Holbrook High School - Echo Yearbook (Holbrook, MA)

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12 THE ECHO that night on a homemade wooden cot, “we can live on rabbit meat for a day or two, then — oh, well, why try to cross a bridge be- fore you come to it.” The next day Bob was in bed with a fever. Many times he tried to get up, but his shoulder pained him, and he became dizzy. Once he reached the cupboard where he had a barrel of water and some salted rabbit meat put away. He brought a pail of water and a little rabbit meat to his bedside. His shoulder pained him, and it felt as if a fire were burning on it. He knew the fever was caused by this wound being infected. Bob knew that Dago could catch live rabbits and get plenty of water from brooks, so he did not worry about him. For two days Bob was delirious, and on the third day when he came to his senses, Dago was by his bedside. Bob tore a page from a book by his bedside and wrote: Dear Pat, I forgive you for what you have done to me and all you have said about me. I am very sick. Will you please come and bring a little food and medicine? If you are afraid to come, send someone. Please! Bob. He tied this note to Dago’s collar and told him to go find Pat. About three hours later Pat came tramp- ing into Bob’s cabin. “Huh! Now I guess I can marry Ellen Joel. I’ll tell her you fell for a California dame and married her for her money. You ain’t got no money, and if you did, you’d never be able to spend it. You’re dying. I caji see death in your face. I ain’t got no money either, but I can steal a little here and there; then I’ll marry Ellen. We have to be back by October. Well, you’ll never be there. You want food; here, take this boot; it‘s full of dirt from the back of ■my cabin.” As he said this, he threw the boot at Bob in bed. Pat left the cabin say- ing, “Good-by. I’m leaving for New York tonight.” Dago went to jump at Pat, but Pat kicked him, and Dago rolled back on the floor. Two days later Bob’s condition was very much improved, and he could walk about the cabin. He started to sweep up the dirt which had fallen out of Pat Moley s boot. “Look!” he cried, pointing at the dirt on the floor, and falling on his knees to examine it more closely, “It is, it’s — it is gold !” Dago, now able to walk for the first time since he was knicked by Pat, barked and understood Bob. Six days later Bob and Dago had dug all the gold from Pat Moley’s place and were on their way home. Rich — they knew they were richer than Pat Moley, and Bob knew Ellen Joel would soon be Mrs. Robert Mason. R. Stanley, ’34. A girl is like a pencil. You should have one of your own and not try to borrow the other fellow’s. SUMNER HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEARTS See all the sweethearts of Sumner High, As arm in arm they pass you by! First, comes Edith Killen, so shy. Leaning on the arm of that Mel Smith guy. Look who’s coming right along here — Marion and Pitts. Well, aren’t they dear? Well, Romance simply fills the air. Aren’t Bob and Grace the loving pair? Helen and Kenneth tag along. Singing together “Love’s old sweet song.” Bill Clooney and Dot Hobart pass us by. Why does Bill give that great, big sigh ? Now Junie comes with his girl, not bad. She’s Carol Coulter of Sumner a grad. Next, Rita and Mullin sidle by. They’re in love; you can tell by the look in each eye. Here is Lucas strolling along; With all those girls he can’t go wrong. Now comes Leslie and Louis Mehl. They’re in love. He thinks she’s swell. Eleanor Hall and Kempton, too. See him gaze into her eyes so blue. Who’s this girl with her beau coming over the hill? Well, I declare, it’s Peggy and Dr. Pill. (We mean Alfred, Peggy dear, fancy see- ing you two here.) And now we have two Freshmen names. Vivian Kemp and little James. We can’t spell your last name, Jimmie dear, But Vivian can, so don’t you fear. There are many more who are awfully cute; But we don’t want on our hands a libel suit. For we’re seeing each lass blush like a rose. We hope we’ve not hurt any one. Come on be a good sport! It’s all in fun! The Gossiper! Miss Megley: Define an adult. Taylor: An adult is a person who has stopped growing on either end and has started to grow in the middle. (Taken from a magazine) Miss Megley: “Chandler, give me a sen- tence using “satiate.” Tabe: “I took Marion Davison on a picnic, and I’ll satiate quite a lot.” Chase: “If a man smashed a clock, could he be accused of killing time?” Whitcomb : “Not if he could prove that the clock struck first.”

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THE ECHO 11 “You’re showing me how hopeless it is, Sheila, but I couldn’t let you be cooped up in a convent. No, never.” “Oh, quit the cave-man act, and let’s try to puzzle things out,” said Sheila smiling into Don’s clouded eyes and set lips. “But how? You, yourself, just gave every reason why things are hopeless for us.” “No, I didn’t. You know my Dad is a great out-door man. He just loves sports. If you could redeem yourself in the football game, tomorrow, I’m sure he’d let me go with you and at least postpone my visit to the convent. Dad really likes you, Don, only he thinks you’ve got too many high ideas. After all if he could see you pull your team through to a close game, I’m sure he’d change his feelings. I could persuade him to see the team.” Sheila had been watching the fellow’s face with eagerness and wit- nessed the change in his features. He had accepted her challenge. She knew he’d carry it through. The players were all ready. The blue col- ored flag of Yale was flashing throughout the stadium as Don wearing the same color, led the fellows on the field in a run. What a cheer! Flags and pennants arose fer- vently. The game was a close one. The score was tie. Everyone was excited. Only half a minute to play. One touchdown would sure- ly determine the winner. The ball was kicked along the path of Bill Troy. He stepped aside. Don caught it and ran. Faster and faster he went down the field. Hie tripped and fell — just over the goal line. The gun went off. The game was over. Don had made a touchdown. He had carried out Sheila’s plans, but he knew it was through a true pal, that he was able to redeem himself. Edna Magee, ’34. GOLD The rain beat heavily down on Bob Mason, a young man, slight, tall, and well built, who was stooping over a pan which he kept dip- ping into the clear bubbling water of a tiny stream. Suddenly out of the rain and wind a rifle shot echoed up and down the valley. Bob dropped face down into the stream, now scarlet red. The next day found Bob in his little shanty by the stream, his dog. Dago, rapping his furry tail up and down on the rough floor of the one room. Bob spoke, “You saved my life. Dago, by pulling me out of the stream when I fainted from that shot in the shoulder yesterday, and you deserve more meat, but the cupboard is bare. Who shot me? Was it Moley?” “Arft,” (yes in the dog language) barked the collie. “That skunk; I’ll get even,” he said as he rose from the plain wooden bench where he was sitting, looking at a picture of Ellen Joel. “ ‘ Play fair. And the one who comes back the richest before two years I’ll marry.’ Those were her words. Dago, and now fifteen months have passed. I can see her as she said those words to Pat Moley and me. I wish you could see her. Dago; she is about five feet five, is thin, has dark hair and blue eyes.” Both Bob Mason and Pat Moley loved Ellen Joel. Ellen promised she would marry the one who came back to her the richest in two years. It was 1849, and the California coast was being searched by thousands in hope that they could get some of that yellow metal called gold. Both Pat Moley and Bob started for the “Land of Gold,” as it was advertised by steamship companies. Pat stole and hitch-hiked his way to save money; Bob’s conscience kept him straight. To hinder Bob, Pat often blamed crimes on him, but Bob never could be proved guilty. Pat, knowing that drinking was not allowed on the ship which took them by way of Cape Horn to California, tried many times to dis- solve liquor in Bob’s food and coffee. A drunkard was thrown overboard on a raft in punishment for drinking. Bob was shot at once before, but luck was with him, and he was not scratched. He knew it was Pat Moley who shot him the first time because when he looked around, he saw him sneaking through the bushes with a rifle in his hands. Pat Moley was about Bob’s age, around twenty-six. He was sneaking and dishonest in his ways. Side by side they reminded one of Mutt and Jeff. Bob was tall, and Pat very short. Both were good looking and always neat. Bob never wrote anything about Pat in his letters to Ellen, knowing that if he did write anything of Pat’s crooked ways, Ellen would not believe him because back in New York Pat was a model young man. Two days after Bob was shot, with his arm in a sling, which he made himself out of an old shirt, he and faithful Dago went out in search of berries. It had stopped rain- ing for the first time in nine days. Bob had just a little rabbit meat in his cabin and no other food. He could not hunt for any birds or animals because his shoulder pained him when he tried to shoot a gun. After search- ing for two or three hours, he concluded that the rain, which had fallen so heavily for the last week or so, must have knocked all the berries off the bushes. Bob could not buy food from any store because the nearest vil- lage was twenty-five miles away. Pat was Bob’s only neighbor within twenty miles, and he would not dare go near Pat. “Well, Dago,” said Bob as he went to bed

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THE ECHO 13 A CHASE After twenty-two years of laughing at life out of gay, joyous eyes and of turning up a small nose at difficulties, Sue Loring was in revolt. She was sick of pounding the keys of a typewriter for twenty-five dollars a week, sick of the street on which she lived, sick of buying things at sales. Ruth Blake had often said, “Don’t be a fool. With your looks and the way you can wear clothes.” But those clear eyes of Sue’s had been too honest. An evening with Tom Boyce or with Jerry Carr had never been measured in terms of how much the theatre tickets and the dinner had cost. She had never dug for what she could get. And now, after twenty-two years, she sud- denly decided she had been a fool, and it was time to wake up and be practical. It was Ruth’s articocratic blue roadster and dresses outside the reach of her purse that decided her. A year ago Ruth had walked out of the office and had married money. “Well,” Sue demanded of herself bluntly, “what was wrong with money?” The question was more than a brilliant inquiry and marked the moment when she definitely decided to become Mrs. Thomas Boyce and went through the mental motions of shutting Jerry Carr out of her life. The day was sticky and humid. Usually, when the office closed at noon on Saturday, she was tired from cleaning up the loose ends of a week’s work. This Saturday had been worse than the average, with a sales conference on in the office and the buzzer on her desk calling insistently. She waited in the glare of a downtown corner and let three crowded buses go past, and then the aristocratic blue roadster slid into the curb. “Hop in,” Ruth called. She hadn’t seen Ruth since her marriage. The windshield was up, and a breeze fanned her cheeks with a grateful coolness. She studied the other girl. “Well?” Ruth demande d, quite sure of her- self. “You look ten years younger,” Sue told her. “Don’t pour syrup on old friends.” Ruth chided. But she was pleased. A traffic light turned red. They halted in a line of cars, and a bus rode to a stop be- side them, its motor sending out waves of heat and the odor of burnt oil. “Ugh!” Ruth made a grimace. “How can people live in that, packed in and stepped on? Oh, I know I used to ride that way twice a day. I couldn’t now. Not again. “You’re spoiled,” Sue said. Ruth agreed. “And how I love it?” she smiled. “Who wouldn’t,” Sue wondered. Even the dress that Ruth wore, inconspicuous and and severely plain, spoke of money. “Has the office been getting big-hearted?” Ruth asked. FOR GOLD “They gave me a two-dollar increase last spring.” At the time it had seemed a windfall; now it was insignificant. They wormed through a congested square. Once free of traffic, the car picked up speed. Sue’s finger touched the glass that covered the instrument board. “What make is it, Ruth? “A Cadillac. So they gave you a two-dol- lar raise? Same old pikers, aren’t they? If they paid you what you’re worth, you could get ' a small car. Ever thought of buying one?” Sue’s nose crinkled. “Can a poor girl,” she demanded, “get one on her looks?” “I got this one,” Ruth said calmly. Traf- fic held them again. “Still stepping around with that Jerry Carr?” “Sometimes.” “After all the advice I gave you? Won’t you ever learn?” This time Sue’s hand caressed the rich upholstery. “I think I have learned.” she said. Ruth let her out at her corner. As Tom Boyce’s wife she could have a car. The street danced with heat, but she found it exciting to speculate about the car she would buy. It would be a Cadillac, of course. Through the screened door at the side of the house she saw her father in the kitchen. His thin gray hair was in disorder, his sleeves were rolled up, and in his rapt eye was the look of fhe amateur tinkering with unaccustomed tools. “Hello, honey.” He fitted a wrench to a nut. “It’s that confounded leak again. Won’t be long.” He raised his voice. “Sue’s home, mother.” There was a step in the hall, and Mrs. Loring came in to the room. It occurred to the girl that she had never seen her mother other than quiet, poised, smiling, and con- tented. “Tired, Sue?” “Sunk, The office went hay-wire today.” She leaned against the door. “Well, Sue, I s uppose you have heard the news,” asked Mrs. Loring, handing her tired daughter the paper. Sue glanced at the paper and then sud- denly staggered to her room. “Is it true? Oh, it can’t be. Why, if it were, she would have told me,” cried Sue. “Ruth and her husband have been sent to prison for the selling of liquor and gambling, also for the murder of a well known lawyer,” murmured Sue. “Mother,” cried Sue, “come quick!” “This can’t be true,” she whispered. “Why I just left Ruth about an hour ago, and she was just as happy as ever.” “Happy as ever. Sue; why she was never happy and never will be,” replied Mrs. Loring. “Ruth has lived a wild life with plenty