Fryeburg Academy - Academy Bell Yearbook (Fryeburg, ME)

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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.

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'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

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THE ACADEMY BELL 25 THE DEATH OF JIM Mc-KAY ' Out on the burning wastes of the Arizona desert, where the sun shone down with merciless heat, there walked the figure of a man with his burro. As he trudged along, he seemefl to be near exhaustion. His skin was hidden beneath the alkali dust which coated his features, while his tongue was swollen and his mouth hung open, caked with dust. The burro, more dead than alive, seemed to move in a trance. An hour passed, then suddenly the man dropped as in a faint. The burro stopped and stood lazily waving its ears as if to keep 05 some insect. Hours later, when the sun was gone and darkness reigned, the figure on the sand moved, dragged itself to a sitting posture, then to its feet. As you saw him in the half light, he showed himself to be Jim McKay, a prospector who had come to the desert, unknown, two years before. He was perhaps sixty years of age. His clothes, which hung torn and soiled, made him look like the hermit of some child's story-book. Finding the burro near, he approached it and took the Winchester from its scabbard on the left side of the animal. I-Ie then shot the burro and, going away a short distance, sat down. Next, from the pocket of his shirt he took a pencil, notebook, and the photograph of a beautiful girl of about eighteen. This done, he sat for a long time looking at the photograph. After placing the picture beside him he took the notebook and wrote for some time. Then putting the pencil and notebook back into the pocket, he took the rifle, pressed the muzzle to his temple, picked up the photograph, and pulled the trigger. As that shot rang out across the desert, the spirit of Jim McKay passed into the great beyondg and all was still. F. A. BAssETT, '30. THE DISCOVERY OF COLD IN CALIFORNIA AND THE R E SULTS With the close of the Mexican War in 1848 came the desire of the men from the Middle West to go as far as