Holbrook High School - Echo Yearbook (Holbrook, MA)

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THE ECHO 11 I did meet Al, and he just dragged me over to his rooms,” he explained. “And I suppose you went to sleep and when you woke up it was after three ! Alice in Wonderland!” “Ah, dad, you don’t understand. I have something on my mind to think about.” “Can’t you stay home and think about it?” his father asked, grinning at Mrs. Hayden. Fred caught the grin and answered : “You two don’t think it’s serious, but it is.” “Well, son, try to do the thinking before three o’clock, will you?” “The way you talk, dad, you’d think three o’clock was late. You should hear the fellows laugh when I tell them that!” “Oh, they do! Well, let them. But you’re going to get in here before three!” “Oh, if only ,” Fred stopped quickly. “What?” asked his father. “Oh, nothing.” “Say, dad.” “Yes?” “Did you er were you ever in San Diego?” “San Diego! What would I, a man living in Boston, want to be in San Diego for?” his father replied, very much puzzled. “Oh, I don’t know. I thought perhaps you might have gone there on business.” “Well, I haven’t.” “It must be a nice place. Don’t you think?” Fred asked. “How do I know?” “Well, er — just the name, er — makes you think it must be nice.” “Does it?” After breakfast, Fred’s mother took him aside and asked him if he was going out that night. “You know, Fred, it’s Christmas Eve,” she said. “Well, mother. I have to go out for about an hour, but,” he added, seeing the disap- pointed look come into her face, “I’ll be back in time to help you trim the tree.” “You will?” “Absolutely,” he replied and meant it. Fred went off to school, but his mind wasn’t there. He was in San Diego. When the professor asked him for the result of an experiment, Fred gave the population of that city. That evening he rushed home to find that his mother had company. A girl was stand- ing in the living room, her back toward him. She was alone and looking at a photograph of Fred. His parents had taken it while they were vacationing in the South. It showed Fred off to advantage on horseback, making a superb leap over the barriers. “Well, do you think I made it?” he asked, breaking the silence. The girl turned. Fred stared. “You!” “Yes,” she answered his question, “I know you made it by the way you’re gripping the reins.” “You!” he repeated. “Is there anything wrong?” the girl asked politely. “I know I am in riding togs, but I was riding past, and your mother asked me in to dinner,” she explained. “Oh — er — no — there is nothing wrong. I’m sorry,” he stammered. At that moment Fred’s parents entered the room. Both seemed to be in a good mood. Mrs. Hayden came forward to introduce them. During dinner Fred didn’t utter a word. They had coffee in the drawing room. Fred didn’t say a word. “My son is very much interested in your city of San Diego, Miss Boyd,” Mr. Hayden stated. “He is?” her eyes widened. “Well, I shall be delighted to give him information about the city,” she said, looking at Fred with interest. At this, Fred found his power of speech. “You mean it? You’ll really tell me some- thing about your — er — your city?” “Certainly.” “My son is also interested in lectures. Aren’t you, Fred?” asked Mr. Hayden. “Er — yes — er — yes, very much.” “You said you had to go out tonight, Fred,” reminded his mother. “Have you for- gotten?” “Er — no — er mother, I thought, though, that as long as Miss Boyd is here, I might as well take advantage of her kindness and, er — well — after all, it is Christmas Eve. ’ “Yes, it is, but wasn’t the lecture im- portant?” asked his father. “No, not so very.” “Well, George,” said Mrs. Hayden after a while, “let’s leave Miss Boyd and Fred so that she can instruct him as to how to man- age business in San Diego.” “Don’t bother disturbing yourselves,” Miss Boyd replied. “I can teach him with you present.” “Oh, Miss Boyd,” replied Fred, “I am afraid that I can t quite grasp the facts with more than two present!” “Oh, in that case ” “Come on, George, ” “Good night, children.” “Good night.” The clock struck three. Both Mr. and Mrs. Hayden sat up in their armchairs, yawn- ing. Both looked at the clock and then at each other. The father was the first to speak. “Three! and he is home!” “Yes, and we have Miss Boyd to thank for that.” “She’s a nice girl.” “I think that the thing that made Fred stay home tonight more than anything else, was our influence,” said Mrs. Hayden. “Our influence?” asked Mr. Hayden. “I rather think it was the San Diego influence.” Ruth P. Smith, ’32. Sully: “Ought we to take this road to Bridgewater?” Mac: “It isn’t necessary. They’ve got one there now.”

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10 THE ECHO INFLUENCE I HE clock struck three. Both Mr. and Mrs. - Hayden sat up in their armchairs, yawn- ing’. The father was the first to speak. “Three! And he isn’t home yet!” “He’ll be here soon, though, George,” Mrs. Hayden answered soothingly. “Yes, soon! I’ve sat up night after night for the past two weeks, waiting for that boy, and he has never come in once before three o’clock. I’m so worn out that I can’t do my work at the office. I simply yawn all day ! I work all day while my son plays all night! I won’t stand for it!” “Fred is young, George. Don’t forget that,” the mother stated. “I realize he is young, and I do try to treat him as a grown person, but if this sort of thing keeps up, I shall treat him as a child!” “Hush, George, I think I hear his key in the lock,” Mrs. Hayden whispered. “Yes? Well, it’s about time!” “Sh here he comes.” A tall young man, rather good-looking, entered the room. “Good evening, folks,” he greeted them. “Still up? Oh, gee, Mom, you ought to be in bed. You, too, Dad.” “Yes?” his father said sarcastically. “Maybe if you would come home early for a change, we could get to bed!” “Gee, Dad, I just went over to the club. There were a few of the boys there, and, well er, someone suggested a game of cards and, er — I didn’t want to ” “Be a wet blanket, eh?” his father answered. “Right. Well, we kept playing, and I didn ' t notice the time.” “Well, Fred, your mother and I want you to be home before twelve after this. Do you understand?” Mr. Hayden questioned. “Sure, Dad. I promise it won’t happen again.” He started toward the stairs. “Good night, folks,” he said. “Good night, Fred,” his parents replied in unison. Fred went to his room and closed the door. He walked over to his chiffonier and looked at the newspaper picture that he had framed. It was a portrait of a very pretty young girl, dressed in riding togs. Under- neath was written, “Miss Betty Boyd — Pic- ture taken at her Summer home in San Diego”. “Gee,” he murmured, “if only — if only we could move to San Diego!” Fred couldn’t explain to his father that most of the time he spent outside was used in looking up information about San Diego. Fred could tell you what kind of city it was, the population, the different methods of transit, the important industries, the sights worth seeing, etc. He had it all down pat. He undressed slowly and went to bed and suddenly thought that he hadn’t found out anything about the important families of San Diego. “Oh, well, I’ll find out tomorrow night,” he said sleepily. The next night, or rather that night, Fred calmly stated that he was going to a lecture with the boys. “With whom?” asked his father, with emphasis on the whom. “A few of the boys, Dad,” Fred replied. “Where?” “Gordon’s Hall.” “Another lecture?” “Yes. The subject is ‘The Rights of an Airplane Owner’.” “Airplane? You don’t own an airplane.” Mr. Hayden stated. “Er — well, er — that doesn’t matter. Be- sides, I might own one some day.” “I suppose you might as well go,” his father answered. “What time are you ex- pecting to be home?” “Oh, about ten. The lecture will be over at nine-thirty.” “That’s fine, Fred,” said his mother. “Oh, I’ll be home early tonight, mother. Don’t worry about that,” he answered, kiss- ing her. Fred did not come home until after three in the morning. He came down to breakfast to face an irate father. “Don’t tell me that you went over to the club and met a few of the boys. That one is old,” his father interrupted ironically. “Of course I didn’t go to the club. I told you and mother that I was going to a lecture, and I did. When I was coming home, though,

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12 THE ECHO SUCCESS jl IARY Reynaud, a strong, healthy girl of 1UI. twenty with chestnut brown hair and a sturdy body, went about doing her chores, humming or singing. Mary had a strong in- clination to sing, not only at occasional town gatherings but at concerts and at the opera house in New York. But living on a large farm with poor parents never would make her dreams come true. “Mary, for Heaven’s sake, stop that trilling. If you are going to sing, sing right,” said her mother. Mrs. Reynaud was a hard- to-persuade French woman who came to Iowa from Canada, and she did not like music any too well. Mary was subdued for the time being, but still went on thinking of how she would look before a large audience in an opera house. All the time she was sweeping the same spot of the kitchen floor about forty times. The large farm on which the three mem- bers of the Reynaud family lived had three barns, a large rustic farm house, several chicken coops, and a piggery. The furniture was quite antique, rough, and used. Braided rugs covered the whole house, from the din- ing room to the last four bedrooms. The kitchen contained an old iron sink, three straight homemade chairs, and worn, but clean handmade curtains. Mrs. Reynaud was a very industrious and neat person, despite her her none too culti- vated ear for music. At suppertime, just as mother was set- ting the table, and Mary mending socks, Father Reynaud walked in. He was a Frenchman of about sixty-three years, still active, and striving to get along with such a large farm on his hands. He sat down slowly, then began to speak. “Mother,” he said, “I’ve got a few pigs that I would like to sell, but who in this vicinity would want to buy them?” “Perhaps Mr. Harper would buy them. He hasn’t many pigs on his farm,” replied Mary. “Well, I knew if Mr. Harper wanted any more pigs, he would have bought them by this time. He’s wealthy enough,” replied the father. “But there is no harm in trying,” pro- tested Mrs. Reynaud, who finally persuaded Mr. Reynaud that he might be able to in- veigle Mr. Harper to buy his few pigs. The next morning, bright and early, Mary set out in the old horse and wagon to make the sale. Over the rocky road she went. Squeaking pigs and screeching wheels re- sounded loudly in the still spring air. Ar- riving at her destination, Mary was greeted by Mrs. Harper, a good-natured woman, who conducted her to the parlor, and then called to her husband. Mr. Harper entered. He was a bright, jolly, wealthy farmer, about sixty years old. “Well, what can I do for you, young lady?” laughed Mr. Harper. Mary presented her business, and after a few minutes’ contemplation on the part of Harper, he decided that he would like to have a few pigs on that rather “dude” ranch of his. Mr. Harper had taken a liking to Mary. He never had a girl of his own, or for that matter, he never had any children. The wholesomeness of Mary’s smile prompted him to ask her a few personal questions as to her interests and likes. After making the sale, Mary felt just like talking, so she told him all about her desires to become a singer. Mr. Harper listened intently to every word and detail. He thought how nice it would be if he could help her in some way, and why couldn’t he? He had money and was a good friend of the family. But then, there were her proud parents standing in the way. Mary went to sleep that night happy over the encouragement given her by Mr. Harper. For the first time in her life she felt a spark of hope. Three weeks passed. Contentment reigned in the Reynaud family. But contentment did not reign within the soul of Mr. Harper. He had everything, a farm, money, servants, good crops, a good wife, and not a care in the world. Why shouldn’t he make someone else happy? These were the very thoughts of Harper. All during the next afternoon, Harper sat in the old rustic sitting room, trying to make Mary’s parents see that she had her own life to live, and should be given a chance. Mary, victorious, packed her bag and went to New York. In her apartment she prac- tised for five hours each day. She was taking- lessons of one of the best teachers in the city. And under the apt supervision of this teacher, she won several prizes at contests which were held by the pupils. Besides this, she sang at informal gatherings which they held. But now was her big chance. Would she win that position to sing over the radio? Six tried for it. Mary, nervous and anxious, awaited her turn to sing. And did she sing? It was pretty hard judging, but Mary got the prize. In the meantime, the Reynaud family seemed lost without their only daughter. There was no singing or ridiculous trilling. Everything was quiet. Even the cows and pigs seemed to miss her. Mr. Harper visited frequently, seeming more pleasant than ever, if possible. He knew he had done some- thing worth while. He knew that his money wasn’t wasted, from Mary’s frequent letters and from her frequent broadcasts. It sounded impossible. It couldn’t be true. Still she was hearing it with her own ears, that she was wanted to sing in the opera “Carmen” which was to go to Boston in three months. She sat and heard as if in a daze. Her teacher was telling this to her. Mary hurried about wildly, trying to find a piece of paper on which to write the good news to her mother and father and to Mr. Harper. Harper’s letter read quite like this; My dear Mr. Harper, I don’t know how to thank you for your kindness in lending me money. Enclosed