Fairhaven High School - Huttlestonian Yearbook (Fairhaven, MA)

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THE HUTTLESTONIAN 21 Picture in your mind ' s eye two male members of our faculty lying- side by side on the floor, lost to sight under a large blanket, while the rest of the faculty circles about them in solemn processions ! The party at Mr. Dickey’s home was jolly from the moment we got inside the door, till the time we bade wee Mary a reluctant farewell, some hours later. It marked the oc¬ casion of our one social get-together so far this year, and school-talk was absolutely taboo. A short time ago, a teacher’s in¬ stitute for all Fairhaven teachers was held one afternoon at the High School. Interesting addresses and discussions were carried on in all parts of the building. One especially interesting talk was given before the High School teachers by the Dean of Girls of the Taunton High School. Also one Friday, we all attended a Bristol County Teachers’ Convention in Fall River, and had a day full of inspiration and dis¬ cussion of teachers’ problems. Several hundred school-teachers, singing lustily in a large theatre, are worth going far to hear. Were you to peek into the gymnasium at a certain hour on a certain afternoon each week, you would be amazed—or would you?— to see some of our dignified teachers performing the steps of an Irish jig, at a speed of about forty miles an hour. Ask any one of them and they will tell you that folk-dancing is their favorite indoor sport! HELEN F. NORTHUP, Instructor.

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C,OT »«T) TEMPTATION

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22 THE HUTTLESTONIAN MURDOCK PHONES, RADIO DETECTIVE I entered the room by the usual way; that is, the doorway, after first beating a solo upon the panels of the door. I came in urgent summons from Murdock Phones. Once in the room I was completely lost in a cloud of vapor. “Ah!” thought I, at first. “Is this one of the fogs from his favorite London?” But nay. Murdock came to my rescue and piloted me safely through the vaporous obstruction which was nothing more than a smoke screen laid by the long pipe protruding from Murdock’s mouth and a black cigar that dangled from the lips of his visitor, probably a client. “Welcome, Watson,” said Murdock, scooping me into a chair. “Glad you came. I see that you stayed at home and dined on sar¬ dines instead of going to the restaurant, last night.” “Who informed you of all that?” “No one. I can see for myself. Just a simple train of deduction. You have broken your thumb-nail. Most unusual thing for a quiet man like you to do. You most likely did it in opening your pocket knife. Now, Watson, yours is always well oiled, so the one that broke your nail must be stiff and new. “Something, therefore, must be wrong with the old knife to cause you to need a new one. Lost? No, you are too careful. Broken? Probably, and in opening a can. Of tomatoes? No. A sardine can, the most obstinate of all cans. You would of course eat the sardines at home.” “Excellent!” I cried. “Excellent! But why did I not eat at the restaurant?” “That’s more difficult,” said he, thoughtfully studying my physi¬ ognomy. “I should say it was because the restaurant had previously served you a bad and odorous egg.” “Quite true!” I admitted. “How ever did you deduce it?” “Oh, simply enough. When you came in, I noticed you were pale and nervous. I concluded that you had been shell-shocked.” Murdock’s visitor evidently wanted to speak, for he was making some weird guttural sounds. It may have been that he had swal¬ lowed his cigar during Murdock’s amazing deduction. I now saw