Mechanic Falls High School - Pilot Yearbook (Mechanic Falls, ME)

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M. F. H. S. PILOT 29 Please don't hit me, honest, I'll be sure and call you next time, even if I am so busy I-I forget-please, please, don't hit me-. THUD! His mind stopped functioning, he saw stars, he heard that birdie sing, and everything went black before him. Slowly he opened his eyes, expecting to see an angry woman with a tear- stained face standing over him. To his surprise all he saw was the morning sun peeping in the eastern window. He heard the clock strike six in the next room. Slowly he got to his feet, picked up his bedclothes which had fal- len with him onto the fioor, and with a few rather strong words punched his pillow again and again while he mut- tered: I'll be darned! Well, I'll be darned. Say, there is one thing I shall never do-get married. Dreams oftentimes seem real. Too real! BARBARA DAVIS, 86. AND DEATH REIGNED SUPREME It was the night of nights! The moon, after struggling vainly for fully an hour to pierce the impenetrable blanket of snow that was falling, had finally retired, exhausted, leaving the night to her rival, the north wind. And as if in utter elation on its victory over its rival, the north wind doubled its force, and fairly shook the buildings of the town that nestled, partly secluded, in a valley. One house in particular was an object of the storm's fury. It stood, engaged in a losing fight with the ele- ments, at a point where two streets came together. The old house, when it was first built, had been the best house in the town, but now, due to the ravages of time, its once stout and proud walls were badly in need of repair, and much out-of-date with the other houses in the neighborhood. i However, despite these continual onslaughts, the old house still stood, a symbol of the greatness of the early American Pioneer. Inside the house, shut in from the outside world, silence reigned. The si- lence of death! For death was abroad that cold and dreary night, and it had fixed as its first stopping-place the old house on the corner. Its icy fingers pointed to an upstairs apartment, en- shrouded in heavy curtains, where were gathered three persons, around a large, old-fashioned, four-posted bed, that in one corner of the room. One of the figures turned its face toward a white- haired old man, who stood motionless beside the bed, and with trembling lips asked: Has he gone yet, doctor? The old man bent down and patted the wet brow of the girl. Not yet, my child. But I'm afraid death isn't far off. And as if in answer to his statement, a shadow materialized from the gloom of the hallway, glided softly across the room, and came to a stop before the bed. It was the shadow of death! The three persons in the room stared, as if transiixed at the motionless shad- ow. Not a word was said as they watched a bony hand come into being from under a silken black cloak, and softly stroke the brow of the bed's occu- pant, and then the hand was with- drawn, and in the same manner it had entered the room, so it departed. A minute passed, and then the doctor slowly bent forward, and felt the pulse of the inert figure on the bed. Your uncle is dead, he said softly. STANLEY BANKS, '36.

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28 M. F. H ONE MAN BACHELOR Hugh Sampson, a fellow of about twenty-Seven years old, had just recent- ly landed himself a wife and had taken up the cares and responsibilities of a faithful husband. We find him in his oilice down town just putting through a call to his wife, saying that it is impossible for him to come immediately home from work. A'Business is all piled up here as high as a New York State Building. l've got several letters to write and post so they will go out on the morning's mail. Yes -yes. No, don't wait supper for me: I may be quite late. What? Oh, sure! I'll call again if I have to stay later than eight o'clock. Yes, uh, huh! Good-bye, dear-yes-yes, good-bye! Hugh mopped his brow at the thoughts of all the hard work which lay before him. Might as well get busy, he thought. But twenty-seven letters to write was certainly a lot of work. Ten minutes later, we find Hugh chewing on his pencil with only a few lines accomplished. Staring up at him from a piece of office paper was: Mr. George P. White and Company 186 Baker Street New York, N. Y. Dear Sir: Enclosed you will f1nd4 Were you supposed to write out, or were numbers all right for SSO? He wished he'd asked his secretary to re- main a little longer. Three hours later he was hurrying homeward when he remembered that he had forgotten to call his wife the second time. Do wives get angry when a hard- working husband forgets to call up? Do they really rave on and on far into the S. PILOT night? Are they waiting at the front door with a rolling pin? Oh, what a blunder he had made! His steps slackened: he felt tired and just a little afraid. He had only been married three months-or was it four? Funny that he couldn't remember! Anyway, they had never fought, and now he had forgotten to call her on the telephone. She would be angry, he knew, but he wouldn't go sneaking in with a guilty look: and he wasn't going in in his stocking feet, either. He was a man, not a coward. Nevertheless, when he climbed the steps to the porch of his small cottage, he was tip-toeing very carefully in his hosiery. Trembling, he turned the door-knob. It was locked! This was terrible, he would have to climb in the window. Slowly and cautiously he opened the side window that overlooked the gar- den, crept in, closed the window, and started across the living-room floor. CRASH! His foot had hit something. Now he was in for it, might as well turn on the lights and act natural. And then, while he was groping his way across the room to find the light switch, his wife snapped them on for him. He had time enough only to catch a glimpse of her, waving a rolling-pin in the air and coming towards him. So you woud sneak in, huh, and in your stocking feet at that! We've only been married-boo-hoo-three months and you tr-treat me like this. Oh-h-h-. No sooner had she broken down than she became angry. Her tears gone, she turned on Hugh with hand upraised and that dreaded rolling-pin not two inches from his head.

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30 M. F. H ENTERTAINING THE MINISTER 'AHello-oh-er-how do you do, Reverend Parcy. Of course you know who this is? Yes, that's who it is. I knew you would know. Pardon me just a moment. Quiet, children, quiet. Aren't children noisy? O-er-Rever- end Parcy, I made some of those brown sugar cookies, that you like so well, this afternoon and I was sort of wondering -well--er-you know-I was won- dering if you wouldn't like one?-Not really, Reverend Parcy? All right, we shall say seven-thirty, by that time the children will be sound asleep. And Aunt Lottie hung up the re- ceiver. Little Betsy and Billy, who had been listening around the corner, grabbed their washcloths and started to scrub their dirty faces vigorously. Come, come, children, you are per- fectly ghostly, you have scrubbed so hard. Billy, where are your night- clothes? asked Aunt Lottie of Billy. 'ANight-clothes? Oh - er -- night- clothes-upstairs. Say, Aunt Lottie, may we have one of those cookies before we go to bed? 'Cookies before going to bed? Well, I should say not. Come, wash that ear and hurry to bed. No,-no, I couldn't think of going to bed, I am so faint. Truly, Aunt Lot- tie, if I had a cookie I would feel bet- ter, said Billy teasingly, All right, take the cookie and hurry to bed like two good little children. Half-way up the stairs Betsy called over the banister, Aunt Lottie, say, don't forget to put on the curly wig! Hush, there's the doorbell now. Hurry, and don't you dare to make a o S. PILOT sound, Aunt Lottie called as she puffed her best wig in front of the mirror. Running into the parlor and dusting the Holy Bible with her apron, Aunt Lottie threw the apron into the closet and rushed to greet the parson. Oh, my! It is you, Reverend Parcy. Good evening. So glad you stopped in. Right this way, Aunt Lottie chatted as she tripped lightly into the parlor. Now, Mr.-er--Pardon me-Rev- erend, you sit right here, and Aunt Lottie pulled forth a comfortable chair near the fireplace. There, are you com- fortable? No, I don't think you are. Now, why don't you sit right over here on the sofa? It's so much more com- fortable and cozy, and Aunt Lottie led the Parson to the sofa and sat down be- side him, then carefully arranged her wig, pretending to fluff her hair. This certainly is very comfortable, the Reverend addressed Miss Lottie. Now, Miss Lottie, why don't you sing that old familiar tune, Love's Old Sweet Song? You always sing with a certain gusto. Quietly arranging the music in front of her, Aunt Lottie began to pour forth those beautiful words as nobody else can. Once in the dear, dead days be- yond recall- Pardon me, Lottie, but didn't I hear the children? Oh, no, Reverend Parcy, they are sound asleep. Don't call me Parcy, call me Jack. All right-er-er-Jack. l'Fine, that makes us seem more friendly. Now let's start the song again, 'Love's Old, Sweet Song.' My, You sing beautifully, and the Reverend moved over to the organ, standing un- der the register, that is, where the regis- ter used to be but was now merely an