Maynard High School - Screech Owl Yearbook (Maynard, MA)

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14 THE SCREECH OWL Mr. Harding, an old bachelor who was also visiting with Sir Thomas, made the remark that the more he came to Boston and saw examples of the modern women, the better he en- joyed the company of his dogs up Maine. This brought laughter from the whole company including the sedate Mr. Woodcock who now offered his opinion on the subject. Mr. Woodcock is a lawyer of the city who is held very much in the esteem of his friends. He seldom spoke but when he did speak all lis- tened intently. Mr. Woodcock said that he considered that smoking among women distinctly showed the degeneracy of the female individual, and he classed it as nothing more than utter vulgarity. He added that although he himself smoked, he could see no sensible reason why the women should adopt the bad habits of the men. After further discussion all agreed with him, and Mr. Keith said that the best way in which to stop the practice was for men in general to make known their disapproval. We now saw our waitress appear- ing with our lobster and soon all were masticating it eagerly. As I was eating I could not help thinking of our future mothers telling their children to be refined and dignified, while they, with their next breath, blew out a cloud of tobacco smoke. I think that as soon as women discover that they are less respected and ad- mired on account of this practice, they will give it up. For it is one of women’s foremost desires to appear well before gentlemen. S. McCleary, ’32. LAMENT You stupid, you stubborn thing. Why don ' t you try to help me — if only to please — tho’ it be painful to you. You — you on whom I spent my hard-earned money to make you my own — and squandered my last prec- ious pennies to buy you gay ribbons. How often I brushed and cleaned you until my fingers were worn almost to the bone. Never will I forget the times I carried you about in my arms and then dropped, exhausted, with my whole body aching, into the first place of rest. I’ll ne’er forget the nights when I put on your night-cap, and with a sigh of happiness left you — to dream of the morrow when I would again be with you. How many times have you caused my heart to ache with your cruelty, and have wrung the tears from my dimming eyes. To think that from my temple I once plucked a hair of silver — put there by you. But alas and alack, howe’er sad, ’tis true — even your dearest ones go back on you — refuse to help you in the darkest moments of life. But soon I shall leave you. Out into the world I shall go to earn my liv- ing; and there perchance I will meet others of your kind. But, ah, I pray they will not be as unkind and as ob- stinate as you. But what more can I expect of a Remington No. 10 typewriter? Sirkka Lehtinen, ’31. WHAT I WOULD HAVE DONE AS ELAINE I Lancelot, knight of the Table Round, Was loved by Elaine the fair, And because her love was not re- turned, Elaine gave up in despair. II She went to her lonely tower, And for many a day she staid, Singing the song of Love and Death, Refusing comfort and aid. III And one bright golden morning Of a beautiful summer day, Elaine, the fair, the lily-maid, In silence passed away.

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THE SCREECH OWL 13 pers, two or three nickels, and per- haps a dime which the Judge had placed in his pockets and then for- gotten. In due time she had gathered about eighteen cents in change, two or three old bills, a letter or two, and one letter which bore her brother’s name on it. There seemed to be no stamp, so she took two cents of loot and put them aside. After she had cleaned the closet out, she turned her steps toward the post-office. A few weeks later, the Judge re- ceived an invitation to a poker game to be held in the house of a friend. He accepted with pleasure, and left the office early that evening in order to be on time. As soon as he arrived in the house, he hunted up his old coat. He searched every pocket and hole but no sign of a letter could he find. The Judge decided this was getting serious. Accordingly, as a man will do, he yelled for his wife. “Hey Martha, did you see an envel- ope addressed to James?” he inquired. “No,” his wife answered, “Where did you put it ?” “In my old coat,” answered the Judge. A sudden stir arose from the living room. “I mailed it,” said the young cheer- spreader coming to the rescue from an arithmetic problem in the living room’s best chair. “What!!” The Judge presented a picture of outraged dignity. “Well I’ll be doggoned ! Confound these women ! !” With a muttered curse, the Judge vanished from sight, his coat- tails streaming in the breeze. Safe in the sheltered haven of his office, he opened a telegram. MANY THANKS HAVE SUC- CEEDED IN RADIO VENTURE PAYING WELL. JAMES LOWELL. With a morose expression on his face, the grouch threw up his hands. Doggone the poker game, his expres- sion seemed to say as he permitted a wry grin to twist his features, when one has a nephew who is bound to suc- ceed, well, it’s an ill wind that doesn’t blow somebody good ! Annie L. White, ’81. DINNER WITH SIR THOMAS The other day, while visiting with Sir Thomas in Boston, he invited me out to dinner along with a few of his business associates. We had finished our first course and we were patiently waiting for our waitress to bring us some lobster. I meanwhile was chat- ting with Sir Thomas and his friends. These gentlemen were very interest- ing company and during our conver- sation we gave our opinions on the various subjects of the day. During this time I had also ob- served many of the people about me. I noticed a waiter seating some ladies a couple of tables away, and as the young ladies looked over their menu the gentlemen closely observed their features and winked at one another. After the ladies had ordered their food they both lit up cigarettes. Not being a frequent visitor to the city restaurants, I found it hard to refrain from staring at the two as they non- chalantly exhaled smoke from their nostrils. To keep my mind occupied at the table I asked Sir Thomas what he thought of women’s smoking. This started the ball rolling, and we soon had an interesting discussion on the subject. I have discovered in the past that no subject interests men more than those pertaining to our modern women. Sir Thomas said that the only thing that the women hadn ' t tried to do was to raise a beard, and he added that he expected anytime to see his daughter invent a way of cultivating one. Mr. Keith, a theatre manager, now began a lively talk. He stated that so long as the men indulged in smoking, it was hardly fair to expect the women folk to refrain from it. In concluding he said that personally he saw no harm in their smoking if they received any pleasure from it.

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THE SCREECH OWL 15 IV Alas! poor timid foolish Elaine, When hit by Cupid’s dart, Not having her noble love returned, Died of a broken heart. V Where is the modern girl, Who would give up her sports and fun, And pine away in a lonely tower, As gentle Elaine had done? VI “Banish the thought,” cries the girl of to-day, What a silly I would be, He’s not the only pebble on the beach, Nor the only fish in the sea. Ruth Bishop, ’33. THE IRONY OF FATE “I hear old Link Conley ain’t been doin’ so well lately,” commented Sam Barker as the group of men sat down on the porch of the old store one afternoon in late spring. “Yeah, he may kick off any minute, it’s thet bad,” put in another. “The pore old feller. Spent all his life out in them thar hills, looking for gold that never was there. He’s a little batty, I reckon,” observed a third, Wes Moore by name. Just then two small boys came run- ning in a swirl of dust and halted be- fore the men, breathlessly. “Link Conley’s dead!” panted one, “we just ben up thet way ’n’ foun’ him layin’ in his shack jes’ like — ” he stopped for lack of breath. “He was deader’n a rock. We were scairt an’ run as fast as we could but he’s dead, for sure,” finished the other boy. “Dead?” The men seemed sur- prised even though they had just been talking of such a happening. “I reckon we better go there an’ give him a decent burial right there in his place,” one said after a slight pause. “We best take ’long the cor’ner ter make it formal-like, though course ever’body knows what he died of,” said a second. So a party of five or six men started for the old man’s place. Law- rence Conley, or Link as he was better known, had first come there more than forty years ago and had spent all his time searching for gold. The hills were scattered with holes which had been made by him in his vain hunt for gold. He kept much to himself and lived as a hermit. Few ever went to see him for he made it plain that he desired no man’s com- pany. But on these rare occasions when anybody had gone to see him, it had been discovered that his health was rapidly failing him. Some of the children went to see him out of curi- osity, which irritated him very much. Now these children had found him dead. The coroner pronounced it death due to natural causes. At once two of the men proceeded to dig a grave for the dead man’s remains. After a few minutes of digging one of them exclaimed, “Eh, what’s this?” Together they studied it for a mo- ment and rushed into the shack where the other men were. “Here’s the gold Link spent his life lookin’ for. Found it in his grave,” cried the first one, excitedly. And sure enough it was gold. Only a few feet away from one of the hun- dreds of places where the dead pros- pector had dug for gold, was dis- covered a gold vein as rich as ever could be wished. The greater part of his life, Link had spent in searching for this very gold. He had always said that there was gold “in them thar hills.” Others had called him crazy and this fact had made him take up the life of a hermit. And now the very men who had laughed at him were the ones who shared in the riches which rightfully belonged to the dead man.