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

Page 8 text:

6 OAK. LILY AND IVY. the evil, thereof. As it was the roommate, Jim Northrop, invited Bancroft to his rooms one night to talk over old times. As Perry entered he glanced quickly over the apartment, and his eyes lighted on a youth whose huge body filled the chair completely as he sat at the table studying. As the door opened, Goliath Jr. lifted his head showing the visitor a regu¬ lar Mama’s boy face” as Bancroft said afterward. He had a pink and white complexion, and a square chin which somewhat belied the impression his dreamy, blue eyes gave. But the thing that struck Bancroft as most ludicrous was the fact that this great hulking man-creature wore his mop of yellow hair parted exactly in the middle. The “mixture” as Perry inwardly termed him, rose, pulled himself together and extended his hand to Bancroft, who was being introduced. Though he looked straight at Perry all the while, he appeared not to see him. As Perry said afterward “you experienced a rather disconcerting impression when Colcord looked at you.” In fact one felt as if he were merely a minus quantity as far as he was concerned. As soon as formalities had ceased, Colcord sank back again and resumed his work, exhibiting no interest in the further doings of his roommate and the football captain. But Perry was not so indifferent to him. In a low voice, he inquired of Northrop who the new boy was, whence he came, what college he had attended previously, and various other questions which Jim answered to the best of his ability. When Perry found he had exhausted his friend’s store of in¬ formation, he decided to apply to headquarters. So he opened the attack with “Oh—I say Colcord!” Francis lifted his head and regarded Perry with a vacant, dreamy stare. “Yes?” he interrogated. Perry had intended to lead up to the crucial ques¬ tion gradually, but Colcord’s blank, inquiring gaze drove every thought from his mind but the most important one. “Do you play football?” he queried abruptly. “I have indulged in the murderous sport, so-called, in former days, but now I have no desire to distinguish myself on the gridiron. My aspirations are entirely literary.” This remark took the wind out of Perry’s sails, figuratively speaking, for at least five minutes, but presently he said: “But you have played?” “Yes,” Colcord admitted, “I am ashamed to acknowledge that I have in¬ dulged in the barbarous game.” “How did you get along?” was Perry’s next query. “I believe that I was considered a fair player,” was the modest reply. “I suppose you wouldn’t want to come over and practice tomorrow after- noon with the boys?” Perry asked wistfully. “I have no desire for any future connection with athletics. I am devoted to the art of writing poetry,” and Longfellow, the Second, resumed his work placidly as if to him the incident was closed. Perry turned despairingly to Jim. “Say, where did they import that crab from anyways?” he queried, sotto voce, “China?”

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OAK, LILY AND IVY VOL. XXXIII. MILFORD, MASS., JAN., 1917. NO. 4. Published Monthly During the School Year by the Pupils of the Milford High School. Board of Editors : Editor-In-Chief, Beatrice L. Battles, ’17. Assistant Editor, Helen Mead, ’17. Business Manager, Joseph C. Bruce, ’17. Dorothy E. Lilley, ’17. Karl S. Roberts, ’18. Edmund T. Welch, ’17, Fred J. Niro, ’17. Catherine Burns, ’17. F. Elizabeth Hears, ’17 Katherine H. Lester, ’18. Elmer C. Nelson, ’18 Esther E. Haskard, ’18. Chester O. Avery, ’18 Subscription Rates : 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. POETICAL ASPIRATIONS. The grave old seniors at St. Timothy’s College surveyed the new boys criti¬ cally when they came back to school in the autumn. Perry Bancroft, the new football captain, looked at them with an especially searching eye for he was de¬ termined that this year’s fight for the football pennant should not end as disas¬ trously for St. Tim’s as it had the preceeding fall. There were a few new fel¬ lows in his own class, but Bancroft’s chief hope for the team lay in the fresh¬ men. Nor was he disappointed, for the babes responded handsomely and yield¬ ed up six of their number to be placed upon the altar—or the gridiron. Two more came from the sophomores and one from the juniors, while he himself made the tenth. But there his rescources were exhausted. There were any number of fair players to be had, but Perry had vowed to have a team with dash, brilliancy, weight and nerve—in short, a thoroughbred eleven, or no team at all. Finally, he took on the star of the scrub team, but he was not content. He had nine veritable wonders but did not share in the general conviction that he was the best football player that “St. Tim’s” had ever produced. The tenth, at best, was only a mediocre player. He lacked the confidence the comeback, the ‘pep’ of a true lover of football. There was one fellow, how¬ ever, whom Bancroft by a strange trick of Fate, had over-looked. It was all the stranger because a lad who is over six feet tall and nearly two feet broad is rather hard to ignore. Still, maybe there was some excuse for Perry because the newcomer stayed close to his rooms for several weeks after his arrival. In¬ deed, if the young giant’s room mate had not been a chum of Bancroft’s, the worried captain might never have made his find, and great would have been

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OAK, LILY AND IVY. 7 “No, the Middle West,” Jim replied in the same tone. Perry sighed hope¬ lessly and rose. “Well, I guess Fll be toddling,” he said in a louder voice, and say, Colcord if you decide to accept my offer, come over to the field any afternoon and I’ll try you out.” Without lifting his head, Colcord replied succinctly “most assuredly not!” and Perry went out in an abashed silence and softly closed the door. The day appointed for the big game with Fisk University drew nearer and nearer and still no signs of bettering the team. “St. Tim’s” had won every game so far, but so had Fisk Academy, so Perry could draw but meager conso¬ lation from that fact. True, one afternoon Colcord had come out to watch the practice and by accident, the football bounded away out of reach of the players, shooting straight towards the sidelines. It was a nasty kick, the kind that bounces crookedly and is extremely hard to catch. But Francis moved a little way out on to the field, and as the pigskin bounded, he stepped backward, catching the ball neatly. Then, at the coach’s request, he returned the ball by a punt. And, oh, what a perfect kick! It sailed up—up—up—in a long curve, skimming along like a bird , and finally it dropped, landing exactly in the mid¬ dle of the group of players who had been watching the feat. Apparently, the same thought came to each of the pigskin chaser’s minds simultaneously, for they all exclaimed in unison “Very good Eddie!” and Colcord thought as he walked away, Guess they must have mistaken me for someone else, for they couldn’t possibly know my name is Francis Edward!” Great Scott,” soliloquized the young captain as he went off the field that night, By hook or crook, I must get that fellow on the team. I’ve heard some stories about the Fisk men, but I’d be ready to bet my bottom dollar that they haven’t a player who could hold a candle to Colcord. Maybe Jim could help me in the good work,” and he brightened a little, resolving to see Jim that very night. But Northrop could give him no encouragement. “You know I’m as crazy for football as you, Perry,” he protested, “and I’ve given Colcord football lore ’till it’s a wonder he doesn’t sing it in his sleep. He sure understands the situation by now. That is,” he added as an afterthought, if he understands anything. Sometimes, when he turns that ‘nobody home’ look on me full power, I have my doubts. But,” he continued seriously, he says that his aspirations are entirely along the literary line and I guess he’s tel¬ ling the truth. The other day he read me a poem of his that started like this: ‘I love to roam in the forests wild When the moan is shining bright And the wind is sighing thro’ the pines Like a dying soul in flight.’ He stopped there. Guess he thought I wasn’t an appreciative listener. I’d had enough anyhow. He sure would make a fine player though.” What Jim had told Perry was correct. He had hammered “footballology”