Lyman Hall High school - Singer Chronicle Yearbook (Wallingford, CT)

Page 14 text:

12 THE CHRONICLE A few minutes later, he heard Dave calling him under the window. Throwing it open, he called down impatiently, “Well, what is it now?” “Oh, I just wanted to tell you that you won’t be needing the car. I’m taking Mary to the dance. Bye, bye, pal. Thanks for the car and the girl.” The car had disappeared around the corner before Dick could recover sufficiently to voice his seething thoughts. “The sneaking double crosser,” he breathed angrily, as he slammed the window down. “He can’t get away with this.” After a few minutes of hard thinking, with an exultant yell he reached for the telephone. Having secured his number, he said, “Hello, Police Headquarters? This is Richard Malone calling from the college. A fellow just stole my car. It’s a green roadster, license plates R 625. You’ll pick him up on Layton’s Highway. Call me when you get him.” About fifteen minutes later, Dick was escorted by a burly policeman to Dave’s cell. The latter jumped to his feet when he saw him coming and said pleadingly, “Aw gee, Dick, can’t you take a joke? Get me out of here quick. If the dean ever heard of it “That’s what I was thinking,” Dick said with a gloating smile. In fact I think he should, but, however, I’ll keep your criminal career a secret on one condition.” “Anything you say,” the prisoner exclaimed in anguish. “Only get me out.” “Be calm, sonny. Just sign this paper by which you promise never to borrow from me again, and your freedom’s yours.” Dave grasped the paper eagerly. However, after a rapid search through his pockets, he looked sheepishly at Dick, but the latter, guessing what he wanted, handed him his pen with a sigh. As they were about to leave the yard of the jail, an officer called them back, saying to Dick, “Say, young fellow, you owe me some money for gas. I picked him up buying gas. He’d charged it to you, but the man wouldn’t put it on the cuff; so I paid it, as long as you were coming soon.” Striving to keep calm, Dick reached into his pocket, saying, “How much was it, officer?” “It came to two dollars and eighteen cents,” was the reply. When they were alone again, Dick opened the car door and violently pushed Dave out. “Hey, what are you doing?” Dave demanded from his seat on the roadside. ‘ Letting you walk back, parasite.”

Page 13 text:

THE CHRONICLE 11 Memories to treasure, Adventures to measure, Dreams to keep, Awake or asleep. I lappiness, security, Past, futurity, Contentment, joy, No mere toy. Betty Davitt, ’37 Born to “Touch” Dick Malone and Dave Ityder, juniors at Harvard, were roommates, much to Dick’s despair; for Dave was considered the campus affliction. When he was seen approaching, every one gathered his prize possessions and ran for cover. As you will see, Dave was a born “toucher ; he'd “touch you for anything and everything you had if you got within his reach. Why, in his younger days, he was even known to borrow his grandmother’s false teeth so that he might impress the little girl next door. Do you wonder then that Dick thought Lady Luck had frowned heavily upon him? When we first meet these congenial roommates in their rooms, Dave is running true to form, as might be expected. “Dick, be a sport and lend me a buck, will you? My allowance is gone and I promised Elsie I’d take her to a movie tonight, and you know' Elsie. She’d raise rim if 1 backed out. I’ll give it back to you Monday, sure.” “Here, here,” Dick fumed, pushing a bill at him. “Anything to get you out of my hair! Borrow-borrow-borrow'! I’ll bet you’ll borrow somebody’s heart trouble to die with!” “That’s a good idea, m’boy,” Dave called back, as he went down the stairs three at a time. “I’ll give it my careful consideration.” The next evening, the night of the weekly dance, Dave asked Dick hesitantly how much money he had. “I’ve exactly two dollars antf eighteen cents, and you can’t have a cent of it. I told you last night you couldn’t have any more this week. Now scram.” “Well, then won’t you please lend ine the car for a little while? The girl I’m going with lives a couple of miles from here. I’ll be only a few minutes. Please, Dick, just this once.” “Oh, all right. But you be back in twenty minutes or else I’m taking Mary Fleming, and she doesn’t live on the grounds either; so step on it.” “I’ll be back in a jiffy, Dick. Thanks a lot; you’re a real pal. “Yeh, a real fall guy,” muttered Dick to himself.

Page 15 text:

THE CHRONICLE 13 But you really can’t do that.” “And why can’t I?” Because I’ve got your good shoes on. The gravel road won’t do them any good. Oh no, you haven’t my shoes,” Dick laughed back. “I thought you’d borrow them; so I borrowed a pair for you. You’re wearing Professor Lowry’s Sunday best, and you know how fussy he is about his clothes. When he finds those shoes gone and you in them oh boy! You'd better thumb a ride and get them back quick. Are you sure I can’t lend you a thumb?” Dick's loud laughter and the hum of the motor made Dave’s shouts inaudible, and the car drove swiftly down the road, leaving behind in the middle of the road a lone figure waving madly. Josephine Gallagher, ’37 What’s in a Name? Chauncey Percival Gillingsworth was lonely so lonely; in fact he had already packed his bag and was prepared to leave Brighton Academy. After all,” he thought, I can’t go on like this. I’m about the most undesirable person in the whole school.” Chauncey walked over to the mirror and gazed into it. What he saw only made him all the gloomier. He saw in his reflection a thin little fellow about five feet, six, wearing immense horn-rimmed glasses and having a very studious expression. Once again he thought, Why do I have to be so darned smart? Everyone seems to hold it against me.” As a matter of fact everyone did. In the first place what was a person with a name like Chauncey Percival Gillingsworth doing at a school like Brighton? Also why was he so smart? Nobody came to Brighton to learn anything. Everyone came to play football and major in athletics. Thus because Chauncey had the hard luck to be gifted with brains instead of brawn, he was an outcast. Only the other day Chauncey overheard two students discussing him. One couldn't seem to understand how Chauncey could possibly study so much. They agreed that he had never given the incorrect answer to a question in all their classes. The second of the two boys didn’t see why he had to give the appearance of a bookworm. One look at those hornrimmed glasses would convince anyone that he didn’t even know the shape of a football. So now as Chauncey gazed into the mirror, a feeling of despair came over him. He wanted to get away, to hide himself, to do anything rather than have people criticize him all the time. As he was about to leave, there was a knock on the door. Quickly hiding his suitcase, he opened the door.