Holbrook High School - Echo Yearbook (Holbrook, MA)

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14 THE ECHO of money and g’ood times. You know, dear, that can’t last forever. It all turns out just like that. Her money has gone, her good times, and most of her life.” “Oh, mother, do you think I can help her in any way? Isn’t there something I can do?” pleaded Sue. “No, dear. I’m afraid not,” Mrs. Loring answered quickly. After a long pause Sue straightened up and smiled. “Well, mother, I may as well tell you that I will marry Jerry Carr if he asks me to. You see I was going to give up my position and run off with that wealthy Tom Boyce. I see my mistake now. Mother, and I know how foolish I was to think of such a thing. Going with Ruth and watch- ing her have a good time, plenty of money, and a beautiful car; well, it just made me blue,” explained Sue as she combed her black wavy hair. “I should be thankful I have a friend like Jerry Carr, and a position so I can pay you and Dad back for what you gave me,” pouted Sue. “Jerry has graduated from a clerk in the Home National Bank to the Vice President, and is now building a beautiful home for you, dear,” smiled Mrs. Loring with large expressive eyes as she hugged her daughter and said “Well, how do, Jerry, have you come for Mrs. Carr?” Kathleen Eldridge. A FRIEND “For goodness sakes. Rosy, will you stop that baby’s screeching?” yelled Mrs. Bran- ley from the porch where she was reposing in a lounging chair, reading a magazine, and munching on expensive chocolates. “I’m doing the very best I can, madam,” (Mrs. Branley always required Rose to call her this) answered Rose almost in tears. “Why must she call me that dreadful name when she knows I hate it so?” she sobbed to herself as she rocked the baby back and forth, doing everything in her power to quiet her. This unfortunate lass was a pretty but delicate girl of fourteen years. She had never known the care and love of a mother and believed her father to be lost at sea. But Rose was no squealer and always did her duty, never complained nor fretted over the unfortunate life which was hers. However, nearly every night her pillow would be wet with hot tears, for this young lady wanted to become a great piano player like her dad and was deprived of this privilege by her most disagreeable and selfish mistress. Mrs. Branley had a piano, but she always kept it locked and hid the key, for she detested any kind of music and especially (as she called it) “Rosy’s hammering.” Rose knew where the key was, but she didn’t dare to touch it as she received whippings enough for things that she didn’t do without forcing another on herself. One night, however, when Mrs. Branley had gone out to a meeting. Rose could no longer resist the temptation, and after getting Maureen tucked snugly in bed, she went to her shabby but spotless room, where she unearthed the three cherished pieces given to her by her ever glorious daddy. From thence, she made her way to the attic, and finding the key, proceeded to unlock and dust off the beloved instrument. Next, she seated herself on a wooden box and opened the well-worn sheets of music. Slow- ly but surely she fingered the keys, and when at last she had finished her first piece, she was crying so hard from sheer happiness that she did not at first hear the baby howl- ing. When, however, she did become aware of the fact, another, an d this a more alarm- ing sound, reached her panic-stricken senses. She whirled around to see Mrs. Branley with a dangerous looking whip in her long hand and an expression on her hard, set face that would frighten the bravest of all creatures. Rose cried herself to sleep again that night, “kicking” herself over and over again for having given in to her emotions. She was awakened the next morning by a loud rap on the door, and then a key turning in the old rusty lock. Her mistress, by the way, locked the poor girl in her room each night and unlocked the door at five o’clock sharp each morning as a signal for Rose to get up. “Here is a letter addressed to you. Rosy,” grumbled the selfish old woman as she stood on the threshold and hurled it across the room towards Rose. “Thank you,” replied the latter court- eously as she proceeded to pick it up and open it. “Oh my heavens!” exclaimed our little friend as she read the letter through the first time. Then, not being able to believe her own eyes, she read it a second time pausing for a few seconds on each word so that it might sink in. She even pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming, for these were the words she read. 66 Parker Avenue, Paris, France. June 6, 1930. My dear Rose, As your legal guardian, I have at last suc- ceeded in locating you and am coming to you as fast as a boat from France will carry me. I hope you are well. I can’t wait to see you and tell you of the great fortune left to you by your dear departed Dad. A sincere friend, Mr. Anthony Gaston. Hesitantly, Rose put the miracle back into its envelope, still only half realizing its meaning. “What’s it say?” barked Widow Branley sharply.

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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

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THE ECHO 15 “You may read it if you wish,” answered the bewildered girl politely as she offered it to her. The former obeyed, and as she too slowly replaced the letter, in a fit of rage shouted, “Well, he needn’t think he’s going to take you away from me for nothing. Haven’t I clothed and fed you for over five years? Does he think that I can get another girl who’ll do my work for nothing?” Rose flinched at this as she thought of the scanty clothing which had covered her skinny body and of the many nights she had been sent to bed without any supper. Never- theless, she bravely stood her ground and replied, “He’s my legal guardian. Madam, and I am going to do whatever he thinks best.” “The madam” started to speak, but, thinking better of it, turned around and stamped out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Rose was left in a daze and wished with all her heart she could remain in bed for a little while longer and concen- trate on this most exciting message. But she well knew what would happen if she wasn’t up on time to get breakfast and ’tend to Maureen, So, out of bed she hopped and in a twinkling was on her way downstairs. Deftly and quietly she worked all morning, washing clothes, dishes and the kitchen floor, ironing and sewing, each minute fear- ing that Mrs. Branley would appear, and the storm would break again. But luck seemed to be with her, for it was not long after she had succeeded in getting Maureen interested with her blocks that the telephone rang. This call turned out to be a luncheon invita- tion for her mistress. The latter accepted it, for this meant that she wouldn’t have to buy a noon meal that day. “The baby can eat the soup that’s in the ice-box, and if you can scrape anything up, you may have it. Don’t you dare to touch the pudding that’s in the pantry, or you’ll wish you hadn’t.” Such were her parting- words to Rose. When at last Rose’s duties were all per- formed, she with the baby on her arm, hur- riedly climbed the two flights of rickety stairs to her forlorn little room up in the attic. Her heart was singing merrily as she mounted the stairs and entered her room. Placing Maureen down on her cot, she reread for the fifth time the wonderful letter. This happy little girl was soon awakened from her day dreaming, however, by a loud rap on the front door of the house. Thank- ing her lucky stars Mrs. Branley wasn’t at home, for she well knew what would happen to anyone she caught knocking at her front door. Rose descended the stairs. Upon open- ing the door, she was greeted with a cheery — “Hello. I say, are you Rose Brinton?” “Why, yes,” stammered the startled maiden, “I am.” “So you’re the lucky little mistress of Sunnylake. Well, well, I sure am glad to meet you,” this from the stranger as he ex- tended his hand toward Rose. This stricken little lady listened to this marvelous man as he related to her the story of her father’s death and of the mansion which she now was in command of. “Here,” he said as he finished, “this is a note for you written by your Dad on his death bed. She took it from him, her tiny hand trembling, and her flushed face covered with tears. She read — My darling daughter, I am writing to you as I draw my last breath. Be faithful to your music for your mother’s sake until you succeed, and pray to God that one day we may all be united in the other world. Good-bye and good luck to you, my loved one. With all my love, Dad. The next day saw Rose on the train from Greenville, with all its disappointment, to France, her home land, speeding along to happiness and success with her sympathetic and watchful guardian at her side. Grace Kelly, ’34. R. Hagg: “I’ve got to design a hot-dog stand, what would you suggest as material?” Joe Mack: “A rustic affair of dogwood covered with bark.” The human brain is a wonderful organ. It starts working as scon as we wake in the morning, and never stops till we get to school. Mr. Walsh: “I will now use my hat to rep- resent the planet Mars. Are there any questions before I go on?” Daley: “Yes, is Mars inhabited?” This verse does not mean a thing It’s merely here for volume I simply copied this gol-darned thing To fill up this gosh darned column. — Exchange. Lucas: “I want a pair of corduroy pa nts.” Salesman: “How long?” Lucas: “How long? I don’t want to rent them, I want to buy them.” Doctor: “Did you sleep with two windows open as I told you?” Sick One: “No, I have only one window, but I opened it twice.” Mr. Neal: “Are you the kind of a worker that watches the clock?” Maxham: “No, Sir, I have a wrist watch.” Miss Maguire: “What does transparent mean ?” F. Roberts: “Something you can see through.” Miss Maguire: “Yes, and give me an illus- tration.” F. Roberts: “A Doughnut!