Fryeburg Academy - Academy Bell Yearbook (Fryeburg, ME)

Page 25 text:

'I'IIlC ,4c.ln1cMy BELL mg 23 You've met the two girls: Jean Oliver, young, self- conscious, worshipping blindly Constance Jacobs, two years her senior, poised, well dressed, and clever. The only other character is a boy, nineteen, a newcomer, good looking, and accepted leader, and the desired male attendant for the mid- year Prom, Foster Blake. The game-the big game with Saxtons Seminary! lt was lost-unless- That afternoon found the gym half filled with a mourn- ful squad when Constance dashed in in uniform. The girls clamored about her--for everyone knew her father refused, despite all pleas and prayers, to let her go out for any sport. Yet here she was! Connie, what are you going to do '? demanded the captain. Play, if you'll let me, young one. She served the ball, dribbled and shot a peach from behind the center. But how can you ? Miss Peters isn't here, is she? Who'll know? If l'm any good--can't I, Lon ? The captain was worried. Here was a chance of win- ning--a slim chance-admitted, but a chance-Miss Peters, the coach, would rave but- Yes-Connie. Connie learned the signals, practiced a bit on baskets --took a shower and went over to the dorm to rest. Everywhere people were whispering, What a good sport Connie is, and What school spirit, and all that- while upstairs Connie and Jean Oliver lay planning very carefully her campaign. School spirit-oh, yes! 'She had lots of school spirit, but besides that there loomed, only ten days away, the mid-year Prom. Would Foster Blake ask her? He was known to say, I like good sports-girls that go out for the teams. Well-she'd be a good sport. The Chapel clock struck seven. She dressed quickly and hurried to the gym. A few minutes' practice-the game called-the whistle blew-the ball was in play-the rest was a dream. She played well. Jean Oliver watching, worshipping anew at her shrine and Foster Blake, watching with a group of fellows, told

Page 24 text:

gg, . ,, j'111c,.4r:,1nEMY Blom, Indies or returning with rich merchandise, such as spices, silks. and shawls. Sometimes the sea captains would bring back boys with them to bring up in America. In a great many houses in Salem there are still beau- tiful pieces of furniture and shawls bought many years ago by the traders. If Hepsibah from her store window had looked in her day she would have seen horses and buggies going by. while today if one should look out on the street he would see street cars and automobiles. On the other side of the house she could see a garden of old-fashioned flowers. The recent owners have tried to make the garden like the ones they had when Hawthorne used to visit there, and the story is that he used to love to go out in the early evening and walk among the flowers and talk with the Pyncheon family. CAROLYN GANNoN, '29. WASNWI' IT BE'l'TEll! Merton Academy was a small prep school in Northern Michigan. Mertonville, the small town in which it was located, was typical, in that its interests centered about the school. It was drawing near the end of the girls' basketball season when a catastrophe fell upon the team--Jean Oliver, the left forward, sprained her ankle. That was the morning before the game. That day was mournful, everywhere there was wailing and gnashing of teeth. Jean Oliver was sixteen, small, and very pretty with blue eyes and jet hair. She came from a village about fif- teen miles from school. Her father worked on the river driving logs and there were many children. Jean, thus, hadn't been around a great deal. She was very self-con- scious and until basketball had scarcely been noticed. She roomed across from The Girl of the school, Constance Jacobs. Constance Jacobs! She was leader in everything, adored alike by boys and girls, tall, slender, with a red-gold curly bob, frank green eyes. and a disarming smile--the only daughter of an old professor, who, except for a weekly allowance and an annual summer visit to one of the four corners of the globe-might as well not have existed.

Page 26 text:

241 THE ACADEMY BELL himself she was the girl he wanted to take around and to wear his pin. At the half he left the fellows and walking over to Connie-pulling her a bit away from the rest said, Good game-Connie-may I walk over with you tonight ? Connie's heart almost stopped. Thanks-yes, if you'd like too, she answered very low. The rest of the game passed-Jean Oliver watched her idol play well-almost brilliantly-and later saw Foster Blake, her male hero, take Connie home. Tears came into her eyes, but she quickly brushed them away. Shouldn't Connie have the best? That night Connie came into Jean's room for a moment and said, Jean dear, I played for you tonight as well as I could. If I hadn't known you were with me-all the time- I couldnlt have done as well as I did. And she kissed the younger girl. Jean went to sleep--happy-praying that she might grow into such a girl as Connie was-always, she wanted to be what Connie was. . No one knew of Connie's selfishness- Wasn't it better? GLADYS STEVES. A PERSON MY BROTHER WAS TO MEET AT THE STATION But how shall I know your maid from others '? asked my brother as he set out for the station. I will give you the description as she gave it in her letter, I replied. In this, she said, 'I will be dressed in a brown coat and a blue hat. However, if the day is hot, I will not wear my coat but will have on a red blouse. On the left sleeve of this blouse are three black stripes. I have one stripe for each of my dead husbands. I will wear a flowing calico skirt, red stockings and dark brown shoes! There, I said in concluding, from that you ought to tell the only thing that is missing, namely, that she is colored. Osooon PIKE, '30.