Malden High School - Maldonian Yearbook (Malden, MA)

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THE MALDONIAN luxuriance of her unbobbed tresses, the delicate rose and white of her baby-like complexion, the deep blue-violet of her wide, questioning eyes, the long, sweeping lashes! Perfection!—and the Hardwick ideal! It was in the middle of the waltz that Jimmy finally found courage to speak. “I wish I were with you tonight”, he murmured. “It’s tough to think of another fellow taking you home!” She laughed liquidly. “Bob is only my cousin”, she explained. “You may take me home if you wish.” Jimmy caught his breath. “Is that a promise?” She nodded and blinked the deep blue-violet eyes. “Let’s go now, then”, he pleaded. “It’s hot in here —awfully crowd¬ ed—besides I’d like to talk to you—and—maybe—besides—perhaps—!” He checked his rapid speech unceremoniously. Surely this was not the correct manner in which to approach his “ideal”! “Anyway,” he con¬ tinued, “let’s go now.” Some poet—he must have been a famous poet—once remarked that “the longest way ’round was the sweetest way home” and Jimmy had adopted his opinion unreservedly. With a golden-haired ideal beside him and an Indian-summer moon above, who would not have agreed with the philosophy of both the poet and Jimmy? Under the spreading branches of an oak which overhung the roadway, Jimmy brought the car to a halt. The ideal breathed a deep-drawn sigh. “This is marvelous!” she exclaimed softly. “I’m so glad we left the dance! I abhor waltzing! It’s so obsolete! You know,’’she added breath¬ lessly, “you’d be a fairly good dancer if you’d only learn half-time.” Jimmy uttered a smothered exclamation which sounded surprisingly like, “Well, f’r the, love o’Mike!” “I beg your pardon?” queried the ideal. “I said, ‘Really?” Jimmy hastened to explain. An awkward silence followed the last remark, broken only by the ideal’s humming “Sweet Georgia Brown” and tapping her fingertips on the windshield to keep time. Jimmy gazed at her thoughtfully while grave doubts formulated in his mind. Somehow the rose and white com¬ plexion began to resemble with startling similitude certain patented com¬ plexions advertised in magazines and drug-store windows. She was the first to speak. “I suppose you’re a college man?” she ventured. “Yes. Sophomore at Harvard.” (More grave doubts arising.) “Oh—oh, how romantic!” And the wide, deep blue-violet eyes closed in rapture. Baffled, Jimmy regarded his companion narrowly. He was slightly disappointed, but still, she did have pretty hair! He commented upon it in as careless a manner as he could assume. “Oh, it isn’t really long”, she gurgled. “I do it up with side-pieces because the bob is so —so obsolete.” How she loved that word! Jimmy shuddered, and steeled himself for his next remark. “It’s curly anyway”, he persisted doggedly. Page 89

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THE MALDONIAN boyish bob—the victim of the half-time mania, and an undying adoration for Chrysler roadsters and heavy collegiates. In short, Jimmy was look¬ ing for his ideal—a quiet, retiring type of girl who renounced popular slang as low and vulgar—a girl who would rather waltz than Charleston— a girl who preferred walking occasionally to riding continually—a girl who didn’t live on chocolate fudge marshmallow, walnut sundaes, and banana royals—a girl who had sense enough not to bob her hair—a really feminine type of girl who needed a protector. She alone was Jimmy’s ideal. But ideals seemed few and far between in this age and generation and so, ever since the break with Janet, Jimmy had haunted the “stag” line repeatedly, watching and waiting for “her”. (Strange that it never occured to him that he could hardly expect an “ideal” to frequent a place like the Bungalow!) Tom listened attentively to all this, a whimsical smile playing about the corners of his mouth and, in his eyes, a twinkle which, despite the darkness, Jimmy did not fail to notice. “You think I’m a little cracked, don’t you, Tom?” Jimmy concluded. “You think it’s about time I purchased a one-way ticket for Danvers.” “I think you’re going to have a tough time finding an angel outside of Paradise!” Tom replied with a slow wink. “I’m not fooling, Tom. I’m serious!” Jimmy insisted. “I’m through with Janet and every girl like her!” “Come on in and dance!” ejaculated Tom, changing the topic of con¬ versation with such abruptness that Jimmy began to comply before the full significance of the request dawned upon him. At the doorway he paused. “There’s no one in there that I’d—that —”, but he faltered, his eyes glued upon the south end of the hall. “Tom,” he tugged Maynard forward roughly, “Tom—look! There’s the girl I’ve just been telling you about. Over there—the little one with the curly hair.” “What girl?” Tom’s memory was exasperatingly short, Jimmy thought. “Why, my—my—er—my ideal!” “Come on in and dance!” repeated Tom with a short laugh, and this time Jimmy hesitated not a moment. II. How it happened, he never knew. It might have been an act of Providence or, what was still more probable, it might have been in some way connected with the numerous introductions which he vaguely re¬ membered, the hazy memories of waiting in the “stag” line, and cut-in dances. At any rate, before Jimmy realized it, she—the“ideal”, of course— was in his arms and the orchestra was rendering “If I Had a Girl Like You” with such expression and enthusiasm that, in the ecstacy of the moment, Jimmy lost his voice and they danced in silence. Her name was Margaret. A very nice name for an ideal, Jimmy decided, if one didn’t shorten it to the frivolous and popular “Peggy”. As he gazed at her upturned face, he noted with approval the blond, wavy Page 88

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THE MALDONIAN “Yes. Permanent. I had it done two weeks ago. Do you really like it?” “Yes”, said Jimmy weakly, and kindlier thoughts of Janet and her trim boyish clip filled his mind. The “ideal” chattered amiably for a few moments. Desperate,, Jimmy sought relief by asking her another question. “If it’s not too personal,” he ventured, “I’d like, to ask your age.” He was treading dangerous ground he knew. He awaited her reply anxiously. “Fifteen—next month,” she lisped sweetly, “but I’m very old for my age.” “My gosh!” groaned Jimmy under his breath. “I beg your pardon?” she queried sharply. “I said, ‘Really?’.” “Oh no, you didn’t!” “Oh, yes, I did—but you see I was under the impression that you were older and you rather surprised me.” “Oh,” she nodded, “now you tell me how old you are. You really ought to now, you know.” “I? Why,—er—I’m twenty”, he, admitted falteringly. The “ideal’s” cherubic countenance fairly gleamed. “Oh—oh!” she murmured, “how perfectly ro-man-ticl” He started the car abruptly. “Let’s be going”, he said shortly. “It’s getting late.” “I could stay here forever!” sighed the owner of the permanent wave. “I couldn’t!” said Jimmy meaningly. A half an hour later, a breathless, rumpled specimen of humanity, which was Jimmy, bumped squarely into Tom Maynard standing in the doorway of the Bungalow. “Where’s the ideal?” asked Tom shyly. “Gone home!” glowered Mr. Hardwick. “Where’s Janet?” “Inside, dancing with Ted. You’d better hurry if you want to cut-in. This is the last dance. But what about the ide—?” “Shut up!” snapped Jimmy, “or I’ll be tempted to disfigure your beauty.” “In that case, I’ll be, moving. See you tomorrow. Good luck, old man!” A few moments later, with the saxophones moaning the latest Charle¬ ston fox-trot and Ted glowering menacingly from the “stag” line, Jimmy and Janet were dancing half-time to her heart’s content and Jimmy was really enjoying himself for the first time that evening. As the music changed to “Home Sweet Home”, they swung into a slow waltz and Jimmy smiled contentedly. “Gee, Janet, you’re a wonderful little dancer!” “So’s your old man!” she parried saucily. And he let it go at that. Page 90