Central High School - Aglaia Yearbook (Manchester, NH)

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18 IANUARY AGLAIA or THE ORACLE but as time went on and nothing happened his wee five year old treble rose to a mighty volume. He must make sure that he would be heard. A short distance away Mr. Katz, pro- prietor of a fruit store, heard this strange chanting as he worked. He investigated. Soon a big watermelon rolled from his fruitstand into the small circle of absorbed youngsters. Such joy, such delight, such dancing as that which occurred the moment the young boys saw the watermelon, Mr. Katz had never seen. From his secluded hide-a-way in the store, he chuckled as he heard young Iohnny saying proudly, I al- ways thought I was as good as Aladdin, and now I know it. VICTORIA GRUSZEWSKA MELANCHOLY DISTURBED At first a patter on the roof- I sat alone with head aloof, Peace, gentle peace had come at last, But so on the rain was pelting fast, Then came a Hash, a crash, a roar- Perplexed, my thoughts no more could soar. My dreams and visions now had Hown, To reality I had been thrown, And, oh, the grief which there prevailed Since this one solace now had failed. FLORENCE FLETCHER VANISHED FRIENDS How well I remember the trio that I associated with in my earlier days. The three who worked and played with me, who, next to my immediate family, received my prime consideration. They were my friends above all other friends. There was Greg, the boy next door, al- ways the most frightened as we crouched in some back alley or back piazza, evading the long arm of the law after playing in forbid- den areas or making a sudden raid upon a neighboring orchard. He was of medium size, well proportioned, and rather pleasant in speech, but carried an eternal plaintive look on his longish, freckled face. It was a sad day for us when his family moved to another city. Art, a small, slight, but energetic boy, was the best baseball player of the group. He made up for his meager size by his agility and daring. In addition, Art was the diplomat of the neihborhoodg there was scarcely a quarrel which did not melt away under his sedative powers. Thanks to him, the number of black eyes and broken teeth in the neighborhood were greatly reduced, but occasionally even he saw the wisdom of letting a dispute terminate in a pugilistic en- counter. It was a long time before the remain- ing two of us, Greg having left sometime be- fore, got over the untimely death of Art a few days after he was struck by a speeding automobile. The other member was called Petrovitch, but this was shortened to Pete for a good and sufficient reason. He was, as the story books would say, the fiery, dominant type. VV hen he called you at your back door, you knew it, and went pronto. Never did he lack an idea and he was always ready to back one up by the time you had absorbed it. Art usually had his hands full when Pete became excited at a baseball or football game. I still see Pete occasionally, and we re- kindle the flame of friendship by reminis- cences of the olden days when we were four. The old order changeth, Yielding place to new. And new friends take the place of old, but the old shall always remain with me in memory. ALEXANDER WISKUP

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IANUARY AGLAIA OF THE ORACLE 17 with the watch in her hand. I feel a liitle nervous, my body grows tense, my neck is already stiff from watching the copy whizh I have not yet started to type, and my little finger is exhausted from pressing so long on that shift--still, I hear no signal to start. After a heated debate with myself, I relax just for a second-surely it won't take any longer than that to collect my nerves, give my machine a last minute inspection, and see that all will be Well during my forth- coming struggle with the control of that which claims to be a typewri-- Start!', Oh, now for that shift-where is it? My copy-it's on the floor! I have it back in position now and Hnd myself playing the hit or miss game once more. But it seems my troubles are not over yet-this is the second time I have been obliged to get my keys out of a badly entangled huddle. Oops! I almost forgot my instructions about keeping my eyes on the copy, but I've been hearing bells rin ging-could one of them have been mine? No, not yet, of course. Perhaps mine will be the next, then remembering that good old saying, There's nothing like a changef' I fumble for the return lever, and after due wandering my hand strikes it. That's odd, it didn't seem to move very far-I look up just this once-Horrors! I wasn't even half way through the- Timel The last step in one of these so-called tests is reading it through. I rub my eyes and read again-in vain. Either I have be- come cross-eyed, or I can't read. ' ' That bewildered expression 1T1uSt have drawn attention, for I am surrounded by my most considerate classmates. They tell me that I could have done worse. In typing for ten minutes on the wrong row of keys, I wrote three out of fifteen words correctlyl ALICE KYRAGAKIS i SOUTH SEA SAGA Night settled down upon the island and relieved the earth of its stifling heat. The grassy swale lay thick and luxuriant under the tall trees and the hills assumed dim, monstrous shapes in the velvet darkness. The night was without wind, but occasional vagrant airs stirred the treetops. Rhythmic waves beat upon the shore in stately succes- sion under the blazing stars above. Mouldy smells rose from the dark earth and filled the night air with their pungent odor. In the eastern sky the faint glow of a coming moon shone. Night seemed to hold its breath.- VIRGINIA FULLER LET'S PLAY ALADDIN I wish I had a watermelon, I wish I had a Watermelon, chanted Iohnny as the rest of his friends looked on eagerly. Iohnny was in the process of smoothing down the top of an oily lantern with his two chubby little palms, for this lantern was sup- posed to be magic. By rubbing it one's wish came true and after the gang Qas Iohnny's small group of friends liked to term them- selvesj had noted what to expect, Iohnny began to rub. He had been rubbing and chanting now for more than fifteen minutes, but then, no one had ever specified the time necessary for the wish to come true. Iohnny had even suggested that it might take about an hour of rubbing to get the wish working and then about another hour for the water- melon to appear. So there they all were, sitting Indian fashion in a circle around Iohnny land, of course, the lantern. Each boy Qthere were about sevenj was eager and tense, hoping, at any moment, to see a water- melon drop from the sky, for where else could a magic watermelon come from. At First Iohnny chanted just above a whisper,

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JANUARY AGLAIA or THE ORACLE 19 RECOLLECTION The visits to my uncle's farm in Chester that I made when I was a child, I shall long remember. Hardly before my father could stop the motor of the car in the farm door- yard, my Aunt Sadie would have appeared in the doorway of the big farmhouse with her shawl over her shoulders to welcome us with her characteristic, hi there . By this time my Uncle Hiram would have emerged from the barn or one of the many doors in the long ell which connected the house with the barn, to escort us into the house with much hearty welcoming. Then we followed my aunt through the cold dining room, which was too large to heat, into the big, warm sitting room. The next twenty minutes or so were for me quite dull. Everybody wasengaged in conversation which filled the room with a jumble of voices. Close together and lean- ing foreward in their chairs near the wood stove were my grandmother and old Emma Towle, my uncle's aunt who lived there. Their conversation was intense. A comment on the recent death of an old, mutual friend had carried them into old age's paradise of reminiscense. How great was my amusement when my ear caught such names as Ezekiel or Uriah as they chuckled about good times with these beaux of sixty years ago. In an- other part of the room my mother and Aunt Sadie sat conversing about cooking, sewing, house cleaning, magazines, ailments, and the like. My father and uncle talked about the farm work and the purchase of a cow, or my father's work in the city, or politics, and every once in a while everybody would hush while my uncle, who had the rare faculty for telling a funny story well, reeled off a yarn which brought forth peals of vari-toned laughter from everybody in the room. During this time I sat silent, gazing at the low ceiling or at any quaint object in the room which happened to attract my atten- tion. Sometimes I got up and Walked over to the writing desk to look abstractedly at some books, the leaves of which had grown brown with age. Perhaps I would strike a few notes on the ancient piano only to re- ceive the anticipated glareof reproval from my mother. When I thought I had, in the words of my mother, visited a little while , I quietly asked permission to go out to the barn. V ' On my way through the cold dining room I can remember how I used to stop to inspect the dld wall telephone whidh work by a crank, or the bric-a-brac on the fire-place mantle, or the big twelve gauge shot-gun in a little nook behind a curtain. It was a gloomy room, as was the Whole house except, perhaps, the sitting room and kitchen, which I passed through next. Its floor, which was of brick, had sunken in places so as to make footing unsure. Behind the stove which radiated an intense heat, there was an old Dutch oven of large dimen- sion which always arrested my attention. Everything in the house was suggestive of antiquity. A musty smell, characteristic of ancient farmhouses, pervaded its rooms. It was a large house, much too large for the three people who lived in it, but they loved it, and nothing could have putsuaded them to part with it. After a lengthy tour of inspection of the ell and barn, I would return to the sitting room where my folks would be preparing to leave. My aunt and uncle usually escort- ed us to the car where the conversation continued for another five or ten minutes before we'd Hnally bid them farewell and depart. RICHARD HITCHCOCK