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

Page 10 text:

8 THE GREEN AND WHITE THE LOCKED UP HOUSE I was walking along, going no where in particular but thinking of every little thing, when I looked up. Since travel is so broadening, I found myself at what was termed by the people as the “locked up house.” I walked languidly up the walk feeling a strange adventure upon me. Then up to the creekv, old porch covered at this time of year by honeysuckle and ivy. For a long while, I stood undecided whether or not to try to open the locked door. I put out my hand, and with a turn of the wrist and the knob I succeeded in opening the door; so in I went. 0 Man! what a feeling! Creepy! Uncanny was the atmosphere! I could see hairy hands reaching out from behind doors and chairs and everywhere; perhaps one was meant for me. I waited until I recovered my senses and entered the first room that had an open door. In the hall. I had passed through, hung portraits of great value; two stone Egyptian vases—and a Paris green umbrella. Now as I stood at the entrance of the room I had a desire to get out. and another to stay to satisfy my curiosity—so I stepped in and looked around. There was a very large fireplace on my left that reached halfway to the ceiling. A pair of rusty andirons, a few silver plates, and candle sticks, together with an old mantle clock, were its ornaments. A few feet away from the fireplace was a very shiny table with carved legs. As I looked upon the table, it began to turn around, and the carved lions in the legs blinked their eyes and snapped their jaws. My eyes blinked, too, but my jaws were too stiff to snap. Then all sorts of weird noises circulated around me, bats were flying, blinds, banging and shadows flickered all around. How was I to get out? It occurred to me the door was locked behind me and I was all alone. Impossible—now I thought. 1 began to scream. Noises, shadows, eyes, were everywhere. Then I felt a cold clammy hand against my back and awoke to find myself sitting on the pillow with my back against the cold bedpost and a terrific thunderstorm raging outside. ANNE ROHRMAN, Class 1932. “TUTELAGE” We were sitting in the library when I told Will of my approaching marriage. My friend looked at me peculiarly. “Indeed,” he drawled. There was something in Will’s tone that irritated me. Women,” said Will, breaking the silence; Women, I've always hated them; always shall—cloying, sickly, whining---” “Say, did I ever tell you why 1 hate ’em?” he demanded suddenly, his ugly features setting in a thick scowl. “No? Well, I'll tell you right now.” Will sat back in his comfortable chair and frowned ferociously: “I once met a real wom-and. She loved me—they all do. Her love was worth having—pure gold stamped on every link. Not like a modern girl who likes a man a little and his cash a lot. “It was twenty years ago when I met Alice. She came to teach me piano. The Old Man had always been a martinet and too healthy. Seven hundred and fifty dollars he allows me and leads me the life of a dog. For years I’d gone on hoping that one day his insurance ‘jonnies’ would get the smile wiped off their faces, and I’d be able to wear my black suit. But nothing ever happens: nothing ever will. “Alice loved me, women generally do. But Alice's soul used to look out of her eyes. Yes, I can read a woman’s eyes. She loved me for myself. She reckoned naught of the Parkiss wealth. It was ‘Will,’ the ‘Will’ personality.” Will stopped to light his pipe. “Well,” I prompted. “Treated her badly,” grunted Will, his face clouding. “She was mine for the asking. I—I let her down. Listen : Alice used to come up twice a week to give me piano lessons. We used to hold each other’s hands and speak with our eyes, while I gave the keys an occasional jab, to deceive thg Governor, working in his study. It took me a long time before I could persuade him to allow me to have the lessons. Told me I was wasting my money. Anyway, I prevailed, and Alice came twice a week. Days of heavenly bliss, man; I dream of ’em now. I didn’t marry Alice. No, but I always remain true to her.” “I had only $750 a year then. That was all the old curmudgeon allowed me. A man can’t marry on that. One day Alice looked deeper into my eyes and let me kiss her, while I was playing the scale with my left hand. Gad, man. I came to a decision that night. My lessons were completed as far as they would ever be. I’d never be a Mozart at the piano. I’m not musical and what’s a piano when you’ve got a peerles woman like Alice teaching you.” “I knew Alice cared, she was wild about me. I wrote to her and told her I wasn’t as rich as everyone thought. I told her I was as poor as a spider in a church box and that I had a mere seven-fifty per annum to offer her. ‘Write per return, my love,’ I instructed her, ‘and thus show me all you feel for me. If you are afraid to share poverty for some years, do not reply.’ ” Will stopped and breathed exultantly. “I knew she would not fail, she loved me for myself. Nothing mercenary about Alice; money meant nothing to her. It was Will she wanted. The letter came . . . .” Then why didn’t you-------” I began. “Why didn’t I marry her, having the letter that meant so much to me. . . . Which came hastening to me by the very next post from her dear fingers? You will loathe me when I tell you. “I felt as that letter reached my hands that I couldn’t go on with it. I couldn’t—just couldn't let that sweet, unselfish girl face life with seven-fifty between us. “With the letter unopened in my hands. I stood in this very room, before this very fireplace and my fingers trembled at the seal. At that moment the Old Man’s step came from the corridor. He was coming in here. Like a flustered fool, I lost my nerve. He was

Page 9 text:

THE GREEN AND WHITE 7 room where he found himself was the only one in the hut. It was unusually clean and neat. On one wall was hanging a locket which attracted his attention. He promised himself to examine it more carefully. Bob told the old man the story of how his father had answered the call of the sea and had never came back. That after many weary years of waiting his mother had given up all hopes. By that time he was old enough to answer the call himself. This w’as his first trip that had ended so disastrously. In the course of his conversation Bob mentioned Gloucester. The old man was startled. He leaned forward. “Did you say Gloucester?’’ “Yes, answered Bob. “My mother’s name was Alicia Kilraine.” Kilraine,” echoed the old man. With that he fell to the floor in a faint. The boy gently picked him up and laid him on the cot in the corner of the hut and bathed his head with cold water. In a short while the old man had recovered. He asked Bob to bring the locket on the wall. “Open it! Open it!’’ he cried. Bob opened it and beheld the picture of his mother. “Why, where did you get this?” he exclaimed. “This is my mother.” “That is the 0icture of the woman that I left waiting in Gloucester so many years ago.” “Then—then you must be my father!” shouted Bob. And he embraced the old man. In his turn the cast away told his story. His ship was wrecked, but another man and he had managed to reach this island. The unfortunate companion was stricken with pneumonia and had passed away, leaving me alone. See the mound over yonder—his grave 1 For years I have lived here the life of Robinson Crusoe, hoping that some ship might pick me up—but all in vain.” For the next few days they both lived happily. It was decided that their only hopes was to build a bonfire on a hill in back of the hut to signal some ship passing by which would rescue them. Finally, after two weeks of anxious waiting their hopes were rewarded by the appearance of a schooner off shore. The lookout noticed the fire on the hill. They were both brought on board and finally arrived at the mainland. From there they journeyed home, father and son together. The joy of the reunion of the family will be left to your imagination. MURIEL HODGDON, 30. “BEFORE AND AFTER” It was a warm summer morning. The sun was just beginning to rise. It was a large red ball which threw a ray of sparkling red across the water. The water wras calm and a dark blue. The odor of the salt brine was w'atfed on the breeze for many blocks. The breeze danced through the tree tops, just enough for the leaves to rustle. What a perfect day for a picnic! We packed our belongings on the motor-boat and left the dock when the mill whistle blew'. We kept smiling until 12 o’clock. Anchor was then dropped, and “eats” were served. After lunch we played the victrola. Everybody danced until Jack and Jim decided to fish. Those who did not care to fish went in swimming. The wind had now begun to blow harder and the boat began to sway. So we decided it was best to pull up the anchor. By the time we wrere ready to start, the sun had disappeared and large dark clouds had gathered. It became very dark and thunder could be heard in the distance. It was now 4 o’clock. The motor in the boat refused to start. Anchor had to be thrown over again. After Tom had fooled around the motor it finally began to start. Anchor was again pulled up. We started on the long journey home. A streak of lightning shot through the sky, then a roar of thunder. Rain poured down as if a cloud had burst. Everybody went into the cabin but Tom. He had to steer the boat. We went along fine after many hours of riding. The dark clouds began to disappear. The rain began to cease, and the water became calmer. We finished our journey around 7 o’clock, weary and tired. LILLIE KERSHAW, Class of 1930. SPRING The spring is come! The spring is come! The brooks are merrily pouring; And the robins are here, and the swallows appear And the lark on high is soaring. Old Winter is gone! Cold Winter is gone! And. pray, what prevented his stay? Why, March was his end, and the April rain Has driven him quite away. Look at the birds! The dear little birds! They’re singing on every bough; And strain their throats with the sweetest notes To rejoice in the warm Spring now'. They're building their nests and tending their nests And quarreling now and then; There’s the blackbird sleek, with the golden beak, And the trush, and the tiny wren. Look to the fields! Away to the fields! We’ve lingered at home too long. Care to the winds we fling, as the bright birds sing And the brooklet murmers a song. And never forget! Oh, never forget! Who it was made the world so fair Who with flowers and trees and mountains and seas Made it beautiful everywhere. MARJORIE L .MANLEY, Class of 1932.

Page 11 text:

THE GREEN AND WHITE 9 bounde to make a scene if he knew about this letter. “Without a moment’s thought. I quickly made a cylinder of the envelope, and slipped it within the neck of that vase, intending to read it when the Old Man had gone.” Will eyed the vase tensely. “When the old boy had rummaged about for some cigars and had gone out, I went to the vase for my letter. To my horror I had thrust it in too far. The letter had gone down through the long narrow neck and had expanded, unrolled inside the broad bottom of the vase.’” “Then what?’ ’I questioned. “That was twenty years ago. I tried every dodge I could think of to get that letter, bent wire and all the rest of it. I never succeeded.” “Then it’s still in the vase!” I stared at the blue flask-like ornament. “It's still in there,” said Will. “That vase is priceless. 1 daren’t break it. And why should I? It’s a safe burial place for a love that could not be realized. It’s very wonderful to know that her letter is there. Do be careful.” Wonderingly, reverently, I had taken up the fragile base. “I never replied to that letter of course,” Will said. “How could I? Moreover, I thought it best to maintain silence. Kinder, you see, than putting things in a letter. Sort of let the girl get over it that way. Things would hurt more and-------” “Quite,” I agreed. “I understand you.” I still held the vase. “But I shall always remain true to that woman. Unmercenary, as I am repeatedly drumming into you. Selfless to a degree and one who embraces love despite poverty. In that vase lies the letter I cherish as the token of such a woman.” The unexpected happened. The vase in its blue shimmering slipperiness had evaded my fingers. With a gasp I surveyed the blue crumble spread at my feet. There was a curl of yellow-white paper among the ruins. Dazedly, I stooped and picked it up. My letter,” snapped Will and snatched it from me with eager hands. His prodgy thumb ripped greedily at the time-stained envelope. It parted easily and a sheet of paper was between his fingers. Then the silence of the room was broken by hoarse laughter. Uninvited, I looked over Will’s bent shoulder. The sheet of paper read: “For eighteen piano lessons, $250. An early remittance would oblige -------.” The billhead bore the name of Will’s Alice! HELEN McGUIGAN, '30. Juniors now are we, Usually full of glee; Never upset when things go wrong In a classroom waiting for the gong. “Order, the teacher cries. And the pupils Realize that soon they will be Seniors. FRANCES DUNBAR '31. “PICTURE GALLERY” Picture Room 1 if the Seniors were not there. ” Muriel Hodgdon in the depths of black despair. ” Dorothy Roberts flunking every thing in school. ” Freda Schafft breaking every rule. A class meeting with Bassing meek and mild. Edna Brooks and Elizabeth Doran acting wild, ” Paul Clarke and Pat Mahoney arriving to school on time. ” Motta and Sylvia playing hookey when so inclined. ” Lil Kershaw if she couldn’t laugh and sing. ” Mike Securo if high honors he did not win. ” Ray Makowsky if to Warren he could not go. ” Fritzi Dunbar if she raised that voice so low. ” Carl Witherell if in a show he could not act. Robert Mutiro when he comes up to bat. Stanley Bennett if the boys him did not tease. ” Charles Pendleton if a girl’s hand he could squeeze. ” McCaughey coming early every day. Domenic Perroni cutting capers very gay. ” Lizzy Breen if the slips she forgot to type. ” Charlie Young looking a perfect fright. ” Anthony Bonnano if to whisper he did not dare. Helen McGuigan with a very meek mild air. ” Chassey Le Clerc if he did never blush, ” Fanny Doran always in a rush. Camella Castriotta if to a dance she could not go. Dot Ruggerio if she should whisper very low. ” Paul Campanello without his pleasant grin. ” the Senior class always bound to win. LIL KERSHAW, ’30. CARS The Whippets are so funny and little, While the Packards are so large; But if you get in a Cadillac Y'ou’ll think you are driving a barge. The Chevrolets sound so tinny; The Buicks always rattle ; But when the two are together It sounds like a gunman’s battle. The Chryslers are large and shiny. And they have their faults, too; But try and beat the Fords, that poke their heads Around the corner and say, Boo ! ! CHARLES YOUNG.