Holbrook High School - Echo Yearbook (Holbrook, MA)

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THE ECHO 29 ? Millie Food Shoppe luiM! I CHARLIE’S LUNCH All Home Cooked Food Holbrook Square Frank B. Brooks Wilde’s Store P O. Square Hardware Groceris Carmote Paints Grain and Flour E. L. Burton F. I. BARRETT CONTRACTOR Holbrook, Mass. I I. SWARTZ TAILOR Holbrook Square Cleaning and Pressing MILES’ STORE MacPherson The Barber Beauty Shoppe Big Elm Filling Station 200-202 South Franklin Street DODGE and PLYMOUTH Tel. Randolph 0201 s PATRONIZE OUR ADVERTISERS

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28 THE ECHO mess hall. Tom’s pocket seem to have a bulgy something in it, but it didn t attract the men’s notice. They were all busy eating when a voice cried from the door, “Stick them up ’ They did this without a moment’s hesita- tion. Tom, aided by other men of the Mounted, collected their weapons. They were in the hands of the Royal Mounted! And, this had been brought about by the stupid Tommy who was now talking English with- out a hitch in his tongue! No words can describe the discomfiture of the men when they saw how they had been taken in by that dull, stupid, stuttering youth, Tommy. Catherine Gilley. JIM KALE’S RACE There lived in Kentucky an old man named Cassy. Cassy had once been a won- derful athlete, but now he was old and rather out of practice. One day Jim Kale came to Kentucky in search of Cassy. Jim was an athlete at Amherst. He had entered in a cross-coun- try run, but the coach said Jim didn’t have the proper training in his youth. Poor Jim. He wanted to win this race because it would make his mother proud of him. He had given up hope of running when he found an old newspaper. He glanced at it with curiosity, and to his surprise saw the pic- ture of the greatest runner in the records. Thus it happened that Jim Kale came to Kentucky in search of Cassy. At nine o’clock Cassy was awakened by a pounding on his front door. He slipped out of bed and opened the door. Much to his surprise he saw a well-dressed, smiling young fellow. At sight of Cassy, the young- fellow gave a relieved smile and entered the small cottage. He briefly explained his business and seemed quite pleased with Cassy’s offer. Next morning two figures could be seen running easily through the early morning- dew. Although Cassy was old, he ran with the infinite ease and grace of a trained run- ner. Mile after mile unwound beneath his feet. With head thrown back, chest held high, and arms and legs moving in perfect unison, he ran on and on seemingly un- aware of the labored breathing of his com- panion. At last, he rounded a turn, flashed a smile in Jim’s grim face, and increased his stride until he was running as no one had ever run before and never has run since. Jim tried to increase his pace, but was unable to do so. When he reached the old man’s cottage, Cassy was waiting with a smiling countenance. He told Jim to take a shower and an alcohol rub and then report to him. After Jim appeared, Cassy handed him a paper which outlined the route which they had followed that day. This was to be the regular training track. Each morning they followed the same program. In the meantime, the two followed a rigid menu. Many times Cassy told Jim that he had to use all his reserve in order to obtain a con- siderable lead at the end of the run. After two months of this, Jim returned to Am- herst. He had induced Cassy to go with him. REVENGE Gossip, story telling, and criticism pre- vail in many small towns but the town of which I am thinking carries these charac- teristics to such an extent that a new comer is always impressed by the comical- ness of them. On entering the village, if you are recognized as one not of that vi- cinity, a person will turn a complete circle in order to watch your approach and your departure and no sooner have you left than tongues begin to wag, “Where’s he from? How old do you judge he is ? Where do you s’pose he’s goin’?” All these questions they ask each other, and if they have the good fortune to meet the person in one of the stores, they ask him the questions di- rectly. The town of which I am speaking is Mountainville, and it has its own much talked of character, “Captain Davis.” Making people appear ridiculous was Captain Davis’ chief ambition and delight. Already he had made several people the laughing stock of the town. Now, his one hope was to get back at Lizzie Joyce, for that pepper filled cake she had given him for his birthday. “How could he do it? Ah! an idea!” Contrary to the story telling chara cter- istics of Captain Davis were those of the suspicious Lizzie Joyce. Hers were those of a gossiper and she deeply resented Cap- tain Davis’ yarns that led to the folly of many of her old cronies. Hence, the pep- per filled cake! If she had only stopped to think, she might have known that he would get even with her for it, for Captain Davis’ ideals were far from those of a gen- tleman, and a little “moonshine” that was brought to the shores of the Isle helped a great deal to bring to an end Lizzie Joyce’s spite. In the course of events Saturday morn- ing finally arrived. Why this of all morn- ings should he chose is still a mystery, but, as it happened, Lizzie arrived at the store just as Captain Davis was beginning one of his yarns — only this one he declared was true. Everyone gathered close to hear, and far be it for Lizzie to miss anything that might prove interesting. Toothacre Cavern was the setting of the story. This cavern was situated on the shore of the Toothacre lots where huge rock cliffs rose and fell along the water’s edge. Toothacre House was many, many years old, and the stories associated with it and its adjacent property were numer- ous. The cavern, years ago, had been the size of a small structured room, but now the back part of the opening had caved in having room for only a man to crouch into. In front of the cave stretched out a short strip of beautiful sandy beach but to the west of the cave was a cliff where the water rose to such a height that a boat could easily land. Captain Kid in his many

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30 THE ECHO exploits had landed by the cliff of the “Toothacre” property and left there a part of his treasure and with the treasure a jug of magic water. The belief was that any- one drinking this water would regain his long lost beauty. The treasures had been hidden in small niches at the right hand side of the cave. This the Captain knew, but because of the paralysis that had left his arms and hands useless, he was unable to move the stone that securely held the treasure, but did not hide it. A door slammed! Lizzie Joyce had left even though the story had not quite fin- ished. No one took any particular notice of her departure, the only recognition be- ing a slight chuckle from Captain Davis. The story continued. No doubt, we would be well rewarded if we lingered to hear more of the Captain’s yarns, but I must confess my curiosity makes it necessary for me to follow Lizzie Joyce. Where was she going ? Could it be possible that she had believed Captain Davis’ story! She must have, or she wouldn’t be started in that direction. The progress of her travels not being anywhere near as interesting as the result of her destination, it will be only neces- sary to say that Lizzie at last reached the cave. Yes, the box and jug were there and in a vary short time were tugged out on the beach. In what seemed less than a second, the top of the box was snatched off, and in the box was a mass of golden coins. “If Captain Davis had been right about the treasure — then indeed, why shouldn’t he be right about the magic water?” This was the only thought that was running in Lizzie’s superstitious mind. “At least it would do no harm to try the stuff. Ugh! What an awful taste! How much would it be necessary to drink? Two glasses would have to do.” How Lizzie at last reached the village again, I do not know, but at the first sight of her a crowd began to gather. Swaying from side to side and singing as loudly as her lungs would permit, she staggered down the street. Surely such a comical spectacle had never before been seen in Mountainville. Those who were watching Captain Davis wondered why the poor man was so purple in the face. Little did they know the thoughts that were running in his mind. “Magic water, indeed! How much of that ‘moonshine’ could that silly old goose have drunk? Those old gilded shells must have worked well for a treasure!” Ruth E. Dyer, ’30. Wiggins: “This is the plot of a mystery story I’m writing for the Echo: A midnight scene. Two burglars creep stealthily tow- ard the house; they climb a wall and force open a window. As they enter the room, the clock strikes one — Admiring listener : (breathlessly ) “Which one?” YE SOPHISTICATED SOPHS Press onward and forward, schoolmates all! At present we’re sophisticated sophs, till next fall. But spring is here, and with it comes strength, And we’ll be juniors and seniors at length. Now we have dear old Caesar, tried and true, But he’s nothing like Cicero, I’m telling you! And there’s geometry in my long list, But we’ll soon see Euclid through the mist. And there’s history and French, we all like well, There’s many a long beautiful name to spell, Next year we’ll be real Frenchmen, and how! Even to their polite manner and courtly bow. Just think how good and grammatical our speech; When we forget to say “ain’t”, Ma will screech. Such sudden changes don’t go well with her, Speaking French, asking for som e “bon buerre”. Oh well, that’s as it should be, you know, Life has ups and downs as the winds blow. Remember you’ll no longer be sophisticated Sophs; You’ll be advanced to Juniors, Look out for moths. E. H. Mann. KING FOR A DAY I caught a glimpse of a winding road That seemed to run away, Through the green roads, over far off hills, To where the red sun lay. I heard the sound of the river’s song, Over the mountain wall. I felt the rush of the laughing wind And hastened to its call. I took the trail of the winding road. So close to Nature’s heart. I dreamed that all of the world was mine, A king, I played my part. Mountains, brave streams, and the valley fair, Their beauty with me shared. ’Twas just as thro’ some unseen hand, Magic and music paired. I’ll keep that day in my treasure chest, A mem’ry tucked away, Of how I dreamed in that magic realm I ruled as king one day. Myron Holbrook, ’30.