Holbrook High School - Echo Yearbook (Holbrook, MA)

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16 THE ECHO “ONE ROGERS (Excerpts from the log of the Cryptic) Alone ... on a desert island way off in the black blue spaces of a map of the Pacific, Henry Rogers stood on a rocky promontory, an arm stretched out in vain appeal to that small gray sail that was fast diminishing on the horizon. Wheeling birds scolded shrilly, and small brown monkeys scattered impotently at the human figure crumpled so hopelessly on th« rocks. Hours later when the vertical sun had turned the sea from deep blue to green and was making the shore a hot white dazzle, Rogers stirred and, cursing, betook himself to the shade of a few cocoanut palms in a manner saying, “Well, it’s all up now, but I might as well die in comfort.” Here with his back to a tree, his chin on his chest, he disconsolately reviewed his trip on that dis- reputable coastwise steamer which he had, to his present sorrow, discovered to be a modern pirateer. Futilely he questioned why he had not agreed, with mental reservations, to become one of them; fool that he was, he had not conceived it possible for them to carry out their threats. A brilliant orchid and sulphur sunset passed unnoticed; a moon as glowing as a New England harvest moon spent the night in attendance on the myriad “angels lan- terns” without recognition from that pitiful figure; the mist-blue and tangerine of sun- rise brought only a fretful sleep for human troubles. Noonday, however, awoke him with seething heat and myriad flies. Grumblingly changing position, he re- awakened to his condition, the meagre store of provisions, and the smallness of all mankind. Seeing that his little bit of ammunition was dangerously close to the water, he stretched with a great cracking of joints and secured them in some pride of possession. With a few more prodigious yawns he proceeded to explore his “teaspoonful of sand and patch of green twigs.” The only thing of promise in the whole island was the fruitful cluster of cocoanut palms which adorned the top of the little hill. How the monkeys ever got there was a lasting wonder What would soon become of them was not. That answer was applicable also to the numerous sea birds which rose in such squawking, feathery panic at his approach. Rogers took a cyni- cal pleasure in calculating how many birds and cocoanuts it woul d take for a man to exist “in this dismal hole.” . . . . LOST” Day after day dawned and set in glitter- ing magnificence until that poor shelterless soul cursed the sun, the sea, the island, but chiefly himself. Hour after hour he spent in wandering around the beach when cool, dig- ging for shell fish; hour after heated hour he spent sitting in the narrow, changing- shade of his three palms, talking to himeslf, reciting his grievances, planning wild, hair- brained vengeances. Then one day he found gold as he was idly scratching in the sand — good-sized glit- tering particles all over the place ; why, that was what gave the beach that bright dazzle at noonday. His island was rich! His inac- tive life was now filled with a great purpose ; he worked zealously in the dim of morning, sweated in the midday brightness, and plugged slowly but steadily through the afternoon until faintness made him stop for rest. He filled three great sand hollows at the foot of the palms, lined them with bird feathers to protect his treasure. Each night before he slept he worshipped this shimmer- ing, glinting mass with standard ritual — plunging his arms elbow deep into the pits, bringing up handfuls to drop through his fingers again in a glancing cascade of moon- made magic, and finally covering it up with feverish, furtive halts as if the dozing mon- keys were enemies of his love. Months later, as he straightened from his work to rest his back and wipe the sweat from his bearded face, he noticed far out on the horizon a drift of faint smoke. This ecstatic joy broke the remnants of his once powerful will, the final restraint of his gold fever, and sent him, screaming, across the rocky promontory, urged him to tie his tattered shirt on a pole and wave it fran- tically, and supported him as the steamer gradually assumed a clearer shape on the horizon. Steadily nearer it seemed to come, nearer, just a little nearer, and then slowly receded from view again. That gray cloud of smoke, once seeming to have waved in friendly greeting, was now a mocking, sarcastic fin- ger pointed in demoniacal glee at the futile man. The sun was again the weapon of Satan, the palm trees were a “couple of sticks,” the island of gold was a “teaspoon of sand.” Even the gray sea birds and the now lone monkey voiced no sympathy for that pros- trate, broken form alone on the rock. Ruth Hill, ’34. A gum chewing boy A cud chewing cow Seem to me Alike somehow. A difference there is, Oh — I see it now— It’s the thoughtful look On the face of the cow.

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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!

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THE ECHO 17 A MATTER OF DETERMINATION “No, you cannot go to college, Claire Whitney. You know perfectly well that you’d never get anywhere because you are just like your Aunt Harriet on your father’s side. Now, my people were always sure of making good, for they all have good stuff in them,” argued the determined mother. And the determined daughter argued back sensibly for her own sake. “Yes, but what has Aunt Harriet got to do with it? How can I help what she did or didn’t do? She has more money than all your relatives together. She must have had some brains to get that!” Claire Whitney was a small blue-eyed blond with a pale oval face and a small feminine nose. Claire didn’t have to be large in stature to get what she wished. She had many faithful friends, and she was extremely popular in her section of the city of Boston. Everyone, except her mother, seemed to like her and to overlook her few faults. This resolute young lady, ever since she had been graduated from high school a month before, had argued almost continu- ally on the subject of going to college in the fall, but to no avail. Mrs. Whitney re- solved that she shouldn’t go, and Claire re- solved that she would go. Something had to happen because neither would give in to the other. Claire was getting perfectly disgusted with everyone except Bill Rodney. He was a dark curly-haired young man who always looked perfectly charming and who was very popular with the members of the opposite sex. Bill was spending the summer at Bos- ton near the Whitney home getting rested for the coming college year at New York. When Claire brought the subject before him for his opinion, he had said earnestly and not without meaning, “You had better marry me immediately and come to New York with me. I can get some kind of job that will sup- port us, and you’ll at least get away from your mother’s nagging. The “Mater” prob- ably wouldn’t think much of it, but what should that matter? “And then pleadingly when he thought that she was going to re- fuse, “Why, Claire, you know we would be perfectly happy together. And didn’t you say that you had an aunt there? Why, you’d even have one of your relatives real near. Please, Claire, I want to see you happy!” “Bill dear, be sensible. Marrying you and going to New York would not get me to col- lege, and that’s where I’m going. Besides, I wouldn’t live in New York anyway if I did get married, and I probably never shall get married anyhow,” she declared haughtily. However, she did not realize then that she would be on her way to New York in a very few days. The next night as she lay on her bed look- ing at the rose papered walls and the white ceiling, she decided her future and happiness. She would go to college! She would go to New York tomorrow morning to this aunt whom she so greatly resembled, and to this aunt whom they said she would always be like! Yes, that was the only way. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? She would go through with her plans, too. Mother or no mother, she did not care now. When she finally fell asleep, she dreamed of New York, a grand and glorious city with broad streets and high massive buildings. She could see herself walking down “the great white way” happy and carefree. She awakened with a start. What would Bill think? And he lived in New York, too. She could never face him, but after all New York was a large place. Claire silently packed her bag with all her necessities. She would take only a few things, and then she would send for her trunk later. It was a beautiful day, so she would go from Boston by boat. She had never been on a long boat trip, and it was sure to prove exciting. After breakfast she descended the red carpeted stairway with a black leather suit- case in one hand, a pocketbook and hat box in the other. She walked with a uniform step to the kitchen where her mother was wash- ing dishes and said in a dignified voice, “I am going to live with Aunt Harriet since I am as much like her. I should think we would get along very nicely together.” Mrs. Whitney stood glued to the floor. When she finally regained her voice, she yelled, “Why, you foolish child, she wouldn’t give a cat room enough to sleep comfort- ably!” But her daughter didn’t hear it. She was well on her way. Claire walked down Atlantic Avenue to the boat-pier with her head held high. Anyone might have thought that she owned the whole sidewalk or even the whole street. After paying her fare out of the small savings that she had, she boarded the boat. It was a thrill because she had never been on such a boat before. It was like a mansion. She walked into the tiny stateroom which she thought was necessary to get, and put down her bags. All day aboard the boat did not prove as exciting as she anticipated. Every time she sat down she suddenly became afraid for herself at what she had done. Maybe her aunt wouldn’t want her to live with her and would turn her away from her door. What would she do then? She certainly wouldn’t have) money enough to live for more than a week in an expensive city like New York. But she wouldn’t go back to her mother. These thoughts that ran through her mind were not at all encouraging. The boat pulled easily and gracefully into New York harbor. Claire’s knees were shak- ing and knocking together. She managed to push forward and to be one of the first off. A taxi drove her up to a wonderful apart- ment house on Park Avenue, and in her ex- ultation she handed the cabman a bill in a