Milford High School - Oak Lily and Ivy Yearbook (Milford, MA)

Page 7 text:

OAK, LILY AND IVY VOL XXIX. MILFORD, MASS., JANUARY, 1913. NO. 4. Published Monthly During the School Year by the Pupils of the Milford High School. BOAED OF EDITOES. Editors-in-Ctiief, Ealph Luce, ' 13, Julia McCarthy, ’13. Business Manager, Luigi Sanclementi, ’13. Assistants. George Caldicott, ? 14. Leslie Adams, ’14. Helen Edmands, ' 13. Lorana Henderson, ’13. Luigi DeOicco, ? 14. Frederick Holmes, ' 15. Subscription Bates: For the year, 50 cents. Single Copies, 10 cents. Address all communications to Oak, Lily and Ivy, Milford, Mass. Entered at the Milford, Mass., Post Office, as second class matter. Shivers and Shavers. A traveling salesman stopped at a hotel to inquire for a night’s lodging. The hotelkeeper said he was sorry but the only room empty was one that he had not been able to let. A barber had killed himself in that room and his spirit still haunted the place. Nothing daunted, the man replied, “Humph, show it to me. I’m not afraid of ghosts.” “Very well,” and the innkeeper led the way. The young man undressed and went to bed but somehow couldn’t sleep. The wind came up and a cold heavy fog settled down into rain. lie was falling asleep when he thought he heard a kind of moaning. He started up in bed and —“Do—you—want—to be—shaved?” “Do—you—want—to be—shaved?’’ “Do—you—want—to he—shaved?” “What the-is that,” and he jumped out of bed and followed the sound. It seemed near the window, and again in grave yard tones, “Do—you—want—to be—shaved?” “Do—you—want—to be —shaved?” He raised the sash and listened—it was quite close now, “Do— you—want—to-be—shaved?” “Ah, there he is! ” he exclaimed and pushing up the window he broke off the branch of a tree, which blowing back and forth across the pane created the noise. “Ghosts, nothing,” and he climbed back into bed. His room, however, was right over the bar and the noisy carousing kept the poor man distracted. Clinking of glasses, quarreling, shouting, continued until he lost all patience and flew out of bed exclaiming, “Can’t they let a fellow sleep! I’ll fix them.” Taking the sheet and his razor he went down the stairs to the bar and appeared in the doorway, crying, “Do—you—want—to be—- shaved r ” “Do—you—want—to lie—shaved?” “Do—you—want—to be shaved?” Everybody fled and the barkeeper hid under the counter so the salesman returned to his room to get his hard earned sleep. In the morning the landlord asked him if he’d seen anything of the ghost?

Page 6 text:

4 OAK, LILY AND IVY. Milford High School Directory. School Committee. George W. Stacy, Chairman. G. M. Billings. Waldo B. Whiting. John C. Lynch. John E. Swift. Dr. J. V. Gallagher. Superintendent, Almorin Orton Caswell. alumni association. President, William G. Pond, ’92. Secretary, Miss Elizabeth B. Barns, ’87. tfacultE. Principal, Geo. Hermann Derry, Ph. D., Greek, English , History , Com¬ mercial Law , Elocution. Sub-master, Christopher A. Fitzgerald, Physics , Mathematics. Miss Inez L. Gay, Latin. Miss Helen J. Gilmore, Stenography , Typewriting, Bookkeeping. Miss Mary B. Ford, Chemistry and Mathematics. Miss Edith A. Nichols, English and History. Miss Adele Waldmeyer, French and German. Miss Marion A. Ryan, Latin, French, English, Mathematics. Miss Margaret K. Sullivan, English, History, Commercial Geography. Miss Alice G. Whittemore, English, History, Commercial Geography. Miss Genevieve Toohey, Drawing. Miss Elizabeth McNamara, Music. School lpb slctans. Dr. J. M. French. Dr. J. V. Gallagher. athletic association. President and Facuety Director, Christopher A. Fitzgerald. Vice President, John Fales, ’14. Secretary, Helen Edmands, ’13. Executive Committee, Ray Howard, ’13, Alfred Caruso, ’14, Lorana Henderson, ’14. JSasehall {Team. Manager, Ray Howard, ’13. Captain, Joseph Lang, ’13. football {Team. Manager, Alfred Coppinger, ’13. Captain, Ernest Hilton, ’13. Senior Class. President, S. Clifford Jackson. Secretary, Helen Edmands. Vice President, Joseph Lang. Treasurer, Emory Grayson. Orchestra. Leader, Ralph Luce, Flute. Violins, Bruce Warfield, Roy McKenzie, Herbert Paquet. Flute, Paul Bragg. Cornets, Luigi De Cicco, Charles Touhey. Drums, Ralph Ward. Pianist, Lillian Moloney.

Page 8 text:

6 OAK, LILY AND IVY. all? “No.” “Well! That’s funny, he came down into the bar-room last night and wanted to shave us. Scared everybody so we couldn’t induce them to return again.” “Guess I’ve laid your ghost then, if you have any more trouble with him send for me—I’ll settle him.” With that the salesman paid his bill and went away, leaving the man doubtfully shaking his head. Two or three months later the young man again came to the hotel and in¬ quired if they had seen anymore of the barber ghost. “As an appreciation of the service rendered, I’ll let you have one of the best rooms in the house for nothing.” And the man who had had courage enough to face a ghost went to a good night’s rest chuckling to himself. Miriam E. Ball, 15. A Marnerian Fantasy. Gray, lingering twilight merges away into night, black, thick and still, save lrom the moan of the cold winter wind sighing throughout the trees; now the faint howl of a wolf, now the demoniacal laugh of the owl wails away into dead silence. Far away among the lonely hills a rough shack nestles in the shelter of the woods. Within, the walls are of rough boards; nothing adorns the interior save a rude bunk of dried leaves. A little to the right is a fire-place made of sticks plastered with mud, in which a fire dances, merrily casting gro¬ tesque shadows on the opposite walls. In the farthest corner, at a rickety, home¬ made table, his face lighted momentarily by the fire, sits a man counting a large bag of coins. In the dim light of the flickering candle the beams play on a face not good to look upon. His parchment-hued cheeks are deep and sunken; from either side of a thin, hawk-like nose bulge two piercing, wild and restless eyes. Now as he opens his mouth, a set of yellow fangs come into view. Surmount¬ ing all is a long, unkempt mop of gray hair which ill conceals a ragged scar on his wrinkled brow. The clinking of coins continues in a monotonous jingling stream. At last it is all counted and with crazy laughs, he kisses and throws his arms about the bags burying his face in the beloved pile. There he rests until,—what is that he sees in the fire before him? A clearly defined face, the visage of one whom he had robbed bit by bit, steadily, persistently. The miser starts, shivers, begins to pick nervously at the table with his long talon-tipped nails. Now it is gone, but stop! another pair of eyes gleam beseechingly from out that glowing mass. Each in turn they come, those he had wronged. Oh God! Now the face of the man he murdered! See ! there is the same wound on the temple from which even now drops of blood seem to ooze. With a shriek he rises, and sweeping the gold to the floor, he leaps to the shelter of the bunk and there, face down, he lies, shivering and clutching at the dead leaves beneath him. From the shelter of his arms he peers again toward the fire. “The Fire !” It is still there ! It fascinates, hypnotizes, calls, and like one in a dream, he arises, and crouches unwillingly, moves toward the fire and