Eastern High School - Punch and Judy Yearbook (Washington, DC)

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THE EASTERNER G the remains of her once envied suit of hair into a newspaper, tip-toed ‘down- stairs and into the back yard. With a spade she dug a hole end placed the bun- dle in it anc covered it over. Any misgivings that she may have had were promptly quelched and Mary Jane slipped out the back ard just as she had so often longed to do, a boy. “Who are you?” asked Jamie, as the stranger walked over to where they were playing. “Ah, me name's, Mike, and 1 betcha I can get more home runs than anybody else.” “Ah, you can not.” “I can so.” “I can, too.” “You can't beat me.” “IT say you can't.” “T could beat you a hundred times if I wanted to.” “You couldn't.” “T could.” A fist shot out and Mary Jane, alias Mike, rolled in the dust. “Bah, get up and I'll hit ou again.” Mary Jane rose slowly to her feet and drew a hand across a bloody nose. The on-lookers had formed a ring about the two, eager to witness a fight. “Come on and fight me, you sissy.” “] ain’t no boy,” sobbed Mary Jane and fled, leaving a wonder-struck set of kids to marvel at the strange incident. Down the road she ran, stumbling and sobbing, a sad ghost of her bragging self of a min- ute ago. Straight through the gate, through the yard and up the steps she went. “Mamma, oh, Mamma, where are you, Mamma?” she called. “Why what on earth has happened,” anxiously cried Mrs. Clark, running in from tlie sitting room. “Why Mary Jane 1” she gasped as she beheld her renegade daughter. Mary Jane clung to her mother an dsobbed out her pitiful tale. “And your lovely, lovely, curls. Oh, Mary Jane, how could you?” “] wanted to be a boy so bad.” Her mother only looked at her and then finally said, “Well, perhaps this will teach you a lesson that you will not soon for- get. For a week you shall wear those clothes.” It was after dusk. Supper had been cleared away and Mary Jane's father and mother sat on the front porch enjoying the quiet of a summer evening. She, still wearing Freddie’s suit, sat on the lower step with her chin on her hand. : Present- ly two figures were seen coming down the street. One was Jamie Patterson and the other was Katherine Stewert in a crisp white dress tied with a large pink sash and a large pink bow on her long brown curls. They passed by on to the other side of the street into the corner drug store. Mary Jane watched them en- ter and saw them sit down at the table. Then she saw two glasses placed before them with soda water in them. Katherine coyly glanced at Jamie through lowered lashes and carelessly shook her curls. Mary Jane saw no more, She stifled a sob and crept from the porch around to the back yard. In the semi-darkness she groped for a spade. She pushed the loose dirt back from the place she had put it in the afternoon and drew the moist par- cel out. With shaking fingers she un- wrapped it. In her lap lay her shorn beauty. Mary Jane’s head dropped down upon her curls and sobs shook her small frame.

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THE EASTERNER 5 The Eternal Feminine Grace WELSH. Mary Jane swung back and forth on the gate leading to the back road, and as she swung she sighed, and as she sighed she wished, and her wish was, “Gee, why ain't I a boy?” Across the dusty road was a large field where several boys played | “two-knocker.” Mary — Jane watched them longingly. She had been barred from her favorite pastime because Jamie Patterson, the newcomer into their town, had stoutly maintained that “two- knocker ain't no game for a girl, and we don’t want no skirts with curls hanging around.” The goading words rankled in her heart, .She could play with the best of them and beat them at their own game. Just because her mother made her wear curls and dresses wasn’t any reason why she couldn't play “‘two-knocker.” She hated with a fierce hatred all girl's games. “‘Sissy’s play,” she termed them. And with a like intensity she hated girl's work. Her regular morning duties con- sisted of washing and drying the break- fast dishes. “Gimme the woodpile any time,” was her sentiment. Her long brown curls were her “bete-noir” and her mother’s pride. One looking at Mary Jane without talking with her would im- mediately say, “What a dear angelic-look- ing child!” Perhaps that is why Mary Jane despised her existence as a girl. Mary Jane's father was slightly bald, much to his own disgust. On his dresser he kept a tall bottle of hair tonic, and every night he diligently applied it to the offending head. Mary Jane would watch him enviously, “I wish I could grow up and be bald like Dad and use hair tonic.” But her hair showed no sign of ever reaching that state. As Mary Jane swung back and forth on the back gate, all these thoughts passed through her head. Rebellion against the restraints of a girl’s life surged hotly through her brain. If there was only some way she could discard all things that kept her from being as free as a boy. It only she had no curls and wore trousers, trousers with pockets, in which one could carry apples, tops, candy, hooks, string, chewing-gum, balls, and penknife. As Mary Jane thought of trousers, a picture of last summer flashed into her mind. Her aunt had been visiting there for two weeks and had brought her young son with her. Freddie was two years Mary Jane’s senior. On leaving, her aunt had given Mary Jane's mother an out- grown suit of Freddie's. “Whenever Freddie needs punishing, I put girl's clothes on him and that is as effective as can be. Perhaps you might find use for these in the same way.” Mary Jane's mother thanked her, and said nothing more. She knew just how much good it would do to put boy’s clothes on Mary Jane. Mary Jane remembered that her moth- er had hung them in the attic, and to the attic she went. Quickly she undressed and arrayed herself in Freddie's suit. She surveyed herself in the mirror and saw that her hair was the only thing that marred a perfect boy. Mary Jane stood for a moment undecided, a wicked thought tempting her. Then with a vic- ious shake of her curls she snatched up a pair of shears and cut every one of them off. She was somewhat startled over her appearance when she again looked in the mirror, but at least she was satisfied that “clothes do make the boy.” She bundled

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THE EASTERNER uf The Ghost at Hopewell H. Wats For several years, Anderson and I had been spending our summers in New Hampshire.. It was merely by accident that we had started this custom, for we had originally known nobody in New Hampshire. One summer, having been given a month's vacation, we had gone north, and going from one little town to another, we had stumbled upon Hope- well. Hopewell was a quaint little puritani- cal town, with small white houses and old willow trees. Tle scenery about Hopewell was especially entrancing and Anderson, having a great deal of artistic temperament, and, indeed, artistic abil- ity (for he had sold several canvasses) was captivated by it. We spent the rest of our vacation there, and found the people delightfully old-fashioned and their homes interesting, because of the many antiques and relics of by-gone days that they contained. The next year, we went there again, and it was then that we made the ac- quaintance of Joseph Garret. When we went to the tiny tavern in the center of the town, we were told that there was an overflow, and that Garret, who lived by himself and who they said was a peculiar old man, would give us a room, A country fair was in town and as a dozen people would produce an overflow in the tavern, we went to Garret’s. Garret’s house, we found, was one of the most pretentious in the place. The grounds were spacious, with flowers and bushes in abundance . The lawn was well kept and there were several trees in the yard. One of which we noted, as we went in the side gate, seemed to grow so close to the house that one of its branches seemed to go through a window in the side of the house, and we learned later that this tree had a most interesting his- tory. ‘The house was large and architec- turally handsome, but sadly in need of re- pairs. It needed painting and many of the window panes were broken and mend- ed with rags and paper. On the door we found a brass knocker, and after rapping several times we heard some feeble steps resounding inside. An old man, without any collar and coat, and with his suspenders trailing behind him, opened the door. This was Joseph Gar- ret. He was ninety-three, and except for his poor eyesight, remarkably healthy, for his advanced years. After telling him who we were, he admitted us, and we found that the interior of the house had none of the shabbiness of the outside. It was handsomely furnished, containing not only all of the interesting things of New Eng- land, but many foreign curios, especially of the orient, showing that Garret must have been a traveller at one time. In the days that followed, we found that Garret was very interesting He had travelled extensively, had been well educated, and though he was abreast of the times, he lived for the most part in old memories. At first we thought the people at the tavern wrong in calling him peculiar, but after a few days he told us the following tale, which we could hardly believe to be reasonable. “This house,” he said, “was built by my father, with his own hands, eight years before Iwas born. As J am ninety- three, the old place is one hundred and one years old.” He took us to the window in his room and showed us the tree that we had no-