Holbrook High School - Echo Yearbook (Holbrook, MA)

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18 THE ECHO daze and ran up the steps. The next she real- ized she was in a luxurious apartment, and there was a withered old lady dressed in black silk looking at her and asking, “What did you come for? You’re Seth Whitney’s daughter, aren’t you? “Why, yes, I’m Claire Whitney, and I’ve come to live with you if you’ll have me!” “What? You’ve come to live with me? Why, what on earth drove you to this? You must be pretty hard up for a place to stay. Did you have a fight with some foolish young ox and were fool enough to run away from him? I can’t see what girls want with those fickle young men!” “No, Aunt Hlarriet, I came of my own accord. I know a lovely young man, but he isn’t fickle. He’s just the nicest . . But she couldn’t finish; Aunt Harriet was to anxious to talk. “Then, that mother of yours has told you about your resembling me and has nagged you, so that you have come here to spite her,” she guessed, “and it’s about time you did something sensible. I don’t know why on earth that brother of mine ever married such a maniac. That certainly proves that men are fickle.” A week latter found Claire comfortably settled with her aunt and with a promise of going to college in the fall. After Claire had left Boston, Bill Rodney suddenly decided to go back to New York for the rest of the summer. He had planned to stay another month, but he said that he thought it was just as well to go home and get ready for college. On arriving in New York, he speedily went to Mrs. Whitney’s apartment. Claire was home alone and answered the bell doubtfully. She turned deathly white as he stood imploring her with his eyes. She hadn’t hoped to see him again. “Claire, you little darling. You’re the most determined girl I know. Someday it will not lead you to such a happy ending. But why did you do it without telling me?” “Bill, forgive me, please. You know it had to be.” It was a long story that story of hers, and his was equally as long, for a few weeks are very long to lovers. She was in his arms and contented at last ! That question that proceeds many happy and prosperous marriages was on his lips. “Will you marry me now, darling? You’re in New York, you know.” “Oh, Bill, you know I will but-but . . .” “Oh, there are no buts to it at all! I’m so happy to know you will mar ry me,” as he whirled her around the room. “But as I was saying when you interrupted me. I’ll have to go to college first. After all, that’s what I came to get, but the day col- lege closes I’m yours, all yours. And to think we’ll be going to the same college together only you’ll be a year ahead of me.” And they both went to college and lived all the hours of the four years planning for that lovely June day when they should be man and wife. Dorothy Hobart, ’34. On the sidewalk stood a man While past him little children ran. Both men and women passed this day, But not a glance they cast his way. The man was cold, and hungry too, But still it seemed that no one knew. His face was pinched, so blue and cold; His faded coat was patched and old. His shoes were old and much worn too. In fact, the soles were nearly through. But head held high, and chin out thrust, He swore he’d get some food or bust. And in a room so cold and bare. His wife and children needed care. He knew they’d pray ’til he returned And eagerly ask how much he’d earned. The price of food was low indeed. But extra high to those in need. This man submerged in thoughts so drear Felt some one tap him from the rear. “Now please don’t lie,” the stranger said, “But have your children all been fed? Have you a place to sleep and eat? And is your home supplied with heat?” The poor man felt as paupers do And quickly looked down at his shoe. He knew this man would offer aid. Such aid that could not be repaid. The stranger sensed his thoughts and spoke, “It is no sin. Sir, to be broke. I can’t do much. I’ll give you five To help you keep your folks alive.” Appropriate words could not be found. The poor man uttered not a sound. But thought as he grasped the hand of this man, “If I can’t repay, I know God can.” Thelma Nickerson, ’33. Miss Maguire: Everyone has two hundred bones in his body . . . Hagg (interrupting) : I haven’t, I have two hundred and four bones. Miss Maguire: Why, what do you mean? Hagg: I had fish for supper last night. Mr. Walsh: What was Columbus’ motto? MacKay: More miles to the galleon. Bob Martin: Don’t you file your nails? K. Walsh: No, I cut them off and then throw them away. Mr. Walsh: “What happened in 1483?” Olsen: “Luther was born.” Mr. Walsh: “Good. Now in 1487? Olsen (Still more brightly) : “Luther was four years old.”

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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

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THE ECHO 19 JUST A HAYSEED “Now what?” exclaimed Ted in a loud voice to himself, as he stood gaping about him, his well-framed body causing people to turn around and look at him. “Whew, there’s nothin’ like this in Bloomingvale. That sta- tion there is sixty times as big as Izzy Micken’s place ever thought o’ bein’.” The idlers about the station examined him amusedly. His hands were in his pockets, his well-groomed head was cocked to one side, and his clothes were so ill-fitted and so poorly harmonizing in colors that no won- der he attracted attention. With a quick, long-strided, unmilitary step he stamped into Pennsylvania Station directly into the waiting room. Looking neither to the right nor left, he slouched into the first seat available with a deep sigh. His straw suit- case he placed between his knees so that no one could snatch it. New York, he had been wisely informed, was full of thieves. “What shall I do, and where shall I go?” he asked himself, when suddenly he became aware of an immaculately dressed young woman sitting beside him. Her merry blue eyes were gazing quizzically at him. With a jerk that almost pushed the seat over, he sprang into a sitting position and grabbed a much worn hat off his dark curls. “How-de-do?” he asked with a great ef- fort. His mother had taught him to be polite to ladies. “How do you do?” she answered in quite a pleasantly husky voice. “Here is someone that might be able to tell me where I c’d find myself a boarding house,” he meditated. “A-er-mm-a I-I don’t know yer name, but couldja’ tell me where I c’d find something to throw my bones into?” He betrayed his country even more by talk- ing. “My name is Jacqueline Ames, and I’m sure I could help you find a room. As a mat- ter of fact, the woman with whom I board might be able to let you have a room at quite a reasonable price,” noticing that he looked honest “What is your name?” “My name? Ah, it’s — it’s Teddy Jeemson.” He was becoming thoroughly embarrassed before this wonderful person. Just then a tall young man walked to Jac- queline and murmured, “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” “Oh, I’ve been having a wonderful time. Bud,” she explained while looking at Ted, who immediately blushed to a brilliant red and envied Bud’s flawless manner and cloth- ing. “This is Ted Jeemson who is coming to live at Mrs. Mackay’s.” Bud lifted a well plucked eyebrow in his survey of Ted. A scorn, barely perceptible to a stranger, flicked on his face. Arriving at the boarding house, Mrs. Mackay immediately put the newcomer at ease. Bob, Mrs. Mackay’s son, danced around the young man, scrutinizing him on all sides. While showing him one of the rooms, she informed him, “This room is fifteen dollars a week and two meals a day included in the same price, breakfast and dinner. Breakfast from seven to eight; din- ner, five to seven.” Ted, with five hundred dollars in his pos- session, decided he’d pay anything to be near Jacqueline. “I’ll take it,” and he handed over a week’s board in advance. That evening as Bob knew that Ted wasn’t going anywhere, he went to him shyly. Ted, guessing what he wanted, inquired, “Yer want that I should read to yer?” “If you will, please,” he sighed relievedly. An hour sped on wings, with Bob drowsing in Ted’s lap. Jacqueline and Bud Flanagan came in noisily and cast a surprised glance at Ted and Bob. Ted’s tongue became glued to the roof of his mouth; not a word could he utter. “Please continue reading,” begged Jac- queline, “we won’t disturb you.” “I reckon I’ve done enough readin’ tonight. It’s about my bedtime, anyhow.” And he rushed out of the room, angry tears swelling in his eyes at his own bashfulness. Why couldn’t he be as calm and collected as that Flanagan fellow? Before falling asleep, he resolved to be- come as well poised as Bud so that Jacque- line might send him some of the admiring- looks that she was always giving Bud. Immediately after breakfast next morn- ing he went out, coming back about an hour later. He walked straight into the drawing- room and commenced reading. Jacqueline’s curiosity was so aroused that she tiptoed be- hind his chair to see what had so absorbed his interest. “Don’t mumble names when introducing people. “Don’t interrupt conversation to make an introduction. “Don’t if you’re a gentleman, exhibit let- ters from ladies.” “Oh,” escaped her lips before she could prevent it. Ted jumped up as one shot. Jac- queline became confused and hurriedly stam- mered, “I’m sorry I frightened you, but I thought you were reading a murder story by the manner in which you were so keenly in- terested.” “Oh-a-I was only tryin’ to do a lititle studyin’. Yer see I didn’t have any founda- tion in this kind of thing before I left home,” he said humbly, his eyes downcast. At once her heart went out to him. “I could try to do my best by correcting your grammar and by suggesting to you the choice of clothing.” Appreciation lit up his eyes, but he couldn’t express it in words. He only mumbled, “Thank yer.” So then the drilling began. Jacqueline be- come so concerned in her work that she even broke engagements with Bud. One evening after another was passed in studying. Ted’s grammar was improving; he had chosen an- other suit of clothes, less conspicuous than his others. To the tune of the radio Jacque- line taught him to dance. At first he was clumsy and awkward, but it wasn’t long be-