Second Freshie: “That’s nothing.” First Freshie: “Why isn’t it?” Second Freshie : “Why a frog croaks every night.”—Ex. A woodpecker lit on a freshman’s head And settled down to drill; He bored away for an hour or more, And then he broke his bill.”—Ex. A freshman stood on the burning deck, But as far as we can learn He stood with perfect safety, He was far too green to burn.—Ex. THE GREEN AND WHITE 15 G. Goff (Latin)—“Miss Sou’.e, what are we going to have on Friday?” Miss Soule—“What do we generally have on Friday?” Stage w hisper in back of room—“Fish.” Serbst (imitating fire alarm)—Hm-m-m-m-m-m-M-M-M-M. Mr. Wisbey—“There may not be a fire here, Serbst, but someone is going to be put out.” Miss Sisson—“When you go home, ask some of your fathers and mothers.” McGrath—“I've got Treasure Island in my pocket.” Miss Soule—“Does anyone know anything of Edgett’s history?” Mr. Thompson (to noisy line waiting for drink)—“If you want a drink, keep your mouth shut.” Scene—Room 1. Joke Editor is seen sitting at his desk, looking as if he has lost his best friend. Pupil, rushing in: “Oh, listen to this—” Joke Editor: “Be quiet. I’m trying to be funny.” Teacher: “Please bring in some material for arguments tomorrow.” “Hank” McGrath : “All right, I’ll bring in a pair of boxing gloves.” D. Dunbar: Doe's John Jay have to go in the notebook?” C. Serbst: “Every knight had to have a lady on his shield so Geraint brought Enid. D. Wall: “If you ever had a mother, go and see ‘Over the Hill.’ ” Miss Stanton: (watching Pozzi scan some poetry on the board)—“What is the matter with Pozzi’s second foot?” Teacher: “St. Angelo, will you please get in your own desk?” Mr. Crosby: “Whenever you answer a gentlemen you must say ‘Yes Sir.’ Do you understand?” Freshie: “Uh-Huh.” —Ex. Miss Blake: “Now let’s hear what the check says.” Miss Sisson: “A man like that, that standls still, never gets ahead.” History teacher: “What was the Civil War about?” Sleepy student: “About 1861.” Miss Sisson: “What technical term do lawyers use?” Gilroy : “Er—er—six months.” M. King (Geog.): “You get pork from pigs and other animals.” Teacher: “What do they need most in Russia ?” Wise boy : “Barbers !”—Ex. Miss Sisson (arranging for a debate): “I want each boy to have a girl.” (That sounds reasonable.) Sophomore: “Where can I get a book of the names of the Unknown Dead?” James Ruggiero (at class meeting): “Suppose you put the paTonesses on the board so we can take a look at them.” Miss Booth (giving an account of her dog): “He grew blind in one eye and could not hear out of the other.” Miss Soule: “No more sharpening of pencils.” (Five minutes later Edgett walks up to the sharpener.) Miss Soule: “Edgett, do you remember what I told you?” Edgett: “Oh, have you forgotten too?” D. Dunbar (History): “Conan Doyle’s theory is that when you die you don’t die.” Scene—State House. Wennerstrand (after climbing six flights of stairs): “Is it the upper or lower house we are going to?” Miss Sisson (looking down to ground floor) : “It must be the upper house.” -----o------ THEY SAY HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF Can you imagine: Clowes as Napoleon? Paine as a Knight of the Round Table? Pozzi as Columbus? Gilroy as George Washington? Aldrich as Paul Revere? C. LeClair as Joan of Arc? K. McDonough as Cleopatra? Newton as Caesar? M. Morris as Pocahontas? M. Matheson as Queen Elizabeth? M. Holt as Marie Antoinette? -----o------ HOW ABOUT IT Teacher cranks, Pupils few; Questions flying, Zeros too. What’s the matter? Don’t you know? Monday morning Always so.—Ex. 16 THE O REE N AND WHITE HEARD IN ENGLISH D. Dunbar—“Bi'.lv went to the girl's home and knocked on the bell.” G. McGovern—“The rain was thundering and lightning.” G. Barrows—“She was soon holding a bottle to her nose which was hung around her neck.” R. Bassing—“He drove an automobile with a green hat.” C. Newton—“Skunk under right arm. skunk under left arm, he walked on.” S. Phenes—“Just as I got out of the house I fell into a puddle of water; I did not stop, but kept on going.” Brown—“A man. awkward and i'l-dressted, leaned against a wall of no grace or manner.” G. McGovern—“Blaine said that he knew a great speaker when he read one. S. Dunbar—“Lincoln fell into a boy who was looking for a lawyer.” M. Ki’i'r—“Lincoln looked through the mist to find words to express his feeling.” -----o----- A SCHOOLBOY’S FIRST COMPOSITION Patrick Henry was a brave man. He got married and lived with his wife for thirteen years. Then he said “Give me liberty or give me death!”—Ex. ADVERTISEMENTS OF C, M. H. S. Lost—A few high notes by our Sympathy Orchestra. Anyone finding same please return to Miss Sullivan. Wanted—A little wisdom. If any can be obtained, please give it to the sub-freshmen. Lost, Strayed or Stolen—The High School Glee Club. Last seen in the auditorium on a Wednesday afternoon. Lost—Bruno's abi'itv to throw to first base. Wanted—A competent mechanic to help Aldrich to keep his Ford in good condition. Aldrich (class meeting): “What are they voting for now—Gas's Profiteer?” (Cass Prophet.) Miss Blake (Law); “Now suppose you hit someone with your car and damage the machine?” (She must have meant Bruno's Ford.) ALUMN! CLASS OF 1920 The following members of the Class of 192 are emp’oyed in the offices of the National India Rubber Company: Marion Brownell, Olive Coggeshail. Julia DeFelice, Annie Dunbar, Dorothy Hill, Hugh Kelley, Vasta LaRocca, Catherine Marz, Marguerite Murphy, Susan Patstone, Angelo Pozzi Frederick Serbst, George Stuart, F‘he! Thiele. Gertrude Gray, Harry Young. Mary Bolster is Mrs. Harold Sylvester, Bo-rn street, Bristol. Ma-guerPe Dunba - is in the Bristol Exchange of the N. F. Telephone and Telegraph Co. Mi‘‘on Hill, George Matheson and Fred Palmer are at the R. I. State College in Kingston. Joseph Kel'ev and James Sullivan are students at Holy Cross, Worcester. D ro hv Kenney is a stenographer at the N. F.. L. Co.. Providence. Elmer Mathewson is emploved at the Cranston Worsted Mills. Bristol. Terrence Murphy, State street. Bristol. lassie Molaskv is a student at R. I. College of Education. Gladys Pauli is a student at the Kather- ine Gibbs School for Secretaries, Providence. Mildred Pollock is a clerk at the Bristol Branch of the Industrial Trust Co. Elizabeth Sanford entered Brown University this vear, class of 1925. John Walsh is a member of the class of 1924. Providence College. George Yarlasavetsky is a student at the Burdet't Business College, Boston, Mass. 1921 Virginia August, student at Rhode Island College of Education. Anna Brelsford, clerk, office of National India Rubber Co. Alice Barclay, clerk, office of National India Rubber Co. Raymond Card, taking Post-Graduate course at Col't Memorial High School. Mary Connors, student, Rhode Island College of Education. Luciano Capone, student. Brown University. Genevieve Doran, sltudent, Rhode Island College of Education. Annie Fay, National India Rubber Co. office. THE GREEN AND WHITE 17 Francis Head, student. Bryant Stratton’s Business College. Kathleen Hodgdon, office National India Rubber Co. Frances Hill, student, Childs’ Business College. Israel Makowsky, student, Brown University. Gertrude Manchester, student, Bryant Stratton's Business College. Mlarion Pauli, student. The Lincoln School. Providence, R. I. Lombard Pozzi, office, National India Rubber Co. Ralph Petrucci, student, Brown University. William Rinaldi, student, Bryant Stratton’s Business College. Emily Sanford, student, Rhode Island School of Design. Helen Sylvester, office. National India Rubber Co. William Serbst, student, Providence College. Eliza Usher, student, Rhode Island College of Education. Ruth Weaver, student, Bryant Stratton’s Business College. THE GREEN AND WHITE ADVERTISEMENTS COMPLIMENTS OF- THE TOWN COUNCIL THE GREEN AND WHITE ADVERTISEMENTS COMPLIMENTS OF EDWARD QUIRK COMPLIMENTS OF NORTHUP BROS. Ice Cream and Lunches. COMPLIMENTS OF G. DeFELICE COMPLIMENTS OF CLARK MANCHESTER 1 COMPLIMENTS OF VERMETTE ICE CO. 11 COMPLIMENTS OF TALBOT HOPKINS COMPLIMENTS OF SOUZA’S MARKET 50S-. «. WOOD STREET i COMPLIMENTS OF HENRY DIO COMPLIMENTS OF CHARLES J. SARTINI COMPLIMENTS OF A FRIEND = COMPLIMENTS OF SHERMAN’S PHARMACY COMPLIMENTS OF MT. HOPE BARBER SHOP Three Chairs. No Waiting. — —— THE GREEN AND WHITE ADVERTISEMENTS _ „ , II COMPLIMENTS OF- RICHARD C. QUIRK EST. jf = = s = - E COMPLIMENTS OF- SURPRISE STORE II MISS NORA SULLIVAN Your Graduation Needs are at this p!ace. ff I i COMPLIMENTS OF- LOUIS LEVY ff COMPLIMENTS OF- = - II II COMPLIMENTS OF- JOHN MAISANO COMPLIMENTS OF- A. C. SOUZA COMPLIMENTS OF- A. D. LOLLO COMPLIMENTS OF- A. EISENSTADT COMPLIMENTS OF- JOHN THE TAILOR COMPLIMENTS OF- M. FERNANDO THE LIBERTY TAILOR COMPLIMENTS OF- GEM ICE CREAM PARLOR JAMES DUFFY COMPLIMENTS OF- Y. D. FRUIT STORE COMPLIMENTS OF- CONNOR’S GARAGE COMPLIMENTS OF- KAPPA BETA RHO COMPLIMENTS OF--- OTIS BAILEY Bicycles Sold and Repaired. THE GREEN AND WHITE ADVERTISEMENTS COMPLIMENTS OF JOHN GILROY COMPLIMENTS OF E. E. COUILLARD, D. C. Chiropractor j 8 Constitution St. Telephone 882-W COMPLIMENTS OF CALLAN CONSTRUCTION CO. COMPLIMENTS OF F. M. DIMOND COMPLIMENTS OF — — COMPLIMENTS OF CONNERY’S SODINI GUISTI STRAW HATS—Correct Styles. COMPLIMENTS OF REED HOUSE FURNISHING CO. COMPLIMENTS OF COMPLIMENTS OF DIXON LUBRICATING SETH PAULL CO. SADDLE CO. ! THE GREEN AND WHITE ADVERTISEMENTS THE GREEN AND WHITE ADVERTISEMENTS COMPLIMENTS OF “RED” CLOWES COMPLIMENTS OF F. T. ROBINSON COMPLIMENTS OF NED DIGATI COMPLIMENTS OF REX JAZZ ORCHESTRA COMPLIMENTS OF I. PHENES • COMPLIMENTS OF SPERLING BROS. COMPLIMENTS OF THE TWO R’S COMPLIMENTS OF BRISTOL NOVELTY CO. GEORGE POTTER, Prop. COMPLIMENTS OF C. F. NELLE HOME BAKERY COMPLIMENTS OF R. I. SHOE REPAIRING CO. COMPLIMENTS OF A. L. JOHNSTON COMPLIMENTS OF A FRIEND COMPLIMENTS OF HENRY DARLING COMPLIMENTS OF A FRIEND COMPLIMENTS OF JOHN CASTRIOTTO COMPLIMENTS OF F. T. REMIERES COMPLIMENTS OF FRANK RUSSO COMPLIMENTS OF SAM THE SHOEMAN COMPLIMENTS OF SANTO MIANO COMPLIMENTS OF PARDEY BROS. ! CASINO COMPLIMENTS OF MRS. H. P. SERBST COMPLIMENTS OF SAMUEL McCAW COMPLIMENTS OF OTIS WOOD COMPLIMENTS OF LEONARD DIGATI THE (iREEN AND WHITE ADVERTISEMENTS WE SPECIALIZE GRADUATION AND fTZ S IN APPROPRIATE WEDDING PRESENTS. VICTROLAS, RECORDS, EASTMAN KODAKS, ETC. JEWELER—OPTICIAN Edward D. Kunz BRISTOL, R. I. COMPLIMENTS OF- ufApmun i i iiimron ITOU'LL riNO IT AT WAROWELL LUMBER CO., IF YOU FIND IT IN TOWN. WnilU II LLL UUIVIUL.il U 3 BRISTOL, R. I. COMPLIMENTS OF- Burke’s Block Island Orchestra Music furnished for all occasions. Dance music a specialty. Tel. 249= Y COM PLIMENTS OF- A. A. Eimtmt a QJu. Real Estate, Insurance, Mortgages Typewriting and Adding Machines Sold and Rented. 471 HOPE ST. BRISTOL, R. 1. COMPLIMENTS OF- CRANSTON WORSTED MILLS WORSTED AND MOHAIR YARNS. THE GREEN AND WHITE ADVERTISEMENTS COMPLIMENTS OF- 1 COMPLIMENTS OF MAX MAKOWSKY J. H. YOUNG CO. COMPLIMENTS OF NORTH END A. P. II COMPLIMENTS OF If ii s HOPE DRUG CO. COMPLIMENTS OF- THE BIG FOUR R. M., O. P., E. Mm K. M. |S 1! ii COMPLIMENTS OF- BUFFINGTON’S PHARMACY COMPLIMENTS OF--- H. KEMPH, JR. 681 HOPE STREET Peck ham Davis Ice Cream Special orders for all occasions. COMPLIMENTS OF- THE MAYFLOWER STORE H. P. MARTIN, Manager. II p| COMPLIMENTS OF-- FRED E. SUZMAN || Walk-Over Shoes, Swan-Russell Straw II Hats, Hosiery, Furnishings, Wright Dltson Athletic Goods. 11 = = 1 COMPLIMENTS OF- 2 THE WALDRON CO. COMPLIMENTS OF- SOUTH END A. P. STORE W. II. G., Manager. II COMPLIMENTS OF- || Mr. and Mrs. Jacob Molasky THE GREEN AND WHITE ADVERTISEMENTS COMPLIMENTS OF- E. W. WEAVER COMPLIMENTS OF- A. E. MARKOFF COMPLIMENTS OF- THE CHIC MILLINERY SHOP II COMPLIMENTS OF- B. W. WALL COMPLIMENTS OF- GEORGE INGRAM Light Expressing and Parcel Delivery || COMPLIMENTS OF- BRISTOL CHAMBER OF COMMERCE I