Madison High School - Bulldog Yearbook (Madison, ME)

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M. H. S. BULLDOG 1947 31 I must catch her before she leaves the store, he said. He saw his chance. She was standing before a counter and no one seemed to be in the way. Swiftly he darted toward her. He tapped her on the shoulder. She turned and came face to face with the detective badge on Allan's lapel. A look of fright came into her eyes. Allan spoke: You are under arrest for theftein department stores. I have been trying to catch you for weeks and finally have. Come with me. BETTY NOBLE, '48 AS I'VE ALWAYS SAID This is the story of Timothy Roberts. Folks will tell you that he just wasn't any good, but I'll tell you his story and let you judge for yourself. I've know Tim ever since he was a little fellow who used to play in the meadow be- hind our home. Tim's father deserted his mother when Tim was just a baby. The shock was too much for Mrs. Roberts, and she died less than a year later. Tim was brought up by his grandfather who died just a few years ago. Thus from babyhood Tim was always referred to as the son of that no-good Jed Roberts. As Tim grew older, he used to spend more and more time at our house. Many rainy days he would come into my kitchen and talk for hours to Becky and me. There I go getting ahead of my story, and you're probably wondering who Becky is. Becky is my daughter, and a more beautiful girl you've never seen. She and Tim grew up together. He looked after Becky when she was just learning to walk, and he continued to look after her through their school years. During these years my neighbors would ask me how I could like that little Tim Roberts. Mrs. Grady, who lived across the street, would come over just to say, I don't see why you let your Becky chunr around with that boy. He just isn't any good. I always let their comments pass because I knew that Tim was a line lad. When Becky and Tim grew older, they made an attractive pair. Becky was just as small and dark as Tim was tall and fair. The summer after Tim's graduation, he enlisted in the army. A year later when Becky graduated, Tim was already over- seas. The following fall Becky obtained a job in the public library. During the next summer Tim was sent home wounded. He came right to our house because his grandfather was now dead. I took care of him because Becky was working every day except Sunday. Being with him, I learned more about Tim than I had ever known before this time. I soon loved him like a son despite all that people said. A year later Becky and Tim were mar- ried in the little white Church on Main Street. Perhaps people weren't too fond of Tim, but they certainly all turned out for the wedding. Everyone agreed that Becky was the most beautiful bride they had ever seen, and they grudgingly admit- ted that Tim made a handsome groom. Becky and Tim rented the little cottage next door, and everything seemed perfect. One Saturday morning about six months later, as I sat on our front porch peeling apples, Mrs. Grady stopped to chat with me. Casually she asked, Well, it has finally happened, hasn't it? I nonchala.ntly inquired, What has finally happened? Why, Tim has deserted your Becky, she retorted. You knew about it, didn't you? As I ran down the front walk towards Becky's house, I heard Mrs. Grady calling after me, I've always said that Tim Roberts just wasn't any good. As I entered Becky's cheery kitchen, all my fears vanished. Becky was tidying up her house as usual. We went out on her porch and began to talk. Gradually I edged our conversation around to Tim. Soon I was telling her what I had heard, and the next thing I knew she was crying as though her heart would break. She confessed that Tim had left during the night leaving a vague note. I didn't inquire about the note because I decided it was personal. The next day Becky went back to her library job, but she kept her own little

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30 M. H. S. BULLDOG 1947 Hey, kids, he said, how about form- ing a club and building a tree house be- hind my home? Everyone seemed to be in favor so Jimmie got his workers onto the job. Naturally he bossed the whole thing. Drag- ging boards down through the jungle , fit was called thus by two girls in the group who thought they were the jungle queens, Sheena and Nyohaj one boy called Ceddie, declared that he wasn't going to help build any old tree house, and he didn't even think he'd drag any more boards. Well, Mister Sissy Pants, if you can't drag boards then you can't belong to our club, said Jimmie. Aw, who wants to join your old club? I'm going home and get a cookie from Mama. The week flew by and the L. T. C. Cas they called themselves nowj were getting along very well. Their tree house was al- most completed, and the first meeting was to be held the next day. L. T. C. meant Little Tiger Cubs but as far as anyone could see, it should have been Little Beavers . They certainly worked like beavers completing the tree house. Jimmie was head tiger . Making a speech at the first meeting, he said, There is a war on, you know. Always there are enemy spies about. You must be very care- ful as you slink 'through the 'jungle' tracking them. The gang listened wide-eyed as Jimmie unfolded the danger in being a tracker of enemy spies. He mentioned that they were likely to get shot. Bang! They heard a loud report outside. Many children looked like Houdini jump- ing out of his shoes. Even the brave Jimmie experienced the shakes and felt himself trembling. He recovered sufficiently to say, Be calm, kids. Already enemy spies are aware of our importance and are shooting at us. Days went by and at every meeting a loud bang was heard. At each meeting there were fewer of the so-called brave tiger cubs. Jimmie maintained his mental status and decided upon a plan. He would hide in a tree and catch the spies red-handed. Concealing himself in the tree, he glanced around cautiously. As the meet- ing got under way, he heard a noise. Suddenly he saw, of all people, Sissy Pants Ceddie. Ceddie had two large rocks and a loud noise came forth whenever they were banged together. Jimmie suddenly understood the shots. Climbing down from his perch, he gave Cedric such a bloody nose that a certain mother went to see another certain mother and there started a family feud such as was never known before in that town. Jimmie, however, was happy. He had mussed up Sissy Pants's beautiful mug. JACQUELINE ALLEN, '48 THE TURNABOUT' Allan was walking down Main Street, hands in his pockets and his shoulders slouched. He was feeling dejected-for no reason at all. It was just one of those days when nothing seemed to be going right. Suddenly, as he turned the corner, his shoulders straightened, and he started to smile. The cause of this change? you ask. Allan has just seen a very pretty young girl. Now Allan feels much better. His feet start to move a little faster: his eyes follow the girl, as she darts between the mass of people on the sidewalk. Watch it, Allan, he said to himself, l'don't let her get out of your sight. This means a lot to you. The girl walked into a large department store. Allan followed her at a reasonable distance. She started for the women's de- partment, and Allan followed. He could not seem to get a chance to speak to her. Each time he was close enough to speak, someone darted between them. Allan was determined to catch her. He had been trying to meet her for weeks. Now was his chance-no slip-ups-he musn't let her get away this time. She moved from counter to counter, stopping now and then to finger some article on display.

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32 M. H. S. BULLDOG 1947 house. People couldn't understand why she didn't come home to live, but I knew that she must have her own reasons. Well, that happened over a year ago, and yesterday Becky came bounding into the house just bursting with joy. We talked for awhile and then she returned to her own little home. Tim came home this morning. I've never seen a happier couple than Becky and Tim were when they stopped in here for a minute this afternoon. They had no sooner gone down the walk when Mrs. Grady came in to learn the details. I explained to her as best I could about Tim's work for the govern- ment. I told her that he had been doing some sort of special research work, and would now be famous. I heard her remark to herself as she went down the walk, i'Well, I've always said that someday that Tim Roberts would make something of himself! JEAN ADAMS, '47 THE LOST GENIUS Dr. Douglas Sawyer did not find the silence that pervaded the huge room as monotonous as many a guest surely would have done. He was watching intently the small, child-like figure, sitting in an equally small chair, of the once famous pianist-com- poser, Mark Anderson, as he sat in front of the dying fire. It had been thirteen years since he had become sick and no one had been able to help him. He did only as he was told: eating when food was placed before him and going to bed when someone was there to help him: other than that he sat silently beside his piano, in front of the fire, doing nothing, seeing no one. It had been three weeks since Dr. Saw- yer had come to Green Manor and in that time he had not succeeded in drawing the little man into conversation even once. He had made little progress with him at all and the family would soon begin to won- der if they had hired a trained psychologist. He was beginning to wonder himself! As he sat there pondering his problem, Mr. Anderson's young niece, Marsha, came noisily in the front door. The idea sudden- ly dawned upon him that perhaps she could recall some incident that might help him, so he opened the library door in order to detain her before she went upstairs. Marsha, could I see you alone for a moment? Of course, she replied brightly, the den would be the best place. the den, and after They proceeded to he had shut the door he began: Would again the story of you mind telling me your uncle's illness? Try to think of even the smallest things that may relate to it. One may be the clue we're looking for. Well, she began, there is one thing but it seemed so trivial at the time no one thought much of it. Uncle Mark had just Hnished writing what he thought was a masterpiece and was anxious to have us hear it. You were only a child then? Yes, I was only ten. He invited several of us to dinner that night: my father, a critic friend of his, John Symons, and several more of his intimate friends. There was a storm that night and things were unusually dark. As the feature of the evening he was to play his composition. He played a few light numbers before. The piece seemed endless and went on and on: I grew rest- less: the others began to cough and grow uneasy. When he had finished he turned to us, but did not need to ask what we thought of it. He could see it on our faces. From then on he has never spoken to any of us. At first we thought he was angry, but as time went on we realized it was more serious than that and finally called you. As she finished speaking, a clap of thunder and the sound of rain brought them back to the present. Dr. Sawyer's face brightened. Perhaps if we could reconstruct the scene as it was that evening, he could be brought back to reality again. But before he had iinished speaking, a sound came from the library-the sound of someone playing the piano. Marsha whitened, That's the piece.