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

Text from Pages 1 - 96 of the 1928 volume:

v;«r - -jr . ' � : TATE INTERSTATE HEATRE THEATRE CORP , Milford’s Leading Theatre EST PHOTOPLAYS EST STAGE ATTRACTIONS IGGEST HITS ETTER COMFORT F. KEITH-ALBEE VAUDEVILLE Cool as the Mountains or Beach for the Summer with a modern Ventilating and Cooling System—Exclusive Frazee Organ 4 Rest Rooms—Follow the Crowd!—GET THE STATE HABIT! ADVERTISING SECTION. 1 Compliments of. JERRY’S GREEN STORES, Inc. French Dry Cleaners and Dyers 186 Main Street 87 Main Street, Tel. 750 5c to $1.00 MILFORD, MASS. Work called for and delivered Compliments of. Compliments of. LARKIN BROTHERS WILLIAM J. MOORE, Esq. Milford, Mass. BULLARD’S TIRE SHOP Clark Shaughnesy, Props. Supplies, Accessories Coal and Wood FISK TIRES Lehigh Coal a Specialty OPPOSITE 45 Pearl Street, Tel. 504-M THE TOWN HALL Yard, Depot Sq., Milford, Mass. Tel. 900 Compliments of. WE WASH EVERYTHING Miss Alma E. Sweet BUT THE BABY SHERMAN’S LAUNDRY Teacher of Pianoforte 32 Exchange Street, Milford, Mass. 59 School Street, Milford, Mass. Tel. 252 2 ADVERTISING SECTION. Compliments of. Sam Goldberg’s Dept. Store 37 Central Street, Milford, Mass. Compliments of. THE EXCELL BEAUTY SHOPPE ANNA LAQUIDARA, Prop. THE ELITE MILLINERY Ladies ' and Children ' s WEARING APPAREL SPECIALTY SHOP. 120 MAIN STREET MILFORD, MASSACHUSETTS Compliments of BURKE’S PHARMACY Compliments of lc to 99c Store 1 77 and 1 79 Main Street, Milford Compliments of. THE OUTFIT 195 MAIN ST. Milford ' s Largest Clothing Store Compliments of. SOUTH END GROCERY J. V. CAREY F. L. KIRBY Alfred B. Cenedella Attorney and Counsellor at Law 3 Baker Building Milford, - Mass. A Good Place to Trade STONE FURNITURE CO., Inc. THE STORE OF LOW PRICES 80 Main Street Compliments of 2) r 1Rorr fllMett ADVERTISING SECTION. 3 JERRY L. ROSSETTI NICHOLAS COSTRINO BUILDER Shoe Repairing and Elndicott-Johnson Shoes and General Contractor Rubbers—Shoe Shine 19 West Walnut Street Milford 12 Exchange Street Milford Tel. 1496-W Compliments of. South End Confectionery WYZAN BROS. Frank J. Kavanaugh Women’s Specialty Shop Compliments of. Milford J. P. Brown SEAVERS EXPRESS Compliments of. Milford to Worcester Madame Lebbossiere Roche Milford to Providence PHONES Milford 510 Worcester Park 1512 Providence Gaspee 7479 Beauty Shoppe Compliments of. Tels. 1300 1155-J Est. 1914 GILLON BROTHERS TOWN TAXI CO. B. CERUTI Taxi Service and Baggage Transfer a MILFORD, - MASS. Weddings, Funerals and Private Parties Given Special Attention Buick Seven Passenger Sedans DAY AND NIGHT SERVICE Washing, Greasing and Polishing Cars MILFORD, MASS. 4 ADVERTISING SECTION. jfancv Carnations for all Occasions at Howard’s Greenhouses 150 South Main Street Joseph J. Fahey Firestone Tires, Accessories Vulcanizing Gas, Oil, Supplies Lincoln Square Tel. 1258-M Milford Gas and Electric Light Co. a Something for Every one HELEN’S ® PLAGE Good Things to Eat Home Coolcing 224 Main Street, Milford, Mass. Helen F. Lebbossiere S. Mazzarelli Sons MACARONI MANUFACTURERS and BAKERS Telephone Connection 1 7 Genoa Ave., Milford, Mass. MANNING’S SHOES WEAR WELL 241 Main Street, Milford SPECIAL MODELS In HIGH SCHOOL CLOTHES also Sport Trousers and Sport Sweaters King Brothers Clothiers Opera House Block Compliments of Dr. C. E. Whitney Milford, - Mass. ADVERTISING SECTION. 5 FRED T. BURNS ICE CREAM AND CONFECTIONERY 270 MAIN STREET a Manufacturers of RUBBER SUCKERS IN ALL THE LATEST COLORS a 125 Central Street, Milford MORIN’S STUDIO Special Price on Graduation PHOTOGRAPHS 1 5 4 Main Street, Milford, Mass. George H. Locke a Lumber Builders’ Finish Doors Windows Blinds Asphalt Shingles Nails and Hardware a GEORGE H. LOCKE MILFORD 6 ADVERTISING SECTION. MANSION HOUSE GARAGE J. H. Perkins, Prop. Marmon Cars Compliments of JOHN F. DAMON EARN A COLLEGE DEGREE IN BUSINESS in two years Two-year courses prepare for business management, accounting practice, ex¬ ecutive-secretarial work, or commercial teaching. Free Placement Service. Over 1000 calls a year. Put your high school years to largest use by specialized training at Bryant- Stratton College. Enrollments are being taken for 66th Year September 4. Write or call for catalog. Bryant-Stratton College of Business Administration Providence, Rhode Island State-Authorized to confer Degrees: B. B. A., - B. Accts. - B. S. S., . B. C. S. Motorcycles and Bicycles Accessories MAINLINE GARAGE INDIAN AGENT MAIN STREET, MILFORD, MASS. Telephone 61-M Compliments of. CAHILL’S NEWS AGENCY Washington Block 206 Main Street, Milford, Mass. Compliments of. WERBER ROSE INCORPORATED 808 ADVERTISING SECTION. 7 FREDERICK A. GOULD FOR Suits, Corsets, Coats, Summer Hardware, Plumbing and Gowns, Waists and Heating Sport Goods Go to 16-20 Exchange Street M. F. Green ' s Cloak Store Milford, - Mass. 200 Main Street, Milford, Mass. SHEA BROS. ARTHUR P. CLARRIDGE Meats and Provisions aoa i a General Contractor 1 2 7 Main Street, Milford, Mass. 280 Purchase Street MILFORD, MASSACHUSETTS William P. Clarke Compliments of. a BROCKTON SHOE STORE Printer and Publisher aoa General Commercial Printing Wedding Invitations, etc. a MILFORD DAILY NEWS Established 1887 Removed to 11 Fayette St., Milford The only Daily Paper in Milford and the only Advertising Medium for all this section of the State. Telephone Connection Sworn Circulation 4,700 8 ADVERTISING SECTION. Mkeeps fresh longer because 5,000 grocers and 50,000 bread eaters asked us to make a loaf that would stay oven fresh. We guarantee freshness ADVERTISING SECTION. 9 Compliments of. ARCHER RUBBER CO. Milford, - Mass. Compliments of. HEITIN BROS. Tailors and Cleaners Milford, - Mass. Tel. 668 Compliments of. DR. E. J. DIXON Dentist CASEY BUILDING 167 M m Street, Milford NIRO NIRO ELECTRIC HEATING AND LIGHTING CONTRACTORS Hardware, Wallpaper, Window Glass Home of Kyanize and Bay State Paint 67 MAIN STREET, MILFORD TRASK BROTHERS Dealers in High Class CYCLES and SUNDRIES Agents for EDISON PHONOGRAPHS and RADIOS 138 Main Street, Milford, Mass. Compliments of. CROWELL DeWITT Provisions and Fancy Groceries 1 1 3 Main Street Compliments of. JOHN C. RIPLEY The Man Who Keeps Everybody Happy Real Estate Broker and Contractor Telephone 864-W Compliments of. SALLY’S TEA ROOM 18 Jefferson St., Milford, Mass. Compliments of. DR. F. H. LALLY R. MARINO Tailor and Real Estate Agent Truant Officer a Milford, - Mass. 10 ADVERTISING SECTION. Compliments of. John F. Rooney General Contractor Milford, Massachusetts Kellett and Clement Contractors and Builders 4 and 8 Westbrook Street Tel. 449-W and 449-R Delaney and Waldron, Inc. Furniture 128 Main Street, Milford, Mass. Milford’s Fastest Growing Furniture Store Agents for Barstow Ranges Phone 158-J Compliments of Trainor’s Diner ADVERTISING SECTION. 11 WRIGHT DITSON WORCESTER, MASS. Headquarters for Golf, Tennis and Baseball Supplies and all essential Clothing for the above games. We call your attention to our very complete line of Athletic Shoes. Bathing Suits for men and women in the most popular styles and colors. Send for our new Spring and Summer catalog. F. S. ADAMS, President, H. S. CHADBOURNE, Treasurer. TT TE have a good assortment of Builders 5 Hardware, Paints, and all of the specialties that generally go with these lines. We have a first-class Plumbing and Tinsmithing department. H. S. CHADBOURNE CO. Successors to Clark, Ellis Sons 230 Main Street, Milford, Mass. Compliments of John L. McTiernan Studebaker Erskine Sales and Service Milford, Massachusetts 12 ADVERTISING SECTION. Compliments of H. W. Smiley Watches, Glass Rings, etc. 226 Main Street, Milford, Mass. Compliments of JOHN E. SWIFT, Esq. Compliments of DR. EARL CROCKETT Dentist Milford, - Mass. Compliments of, CROWN CONFECTIONERY CO. 149 Main Street Compliments of...... JOHN C. LYNCH, Esq. Milford, - Man. LUIGI A. RECCHIUTO Successor to L. Grow Son Manufacturer Truck and Wagon Bodies of all kinds Milford, - Mass. Compliments of. A Friend Compliments of. LOUIS PRATT Milford, Mass. ADVERTISING SECTION. 13 IDEAL THEATRE Compliments of. Matinees 2.15 Evenings 7.15 A. ROSENFELD Home of Best Photo Plays Milford, Mass. Compliments of. Compliments of.... MARCOVITCH BROS. CENTRAL BATTERY, IGNITION and FILLING STATIONS WILLARD Auto and Radio Batteries WENDELL WILLIAMS CHESTER F. WILLIAMS Milford Uxbridge 860 34-4 Compliments of. Compliments of. W. L. J. F. POWER CO. Dias flDars E. 2 iantonto Plumbing, Heating, Hardware B NU-WAY OIL BURNER Estimates Free De LUXE CONFECTIONERY B The home of famous Lemon and Plumbers of Service and Satisfaction Lime and Delicious Ice Cream BOB Telephone 1 32-J BUCKLE’S 122 Main Street, Milford, Mass. 111 Main Street Milford 14 ADVERTISING SECTION. Cartb anb flowers ANNIE LAWLESS STORE Telephone ' 372 Flowers Telegraphed Anywhere ANGELO MAZZARELLI Dealer in Groceries, Fruit, Ice Cream and Confectionery Telephone 1225-W 77 East Main Street, Milford WILLIAM J. DILLON DEALER IN Groceries, Fruit, Ice Cream Confectionery 45 Depot Street Milford L. COLABELLO SONS Sanitary Barber Shop 20 East Main Street, Milford, Mass. REYNOLDS’ Victor-Victrolas, Victor Records and Supplies Musical Instruments Atwater Kent Radios Sheet Music, Books and Stationery 1 96 Main Street Milford, Massachusetts Eva O’Donnell’s Shoppe We carry a most complete line of gowns, regular and extra sizes Millinery and Wearing Apparel 2 School Street, Telephone 433-R DR. HERBERT W. SHAW Dentist a MILFORD, - MASS. Compliments of. Thomas’ Hairdressing Room CHARLES LUFTY Shoes, Clothes and Dry Goods East Main St., Milford, Mass. ADVERTISING SECTION. 15 Miscoe Ginger Ale A Beverage of the Best Quality Manufactured Directly from Nature’s Pure Mineral Spring Water Try a bottle or a case. It is invigorating and refreshing. Note its snappy, pleasing taste. You will find it different from all others, be¬ cause of the fact of the high quality of the water and the ingredients used in its manufacture. ORDER A CASE FROM YOUR GROCER. MISCOE SPRING WATER COMPANY When you want a real drink, ask for Miscoe. MENDON, MASSACHUSETTS - Telephone 756-J Compliments of Compliments of, WILLIAM A. MURRAY, Esq M. H. S. 1907 CENEDELLA Compliments of, COMPANY a DR. R. E. ELLSWORTH Dentist Milford, Mass. Milford, Mass. 16 ADVERTISING SECTION. AVERY WOODBURY COMPANY 212 to 214 Main Street, Milford, Mass. INTERIOR DECORATORS, HOUSE FURNISHERS, CUT GLASS SILVERWARE Compliments of. Compliments of. Berkeley Textile Company MILFORD GAZETTE 209 MAIN ST., Telephone 178-M PAUL WILLIAMS Compliments of. Insurance Broker DILLON BROS. 4 Poplar Street Tel. 192-W Milford, Mass. Milford, - Mass. Tel. 544-M Office Hours 8-12—1-5 Dr. H. Ellsworth Morse Optical Specialist Suite 5, Thayer Building 219 Main Street, Milford, Mass. A. H. SWEET CO., Inc. Compliments of. Registered Pharmacists W. J. WALKER Baker Block - Milford 2 1 3 Main Street, Milford, Mass. Milford savings Bank 236 Main street, MUfora, Mass. Open every business day from 9 A. M. to 3 P. M., except Saturday. Saturdays, 9 A. M. to 1 P. M. Deposits commence to draw interest on the TENTH DAY of Each Month. Dividends are payable on and after the Third Saturday April and October. , ' s , • ■ ■ CLASS OF 1928 THE OAK. LILY AJMD IVY Vol. XLIII. MILFORD, MASS., JUNE, 1928. No. 1. Published by the Pupils of the Milford High School. Under the Supervision of Miss Marion A. Ryan of the English Department. BOARD OF EDITORS. Editor-in-Chief—Mary Burns, ’28. Business Manager—Richard Bates, ’28. Associate Business Managers— William Grayson, ’28. Lucy Iacovelli, ’28. ASSOCIATE EDITORS. Robert Cenedella, ’28. Helen Luby, ’28. Samuel Ianzito, ’28. Florence Snow, ’28. Business Management of this Magazine under the Supervision of Miss Lillian L. Egan of the Commercial Department. Single Copies, 15 cents. Address all communications to Oak, Lily and Ivy, Milford, Mass. EDITORIAL. COMMENCEMENT. Under smiling June skies, amid the plaudits of admiring and well-wishing friends and relatives, we, the youths of our country, enjoy the thrills of gradu¬ ation. It is our day! We have finished our scholastic career and now go forth to meet and conquer hitherto unknown and undiscovered lands. Flushed with enthusiasm we are eager for the fray. Long years of tedious toil at what to us seemed interminably uninteresting books have ended. Study is consummated. It is—Commencement! We listen patiently to the words of advice and wisdom that are uttered by those who deliver well-known graduation addresses, and then, laden with roses,, we march forward to receive the possession of the scroll for which we have labored zealously and laboriously—our diploma! The doors of the school room close behind us and we soon find ourselves adrift on a new and troublesome sea. We have been preparing for life. Now we are of it. And yet in truth, though we have cast aside our school books, we have but begun to learn. We have but begun to appreciate the value of our youthful holiday through the sacrifice of loving parents. The light of learning has but commenced to flicker. We are starting in a new world and the brilliancy of its gaiety beckons us on and on. 18 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. But not only this memorable day in June is Commencement. For each day in life is a Commencement, the beginning of a new life, an opening of a new vista. We may meet defeat on one day, and on another we may receive the crown of victory. But each day we go forward in preparation for that day of days when we will receive the announcement of an eternal award. Mary Burns, ’ 28 . SALUTATORY. In behalf of the Class of 1928 I extend to you all a most cordial welcome. At this time we wish to show our gratitude for the efforts of our parents and teachers expended in our behalf during the past four years. We are deeply thankful for the encouragement of all those who have assisted us. THE BLESSINGS OF PEACE. International peace has come to be regarded as one of the foremost issues that confront the modern world. The countries at large are beginning to realize that peace is one of the greatest blessings they can hope for, and are thus making international amity their chief aim. Our own country, the United States of America, has long had a strong hatred of war. Our most noted countrymen have warned and striven against it. Did not Washington in his farewell message as first president of the United States warn this country against “entangling alliances with foreign nations, and the spirit of faction at home” ? Did not Lincoln use his power—as both citi¬ zen and president—to the utmost to prevent the clashing of forces from the North and South? Did not Wilson send several notes to Germany and the other Central Powers in taking every precaution against our entering the World War? As President McKinley once said: “It has been recognized as the lead¬ ing feature of our foreign policy throughout our national history that there should be the adjustment of difficulties by judicial methods rather than by force of arms.” During every age there have been enlightened men who have firmly be¬ lieved in peaceful solution of disputes. The determination of international con¬ troversies by arbitration runs back to a very early time. It was extensively used by the Greeks with much definiteness and precision, and with an intelligent un¬ derstanding of its essentially judicial character. It was used in England during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, and since the establishment of our own federal government has been successfully used by our national officials. As disputes became more frequent and more important, the methods of ar¬ bitration developed into the establishment of the Permanent Court of Interna¬ tional Justice. This court of justice embodies the principles, the ideals, and the aspirations of the American people. President Harding, under the advice of Secretary Hughes, gave his approval to the proposal to adhere to the Permanent Court of International Justice. President Coolidge, who in 1919-1920 had been an open advocate of our entering the League of Nations with mild reservations, in accepting his predecessor’s mantle adopted the advocacy of such adherence to the Court. In his message to Congress, December 6, 1923, he spoke thus re¬ garding the situation: “Our foreign policy has always been guided by two prin¬ ciples. I he one is the avoidance of permanent political allliances which would THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 19 sacrifice our proper independence. The other is the peaceful settlement of con¬ troversies between nations. By example and by treaty we have advocated arbitra¬ tion. For nearly twenty-five years we have been a member of the Hague Tribunal, and have sought the creation of a permanent world court of justice. I am in all accord with both of these policies. I favor the establishment of such a court intended to include the whole world. That is and has long been an American policy.” Even great war-time commanders are in favor of such an institution. To cite merely one example: Sir Arthur Currie, Commander-in-Chief of the Canadian forces during the World War, is “a man of peace, firmly believing in the League of Nalions and in methods of conciliation and arbitration rather than in methods of force.” Surely if such a man, a man who has seen and who knows war, holds to the ideals of peace, we can rest assured that war has no benefit for a civilized world. What is war? War is suffering, devastation, and waste. Men suffer, women suffer, nations, countries—the whole world suffers! Homes are destroyed, fields are devastated; villages, towns, cities, even whole nations are ravaged! Food is wasted; land is wasted; money is wasted; and what is the worst of all— hu¬ man lives are wasted! In contrast to this, how blessed is peace! How a country benefits under its sway! It is developed and strengthened in all ways, morally, physically, and industrially. During and after a period of war, morals are bound to be lax. With the country in an abnormal state, it is only natural that the inhabitants of the country assume the same attitude. No better example of the low tone of public morality could be given than the condition after the World War. It has lasted fully ten years, and it is only now that w r e are beginning to outgrow the post-war condi¬ tions. The physical decline of a country during war is so obvious that it hardly needs mentioning. Thousands and thousands of lives are lost, and in most in¬ stances it is not the older people who are taken, but it is rather those that a country needs most—the “flower of youth” as we like to call them—who make the supreme sacrifice. In the U. S. Civil War, the total casualty was nearly 1,000,000. In the recent World War, the casualty of France was 3,000,000; that of Belgium one-half a million. If a country were involved very frequently in a war of this type, in a comparatively short time its very life would be drained from it. Peace, however, does away with all this bloodshed and secures what is essential to a country’s supremacy—its physical strength. The prosperity of our country has long rested upon constructive labor and material progress, both of them in striking contrast to warfare. Industry cannot flourish during times of war. War lures young men not to develop, but to exploit; it turns them from the courage and toil of industry to the bravery and endurance of war, and leads them to forget that civilization is the substitution of law for war. It incites their ambitions, not to irrigate, to make fertile the barren plain of the savage, but rather to fill it with military posts, to cease pushing forward industrial action into new fields, and to fall back upon military action. As industrial relations imply peaceful relations, the natural outcome is that our prosperity depends on peace. In other words, not only the moral and physical, but the industrial condition, the very prosperity of our country depends on peace. As Ralph Waldo Emerson says: “Not in an obscure corner, not in a futile Europe, not in an antiquated appanage where no onward step can be taken without rebellion, is this seed of benevolence laid in the furrow, with tears 20 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. of hope; but in this Broad America of God and man, where the forest is only now falling, or yet to fall, and the green earth opened to the inundation of em¬ igrant man from all quarters of oppression and guilt; here, where not a family, not a few men, but mankind shall say what shall be; here, we ask, ‘Shall it be War, or shall it be Peace?’ So it is for the great United States to determine between the issue of war and peace. For the progress and benefit of our country, let us hope that the decision will be—Peace! Mary Burns, ’ 28 . UNSUNG GLORY. A sign creaked dismally in the wind. The crunch of hurried footsteps on the snow-covered sidewalk suddenly halted. The glare of a street-light shone on two dark forms. “I tell you, Ray, submarines are dangerous!” “Yes, Bill, but—I love them!” “How far does the tryout take you, Ray?” the first voice continued. The younger figure straightened, and there was a defiant ring in his voice as he answered, “Provincetown, Bill!” The first speaker smiled at the boyish eagerness, but as his thoughts deep¬ ened, he frowned. “Lad,” he said, “watch your step tomorrow!” The younger man laughed and bade his companion a hurried farewell. It was not until the next afternoon in the S-40, that Bill’s words came back to him: “Lad, watch your step!” He thought to himself that Bill Tyndall was becoming effeminate, and laughed to himself. He glanced at the young torpedoman and noticed the weak chin and shift¬ ing gaze in his eyes. The face seemed vaguely familiar to him, and later he found out that the man had been a classmate of his at Annapolis. He recognized him now as Earl Preston. He recalled the quarrels that he and Preston had had over seemingly trivial matters and he felt instinctively that these quarrels would naturally have an effect on their friendship during the trip. They were well on their way before Preston recognized Ray. He had been leaning over to adjust a bolt near the torpedo tubes and as he straightened up, his eyes met Ray’s. A knowing light gleamed for one brief instant as he brushed by his superior officer. However, Ray forgot the animosity which existed between them in the de¬ lightful thrill of being in this throbbing submarine below the surface of the choppy sea. His reverie was interrupted by the whistle of the speaking tube. 1 he words of the seaman in the conning tower came in startled gasps: “Ship ahead, sir! Watch your st-!” A crash. A horrible ripping sound and the noise of frigid waters pour¬ ing through the gaping wound in the submarine’s battery room. Stifled by the chlorine fumes from the brine flooded cells of the storage batteries, Ray struggled with the wheel and valve in vain. His muscles were like strings. He pushed forward, knee deep in the icy water to the forward torpedo- room, followed by the three torpedo-men and two seamen. He knew he was safe for a time in this steel-girt cell and he breathed the purer air with a feel- THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 21 ing of intense relief. What had happened? He reviewed the last ten minutes in his benumbed brain and all he could remember was Bill’s advice: ‘ Watch your step!” He laughed hysterically as he heard the roaring of the mad whirl¬ pool and the groans of dying men. Suddenly Ray felt the importance of his position and he issued curt orders. The men, chilled to the bone in the tomblike cold, silently wrapped themselves in blankets from the nearby cots. The lights became dim. The air became poiso n and black water seeped in, covering their prison floor. Scanty rations were doled out. The insufferable gloom and iciness of the narrow room bore down upon the imprisoned men. In the rank, sickening air an over-powering thirst clutched Preston’s throat and he cautiously leaned over to take the water jar. An arm shot out with surprising agility and grasped his pale hand. “Go easy—that’s all we have!” A sudden determination for revenge took hold of Preston’s dull mind and lifting the jar in his trembling hands he drank long and refreshingly. “You cur!” Ray snarled angrily as he sought to wrest the jar from Preston’s hands. The jar splashed into the muddy pool and the precious drops of water mingled with the icy sea. Thirst tore at the throats of the other five men, and all pinned their waning hopes on five small steel cylinders of condensed oxygen. Hours that seemed days passed in the bitter agony of a fight for life and three of the oxygen cylinders were consumed. Preston groaned and writhed on his cot and his weak body shook visibly in the uncertain light. A piercing cry rent the chilled air and five men uttered an inward prayer for their dead. The two seamen gave up the fight and rolled into the depths. Three men fixed their glazed eyes on the one remaining cylinder and only one thought reached each mind: “I must have it!” Another groan echoed in the desolate chamber, and two men faced death alone. Preston still uttered moans of agony, and his whole body was twisted with the torture of his breathing. Ray, crawling on his stomach in the icy water, reached the oxygen cylinder. One twist and he could breathe with ease! If he could only turn the valve, he might be saved. A groan rang in his ears. He clasped the cylinder in his arms and dragged it to the floor. A moan of intense agony from Preston broke the oppressive silence. Ray glanced at Preston’s face, ghastly pale in the dim chamber. Just one twist and Ray would be saved! He dragged the cylinder nearer to him and Bill’s words rang in his ears. “Watch your step!” He smiled weakly and struggled to bring the tube of the cylinder nearer his mouth and nose. Preston clutched at the empty air. A feeble whisper came to Ray’s ears. He passed the tube into Preston’s hand wildly grasping the rank air. Preston’s grip weakened, and as Ray turned the valve, the tube dropped into the dark water. A hiss, followed by the gurgle of compressed air suddenly released under deep water. Two pairs of blue eyes met as the last hope of life vanished. Moments passed. Hours. The clang of a diver’s hammer, beating against the iron sides of the S-40, echoed ominously in the still, dark grave. Marguerite Taylor, ’28. 22 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. THE IMMENSITY OF SPACE. August 8, 1926. Dear Fred:— Remember this morning? You came into my office and told me to relieve myself by telling my troubles to you. “What,” you asked me, “is the matter with you lately? You’re jumpy. You’re irritable. You’re grouchy. You don’t come to see your old friends any more. Can’t you tell me, Bob? It may help, getting it off your chest, old man.” And I answered, “No, I can’t tell even you, Fred.” “But even so,” you told me, “you mustn’t let this hypochondria go on. It retards your work. Talk to me. Talk anything,—philosophy, law, divorce, love. Talk all that hellish frenzy right out of your system. Tell me about the Harrow- by case. Anything, only talk.” To this I made a general observation. “People don’t like to talk of their troubles, and if they have troubles, they can talk of them or of nothing.” “Then you won’t talk? Its for your own good, Bob.” “I’m afraid not, this morning.” “You ought to tell something to some of your friends. We’re worrying. Hang it, Bob—“you were suddenly angry—“you’re not the only one who has troubles. Other people either don’t display theirs or they display them with half-decent reticence.” Something in the way you said this made me look up. I had only to look at your twisted mouth and brooding eyes, Fred, to know that there was some¬ thing bothering you, that you had troubles far greater than mine. “Sit down, Fred.” I tried to be gentle but decidedly firm with you. “Now, what’s itching you?” You smiled weakly at my unwonted use of slang, and ineffectually you pro¬ tested that nothing was bothering you. But I insisted that there was something, and finally you broke down and cried—remember? You cried, Fred, like a baby, and finally you confessed to me your tragic affair with Judith. I admitted that I had been out of touch with affairs and that I had heard nothing of this. I was all sympathy for you, Fred, and I still am. Having unburdened your heart, you seemed quite calm. It was to be ex¬ pected that you would be relieved, but you were so calm! It seemed unnatural after the sad tale that you had unfolded. It was ghastly. And I questioned you; don’t you remember, Fred? 1 How, I asked, “can you appear so undisturbed now, after the recital of your tribulations? How have you been so calm al l these months?” And, rather dramatically, you answered my latter question. The sky, Bob,” you exclaimed, and you repeated it. “The sky! Whenever I become oppressed with the world, with financial difficulties, or with my greatest source of mental suffering, I go out and look up at the heavens, I contemplate the vastness of this universe, the immensity of space, and the thought naturally follows, What a maggot I am!’ My troubles drift away to nothingness. I was interested. I advise you,” you told me, “to try that method in attempting to remove this nameless oppression of yours.” I hen you left. You remember all this, don’t you, Fred? Is it not as I have set it down? Well, I have followed your advice, Fred. At seven o’clock tonight, I ventured into my wife’s little garden, and, alone there in the dark, I regarded the THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 23 heavens. The stars up there were twinkling. They were not warm and friendly. They were not cold and disapproving. They were merely remote, wholly unsug- gestive of any sort of intimacy between my sphere and theirs. I ran my eyes over that great expanse of sky, sky, sky. How utterly alone I was! The universe seemed the gigantic scheme of some great juggernaut who did not care for me. I was but a witful amoeba carelessly tossed into the middle of a great onrushing flood-swollen river. I was a mad creature in a cell not padded, but with iron walls. Oh, how I felt the oppressiveness of mortal existence! My affairs did not matter at all, but I wanted them to matter. O, Fred -. Fate, Fred, is peculiar. Fate sent you into my office this morning with a great burden on your heart. It sent you out comforted. It sent me into my garden tonight quite at peace. And it has sent me out of it raving. Listen, Fred: The only reason for my irritability during the past few weeks has been the ex¬ cessive amount of work that I have forced myself to do in preparation for that Harrowby trial. Morrow is a hard attorney to defeat. I’m going to ask you to take that case for me, for I shall not be here when it comes up. I see no reason for prolonging the existence of an amoeba. I am writing this in my study, but I shan’t do the deed here. I’ll be, as you would say, “half-decently reticent” about the affair. The deed will be done out in the garden after I have posted this letter to you. Goodbye, Fred. I’m sorry that I could not regard the heavens with your eyes. BOB. Robert Cenedella, ’28. THE INHERITANCE. The icy wind swept up the steep hill. The drenching rain fell in torrents, while in the dark castle all was silent. Suddenly a moan was heard in the dis¬ tance. It steadily increased in volume until it could rightly be called a scream. A thin figure jumped from the covered davenport and hurried out into a dimly lit hall. Silence, then was heard a sound of running feet, a thud, a diabolical laugh. Then silence again. Into the drawing room slouched a bent ragged-haired being, dragging along his burden. He laid it on the davenport and vanished as if in mid-air. In the distance one heard the noise of a heavy door slowly closing. i Although there were gleams of sunlight throughout the dark castle, it ap¬ peared forbidding and dismal to the two young people standing on its shadowy threshold. “Oh, Tim, how terribly gloomy it is. Listen to the river. Why it is the only happy living thing around. Let’s go and see that first.” So the two walked away, down over the steep bank and rocks to the river. Behind them stood the grim stone castle as if overshadowing their youth and vitality. “Well, Dicky-girl, what do you think of this half of my inheritance?” asked the young man as he leaped expertly onto a large rock on the very edge of the river. He turned and held out brown lean hands to help his companion as she also leaped forward, but not until she had gained a good foothold did she answer him. 24 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. Then brushing her short light brown hair out of her hazel eyes, she looked about her. “What a gorgeous place! Oh, look at the lovely birch trees, and over there, that marvelous pine grove. I’ll wager one can get a fine view from that window,” she added, pointing to a large French window high up in the castle and right over the river. “Gee, Dicky, how you do jump around in your conversation. Well, come on, we’ll have to go over part of the castle before the workers from the village arrive. I believe I’ll have all the rooms cleaned, for I guess they’ll need it.” As they worked their way back, they continued their inspection. Tim pointed out to the girl many well known landmarks. “See, Dicky, there is the family graveyard. Over there in that small cot¬ tage lives a hermit. Boy, didn’t he hate us because we lived here! He hates anyone who even enters the castle.” They raced each other up the steep banks to the castle. As they reached the door, the girl hung back as though some ill foreboding breath of air had whispered something repugnant to her. But, perhaps not to be outdone by her friend, or perhaps, more truely, not wishing to stay alone in the strange, unusual, formidable surroundings, she entered the ancient house with an unfathomable apprehension. Tim stepped in ahead of her. He immediately hurried down the hall to the kitchen and began foraging manfashion in a large pantry. “Oh, heck! All of mother’s preserves are gone, and I know when I was camping up here for a few days last fall, there were about a dozen jars left.” “Never mind, Tim. You most likely ate them, or perhaps some of your old chums who knew about them came by, forced their way in, and helped them¬ selves during their stay.” Just then they heard the workers arriving, and they hastened to greet them and give them some orders concerning the future work. As Tim entered the drawing room, he noticed footmarks on the rug. He asked Dicky if she had come in ahead of him., but she answered in the negative. He discovered that the footmarks led up to the davenport and then he noticed its burden. Dicky stopped, turned pale, then hurried forward and examined the piti¬ ful form. Her nursing training now stood her in good stead as she again examined the body. ? It only a child and he was killed by a blow of a dagger from behind. Oh! she added vindictively, “How I would like to get my hands on that cowardly, hateful murderer!” As she stood there, she noticed that a ray of sunlight had filtered in through the dusty windows across the dingy rug spattered with blood. It had stopped at the motionless corpse on the davenport as if to make a bridge by which the soul of the victim might pass from this world into the celestial world above. She shuddered, then turned, and quickly left the room. One of the men recognized the child as one of the children of a well known family in the village. I he child was considered strange because he was always administering to the sick instead of running and playing like others of his age. They immediately formed a searching party to go through the castle and see what other horrors, if any, it held. They searched the first floor methodically, going through the dim dusky mysterious rooms. They found nothing. 1 hey started on the second floor, but before they had gone far in the search, they were stopped by a scream from one of the nearby rooms. They all stood THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 25 as though frozen to the spot, then rushed in a body toward a large oaken door at the end of the hall. Tim opened the heavy door slowly. The air that came out was foul, with a peculiar odor, as though the room had been shut up for a long time. With one fearful glance the group took in the blood-stained surroundings and also the stooped, neglected-looking man who was standing in a large open French window. As they started toward him, he gave one backward glance and disappeared from view. There rose to the horrified ears of the group the sound of a dia¬ bolical laugh and a huge splash. Elizabeth Sails, ’28. X THE UNKNOWN. “London Trust Company Looted! Gas Cloud Overcomes Guards. Cypher Message Left in Vaults. Raiders Escape in Mysterious Plane.” Fred Burton was reading the news as it flashed over his television machine. With an exclamation of surprise his usually good-natured face clouded. “Who would have thought it?” he mused. “A plane able to escape the police ships with their 1981 equipment, their Z-ray guns capable of stopping any motor, and their speed. Why, that plane must have been traveling more than 600 miles an hour.” An urgent buzzing on the opposite side of the room interrupted him. Hurriedly he read the message from the instrument, “Ser¬ geant Fred Burton is to report for duty at once at the New York Airport.” A few minutes later Inspector Merriwell was saying to him, “We have solved the cypher message, but the answer seems almost incredible. Here! Read it for yourself.” Fred picked up the typewritten sheet. “You are probably wondering,” he read, “who I am and what my motive is. The first question is immaterial; that I am an inventor is sufficient. My motive is more complex. I have no need of the money, myself, as I am working alone. I am giving time and service for humanity’s sake and am trying to save the world from the curse of wealth. My next move will be at the New York National Bank. This information will be of no use to you, for you can never guard the fourth dimension. Signed X.” “Curse of wealth! Fourth dimension! Why, that’s—but it can’t be! He died escaping from his cell in the asylum.” “So we all thought,” said the Inspector. But no one else could have such ideas. It must be Hilton, the insane inventor.” Monday night was dark and cold. There seemed to be no one around. But inside the vaults of the First National Bank photophones were recording every¬ thing that went on, while ou tside, out of range of the anaesthetic gas, Sergeant Burton, with three police planes, was awaiting the arrival of X. However, all this preparation was in vain. A large gray plane swooped down; a mist of pink gas enveloped the building. A long tube-like projection extended down from the plane and seemed to pass through the roof. The photophones in the vaults showed a man materializing from space; the money-bags were loaded into the 26 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. plane. The plane was pursued. The pursuers saw X pull a lever, and then— the plane absolutely disappeared. It was true! There was a fourth dimension! But who had the secret of it? An insane fool who believed that money was the root of all evil. The whole world was terrified. Everywhere people were withdrawing their money from the banks. Thousands of banks were failing. The police admitted defeat. X had made three more successful raids. Twice he had been seen and chased, but had escaped through the fourth dimension. Every member of the force was on duty night and day. Even Inspector Merriwell, who might very well have directed the campaign from his desk at headquarters, was gone for days at a time in his speedy pursuit plane. Fred Burton was thinking of all this as he sped along through the night on his way from Chicago to Washington. Suddenly he looked around. There was no one in sight, but he could have sworn he heard the sound of propellors. Then, far below him, he saw a vague shape, suspended by its helicoptors, slowly set¬ tling to earth. His heart gave a leap. Now was his chance. X must be trying to steal some of Major Strong’s plans. And how easy it would be. The Major, an eccentric inventor, rarely left his work-room and cared little for what was happening in the world. Quickly Fred glided earthward. As he came nearer he could see that X had not used his fourth-dimension tube, but had evidently entered the house through an unlocked window. “If I could only get into the plane,” he thought, “I would have X trapped.” Landing, he sent a code message to headquarters. Then, taking a heavy wrench from his tool kit, he climbed the long rope ladder to the cabin of the mysterious plane. As he had feared, the entrance was locked, but he climbed to one of the windows and, with all his strength, struck it with the wrench. As he was about to enter, his foot slipped. He grasped the nearest support, the lever of the fourth dimension. It yielded to his pull. As he fell, he saw the plane disappear, and his last thoughts before he struck were that he had sent the mystery plane, unpiloted, where no one could ever reach it again. When Burton became conscious, he saw another plane landing. Out of it sprang three patrolmen. They told him that the Inspector had been out on one of his long scouting trips when the message arrived, but they had all started to come without orders. Fred reported what had happened, and they all started for the house. Once inside, they followed the sound of voices to an upstairs room. There, with his back toward them, sat X. They recognized him by his queer leather jacket. Across the table was Major Strong, while between them lay the stolen gold and securities. “But you promised me twice that amount for the use of the plane!” the Major was complaining. “I’ll pay you after a few more raids,” came X’s reply. “Hands up!” shouted Fred. The Major sank weakly into his chair. X sprang to his feet and whirled to confront the speaker. There was a deathlike silence. The suddenness of his movement had swept the mask from his face. X, the unknown, was not Hilton, the insane inventor, but—Inspector Merriwell! Robert Billings, ’ 28 . THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 27 TREASURE MAD. His lordship, the Earl of Ashton, strode back and forth impatiently in his magnificent and well kept study. Tonight, together with his step-brother, he was to seek his ancestor’s treasure. Confound John, he thought. Why should he, the Earl of Ashton, share the treasure with one that had no real claim to it? He tried to thrust aside the thought that it had been John who had accidentally come upon the documents that had given the clue. An evil thought entered the head of his lordship. Why not? No one would be the wiser. He started guiltily at the sound of a laughing voice. “A penny for your thoughts, old fellow! No, no,” John said still laugh¬ ing, “you don’t have to tell me, I bet you were thinking of the treasure. You could have knocked me down with a feather when I discovered that gold was buried in our cellar, I mean, your cellar,” he hastily corrected. “Oh yes, I own up that I was thinking about it,” said the Earl slowly, sur¬ veying his brother at the same time. Strange, he thought, that he should hate such a cleancut and frank young man. but he knew the reason deep down in his heart. Wasn’t it John who al¬ ways attracted the ladies? Wasn’t it John who was the better horseman? John would look handsome even in a coffin, he thought ironically. “Say, if those documents we found are true,” John was saying, “that an¬ cestor of ours must of been a rummy old fellow. Just think of any one sacking Spanish treasure ships under the very eyes of their protectors!” “Yes, he must have been a remarkable fellow,” put in the other less en¬ thusiastically. “I think we have done enough talking, John. It is time that we go seek it.” “I’m all ready, I have my flashlight. I guess that’s all we’ll need.” “I believe we will need a crow-bar for the night’s work.” “You’re right. Lordy, old boy, it’s just like you not to over-look minor details.” John reappeared a few minutes later with a short crow-bar. “I’m sorry but that’s the best I could find. Since you sent the servants to town, I can’t find a blessed thing in this place.” “I’ll take the crow-bar, John. It will serve the purpose.” “All right, Lordy. I’ll lead the way into the haunted cellar. Make sure you don’t disturb ghosts and goblins,” he said jestingly. Curse the fellow, thought the other, always making light of everything. Why should John share in the treasure? Money meant nothing to him. He would no doubt give his share to some grasping orphan’s home. The evil thought had taken root and would not be shaken. Yes, he would go on with it. All this time they had been slowly traversing the winding and musty cor- riders in the cellar of Ashton Castle. For once John Ashton was awed. “Just think, Lordy, how many were butchered in these walls.” His lordship did not deign a reply. He was too busy with his own thoughts. John came to a stop at the head of a flight of stairs. “According to the documents, the treasure lies buried at the foot of these steps. Give me the crow-bar, Lordy.” “You shall have it, you fool, you shall have it!” came the choked words of the other. Too late the other turned—A crash. A falling body—a clanking sound—a rolling beam of light. Silence. 28 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. Dazed, his lordship, tried to pierce the inky blackness. The foul deed was done. The treasure was his, all his! Midway down the long treacherous steps he perceived the band of light. Strange, he thought, that the bulb had not been shattered to fragments. Slowly and carefully he descended the stairs. Just one more step and the light would be his and then for the—Suddenly and without warning he stumbled over the unseen crow-bar, and was pitched into space. A blood-curdling scream rent the air—a sickening thud—silence. Samuel Ianzito, ’ 28 . FEAR. The wind whistled through the struts of the plane with a high shrill scream. The ship plunged and staggered on its way, but kept its nose into the wind. The pilot peered into the darkness of the storm with his haggard tired eyes. “Jove” he whispered, “if I go into a tailspin. Oh, those tailspins!” He shook his head as if trying to clear his mind of the horrible thought. A strong blast at this moment almost ripped the plane apart. The roar of the wind drowned the sound of the motor. He struggled with the control stick, glanced at his instruments, and shook his head. “I can never make it,” he murmured. “I can never make it.” As he battled with the wind and rain, he pictured his dear old mother safe and warm by the fire. Dear mother, she didn’t want him to take up aviation, but it was in his blood. He could picture her as she was when he had broken the news of his first flight, tearful, but yet with a proud light shining in her eyes. He saw also the family doctor, their most faithful friend, who had warned him that same fateful day. He could remember vividly his words, “My boy, some day your heart will get you yet. High altitudes are not for you.” But overpowering these thoughts was his great inherent fear. “If I go into a tailspin,” he murmured, “if I go into a tailspin!” He resolutely chased the subject from his mind, and bent his will to the task of bringing the plane safely down. The violence of the wind increased. I he rain drove like hailstones against the plane and froze on the wings. It was a terrible night for flying, enough to make the strongest bend under the load. The boy, however, flew resolutely onward. “For Billy,” he said. “I’ll do it for Billy.” He thought of the blue-eyed, dusky haired maiden for whom he had risked his life. He saw her stretching out her arm toward him, welcoming him, when he arrived at her house. Tomorrow was her twenty-first birthday, and she dearly loved diamonds. I here was no jewelry stores in Dover that had jewels fit for his girl. Say, but wouldn’t it be worth the struggle to watch her eyes shine, and to see her lovely dimples when she saw that diamond? He clasped his hand over the bulge in his coat, and grinned from sheer delight. But then the terrible thought again crept into his mind. A tailspin,” he muttered. “If I ever go into a tailspin.” He clenched his teeth and bowed his head as the wind howled over the cock¬ pit. He forgot his mother, he forgot the doctor, and even forgot Billy as he trembled violently from fear, and prayed with all his strength. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 29 He gazed hollow-eyed into the night. He was flying by dead reckoning. Not a thing was visible in the intense darkness. The wind howled, the rain swished, and still that dismal blackness. “I must do it, I must.” Then again that clutching fear. He shivered, drew his helmet more firmly over his ears, and again peered into the night. Was that a light below? Was it? The ship gave a sudden lurch, and he almost lost control in the screaming wind. It tore at the rudder, it seemed to lift the wings off the plane, and when he righted the plane, the light was nowhere to be seen. “I might have known it,” he muttered. “At least another hour of this agony. Heavens, I can’t stand it,” he sobbed. “Why did I ever do it? Why? Why?” The wind screamed anew. The rain beat in a sheet of ice over the plane. The plane lurched, it trembled, it shook. He was losing control. “Jove, a tailspin, a tailspin!” The plane spun around; it was being carried off like a kite. He clutched desperately at his controls, he tugged at them in despair, and suddenly the plane righted itself as if by magic. It was a dying gasp of the storm. He sighed and breathed easier. Perhaps he could reach it after all. The wind was dying down, and the rain had abated. “I surely can reach it,” he thought. “How good it will be to reach home, to see mother, the doctor and Billy. How fine it will be.” He regained his composure as he went on. Only a half hour now, and then —blissful thoughts. He sailed steadily on, humming a tune to the accompani¬ ment of the motor with a dreamy gaze in his eyes. Wouldn’t it be wonderful? He had fulfilled his quest. Yes, he would pop the question tonight and she would accept—he knew that. Suddenly he saw the searchlight below off Dover Field. Well, here he was, safe and sound. That tailspin stuff was the bunk. Why had he ever worried about that stuff? He pointed the nose of the plane down and descended swiftly and surely. But as he dropped, he clutched his breast, his eyes protruded, he uttered a shriek, and the nerveless hand let go of the control. The plane which had been so swiftly descending, turned on its side and fell, fluttering like a dead leaf. As it fell, the wind lifted it, and then dropped it to the ground with a sickening crash. Raymond Lynch, ’28. FINE FEATHERS. The girl looked out of her clear blue eyes into the stern brown orbs of her companion. At length she spoke. “My answer is no, Jimmy. I can’t do it. I like you very much, but I’m sick and tired of skimping and saving and going without those things which I love—beautiful clothes, expensive cars, beautiful houses. Oh, but that’s the life! No, Jimmy, I can’t do it,” she ended emphatically. “Then this is good-bye, Betty?” “Yes, good-bye.” With that the young man, known as the ambitious Jimmy Walker, picked up his soft gray hat, slammed the door behind him, and strode angrily down the walk muttering about the selfishness of women. 30 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. Betty Randolph gazed out the window a bit wistfully at the poorly though neatly dressed young man, and then at her drab room and her plain dress. With a defiant look in her eyes, she turned squarely around, as if to forget the whole incident, and began picking up ' her room when she heard the telephone. “Hello. Yes, this is Betty. Oh, hello, Bert. What am I doing? Nothing much just now. Sure, I’d love to. Will you be up soon? All right. Bye-Bye.” Bert was going to take her to the Ritz Carlton for another wonderful evening. But she would have to wear that old pink dress which she had worn every night for two weeks. Well, anyway, it was better than going to a cheap movie with Jimmy. She didn’t exactly like Bert, but he brought her around and spelled her idea of luxury. So why in the world should she be fool enough to marry Jimmy and try to live on twenty-five per and love? She quickly changed her clothes and was a dream in the becoming though old pink gown with her sparkling blue eyes and natural wavy blond hair, when the dashing young millionaire, Bert Van Ulster, appeared in his La Salle road¬ ster. She bundled up in her cheap fur coat and hopped in beside a pair of strong shoulders which supported a head covered with thick jet black hair. “Hello, Betty dear! Gee, but you’re looking wonderful to-night,” the young man greeted her as they started along the road. “Oh Bert, thank you, but how can I look nice with this rag of a coat?” asked Betty. “Well, cheer up, old dear. You will soon have half a dozen of them.” “Bert, do you really mean that? Have you mentioned it at home?” “No, not yet, but let’s forget it. Here w r e are at the Ritz.” But Betty could not forget it, and after she got home that night— more correctly, morning—she wondered when Bert would mention her to the folks, and ask her to marry him. Surely it would be soon. She also thought of Jimmy, but only for a second. That was over. She saw Bert every night for two months and she now had a stunning squirrel coat and other beautiful things for, of course, it was perfectly all right for her to accept these gifts when Bert was at last going to tell his parents. He would have the news when he came as usual at eight. But Bert did not come that evening or the next, or the next. Betty had lost her job a month before this and had on Bert’s suggestion not bothered to secure another, for she would not have to work when they were married. She waited for a week. Seven long tiresome days spent wholly at the side of the telephone, not daring to leave her room for fear of missing a call. Still no word from Bert. Suddenly she thought of his club, called up, but no one had ever heard of Bert Van Ulster. Her money was gone at last, and for the last three days she had eaten practically nothing. She had to eat, and pay her rent, so one by one her fine feathers had to go to the pawn shop, and still no word from Bert. Forced to leave her room, she went out into the cold world. She was jostled among the hurrying crowd and went along blindly neither knowing nor caring where she went. Out of the chatter of the shopping throng came the grinding of breaks, screams, and all was black and still. hen Betty woke up, she was in a white room and someone all in white was holding her hand. Where could she be? Oh, her head! How her feet ached! At last she came to enough to ask where she was. “ a tj 011 16 dear. Don’t move,” replied the kind voice of the nurse, and I 11 tell you what has happened. You were struck by an auto and one leg is broken but you won’t mind a little thing like that when I tell you who was driving the car. The noted woman-hater, James Walker, author of that wonder- THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 31 ful book, Fine Feathers, which you surely have read! He left orders for every¬ thing possible to be done and this note for you. Now you must lie still and rest, for he is coming to see you at eight to-night.” The startled girl fell back on the pillows exhausted, muttering, “Yes, Jimmy, to-night—at—eight.” And Jimmy came. Need more be said? Helen Luby, ’ 28 . MASQUERADE. Paul Sterling absently fingered the slender stem of his wine-glass. A cloud of confetti floated down from the balcony over him. He shook it off and in¬ dolently watched the bright bits floating in his glass. The dancers whirled by in merry confusion—gay Spanish girls, dashing Mexican lads, stately colonial dames, Napoleons and Washingtons, pierrots and pierrettes, a monk, a demure rabbit, a picturesque devil. The saxophone wailed and moaned above the din. Cynthia, gowned as a gypsy, was, Paul observed, dancing with a swarthy buccaneer. She approached Paul’s table. “I’ll be back in a minute, Paul,” she called. “This dance is nearly over.” Roused from his reverie, Paul grinned tolerantly at the tiny flapper. “I’m all right, child,” he replied. “Take your time.” The gay buccaneer whirled Cynthia away, and they were swallowed up in the merry throng. “Nice girl,” thought Paul, “but rather tiresome. Some difference between her and Mary. Jove! wouldn’t Mary hate a party like this!” It was quarter of twelve and at twelve the dancers must unmask. Cynthia had not yet come back. Slender fingers tapped on the table. “Hello!” Paul looked up quickly and saw a girl standing there. Afterwards he could not remember what sort of costume she wore, but he knew she wore a mask. The mask covered her eyes and nose, but revealed laughing lips and perfect teeth. Paul got up, interested in spite of himself. “Hello, yourself!” he replied gaily. “Sit down and talk to me, won’t you? Can’t you see I’m languishing for want of a companion?” The girl sat down. “Are you as lonesome as all that, Paul? In this crowd?” “Yes, I was. Of course I’m not now. Funny how lonesome you can be in a crowd. And say, you must know me, because you called me Paul. Who are you?” “I’ll never tell!” The girl turned to watch the dancers, and Paul scrutinized his charming companion. She turned abruptly, and said: “It’s a nice party, isn’t it?” “Yes,” lied Paul valiantly. “Are you staying in town long, Paul?” Paul knew he had heard her voice before. 32 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. “No,” he replied, “I just came down for the week-end, to visit the Ward- lows, Cynthia’s father and mother, you know. I’m going home Tuesday and I’m glad.” “You don’t like the city, then?” “No.” “There must be an attraction at home.” Paul blushed slightly. The girl laughed. “What’s her name?” she queried. “Mary,” he said as if to himself, “Mary Stearns.” The girl caught her breath, or so it seemed to Paul. She rose. “Here, wait a minute, Cinderella,” pleaded Paul. “It’s two minutes of twelve and at twelve they all unmask and then I can see who you are.” “No, I must go.” She turned and hurried from the ball. Paul laughingly followed her, but reached the door a second later. He seized a corner of her mask as she ran out, and tore it off. Then the door slammed, but Paul had seen. It was Mary! He rushed to the outer door and into the road. The cold November moon shone on an empty street. The chimes rang out over the stillness. Midnight. The harsh notes of the doorbell broke the stillness of the early dawn. Muf¬ fled footsteps. A servant tapped on Paul’s door. The door was opened a crack, the servant passed in the telegram, and noiselessly went away. Paul did not need to read the message from home. The words were already ringing and ham¬ mering in his tortured brain:- “Mary died at midnight—auto wreck—come home.” Elna Whitney, ’ 28 . A METAMORPHOSIS. Benjamin Blacket, Jr. rolled over in his bed and glared angrily at the morn¬ ing in general. The birds on the nearby high school elm chirped and trilled, and jolly sunlight warmly flooded the room with cheer. Bennie, however, was not to be cheered this morning; he snuggled down in his bed to exclude the in¬ congruous sunlight. 1 hus he lay and brooded and made strangely serious vows. Black dejection and resentment gripped him, and he felt injured that his day of sorrow should be so unsympathetically fair. Only last night a world had tumbled about his ears crashed to dust by the mere words of a dark-eyed vixen who had long led him treacherously on. Benjamin Blacket, Jr. would never be disturbed by feminine wiles again—never—and he would start hostilities by refusing to attend the high school dance that evening, which action he felt would bring the hapless sex to realize the enormity of the offence given him. Here the pleasure of indulging in his displeasure was unfeelingly interrupt¬ ed by the cold clangor of his ‘time-to-get-up’ bell which his ingenious mother had installed to bestir him from bed. With a little frown, he promised himself—for the hundreth time a future splurge in wire cutting. For the present he knew that the brazen tones would continue till he reached the bathroom to stop them. 1 his last was his mother’s own canny contrivance. CAST OF “THE DIFFICULT BORDER” CAST OF “THE BOOR” ■ THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 33 Twenty minutes later Bennie was finishing his breakfast. Glancing at his mother, he inquired, “Are you selling dance tickets as usual, Mother?” “Why, yes, Benjamin. There are two tickets in your Chemistry book. You won’t forget to take that anyway.” “Well, mother, I’ve decided to stay away from the dance; so you had better sell my tickets with the rest.” “Why, Benjamin Blacket! You are not going to the dance! Well, the most I can say is that it will be a novel experience for you to stay at home while dance music tempts you.” To this Bennie merely deigned to shrug, as if music and frivolous females were never to play idle tricks on him any more. His mother suddenly asked, “Is Elnor going to the dance?” Benjamin’s eyes came quickly up at the name, and he strove to appear casual as he answered. “I imagine so—I heard that she was to go with—oh—some college fellow from her old home town.” “Oh,—I understand,” and astute woman that his mother was, she probably did. Such was Benjamin’s humor that he attended school mostly to impress the fact that all things pertaining to dances and the weaker sex were far below his most casual interest. His schoolmates at first curiously studied the metamorphosis and finally, as by common signal, a score of candid youths suggested witty remedies for his troubles, some even making bald hints concerning the existence of superior fish who only waited catching. Benjamin Blacket, Jr., however, became ever more determined to make his disaproval felt by all members concerned. Even in chemistry, working rather savagely beside the vixen, Bennie refused to reestablish harmonious relations which he indignantly perceived the dark-eyed one attempting. With eloquent rudeness his militant back barred all pleas, though Benjamin was, in morbid triumph, conscious enough of them. His peculiar frame of mind continued throughout the morning, and even re¬ fused to leave in the hectic excitement of a practice game in which with new viciousness he clouted the ball for his first real home run. The evening meal passed. Studies were meticulously done. Soon it would be time for the dance. Bennie knew and loved dance atmosphere. He realized it would be a trial to sit in his room and hear the alluring strains of music and the laughter and groups of gay intimates without himself going to the dance. To defend himself from temptation he closed his window and drew his shade and began to read a book. Soon jazzy strains began to come faintly to his ears, and from time to time Bennie found his feet responding and his attention wander¬ ing from the book to the tilt of music. He decided to do physical work to occupy himself completely. But what was there to do? The answer came to him as his eyes came to rest upon an old motor on his private bench. The motor was an interesting apparatus designed to run an old-fashioned phonograph which was nearby. After fifteen minutes of absorbing work the motor was ready to function. To test it he fitted it into the container and began to play the single record. Bennie listened approvingly and soon began to clog expertly, while his face for the first time this day relaxed into its usual smile. Presently a faint breeze wafted a few bars of music clearly to him, and he remembered his plight. He lifted his shade and gazed longingly at the scintil¬ lating high school. Gone were his plans of vengeance and he regretfully re¬ membered the openings for reconciliation which he had spurned so carelessly. 34 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. At this juncture a telephone rang. Presently his mother entered and asked, “Benjamin, didn’t you tell me that Elnor was going to the dance with a college friend?” “Yes, mother,” answered Bennie. “You were mistaken. Elnor just telephoned to ask your escort to the dance.” “Really? If that isn’t like a girl. Where-?” “I brought your tickets for you, Benjamin. Good-bye.” In laughing un¬ dertone, “Yes, Elnor meant to ask. But then-I remember a similar situation not so many years ago!” George Siipola, ’ 28. THE SILENT WATCHER. Only the occasional howl of a coyote could be heard, as a full moon shone down upon a man making his way through the newly fallen snow. Yo Boy crouched low among the bushes. His eyes blazed with hatred as he watched the figure coming towards him, for he recognized his enemy—the man whom his master had trusted, the man who was about to betray his master. From the first the dog had taken a dislike to him, and wondered why his mistress did not share the feeling. Three days ago, Bruce Lee had gone down the pass to bring his furs to La Salle. He had disliked to go, leaving his beautiful wife June alone. His only friend and neighbor was Pierre. At the last moment he had confided in Pierre, who consented to watch over June, and keep her from being lonesome. As Pierre neared Yo Boy’s hiding place, he realized that he must hasten, for Bruce was due home at any moment. They must escape before he returned. The dog’s eyes glittered as he watched the man. Suddenly he leaped. Pierre recognized the dog who had shown his hatred during his visits at the cabin. In vain he tried to escape the attacks; it was a struggle between man and beast. Again and again the dog attacked the man. Nearer and nearer they ap¬ proached the ledge. It was a battle to be fought to an end. There was an in¬ stant of peace. The man stood, back to the cliff, prepared for self-defense. The dog plunged. It was too much for the strength of a mere man. To his fate fell the human being who had been trusted, but who had betrayed. June, her fur cap already covering her dark curls, glanced anxiously at the clock. Where was Pierre? What could be keeping him? Could they escape before Bruce returned? Bruce? Where was Bruce now? Was he expecting her to greet him when he returned? Bruce! His picture arose before her brown eyes: tall, broad-shouldered, with well set head, close cropped curls, and clear blue eyes. She contrasted him with Pierre of medium height, slight build, and a dark complexion with piercing black eyes. Bruce was truly superior in every way. Her wandering thoughts went back to the day when he had fought his way two miles in a blinding snow-storm to a doctor’s to save the life of a neighbor’s child. Other kind deeds filled her mind. Oh, no! no! She couldn’t leave Bruce! Why did she ever promise Pierre that she would go with him? How had she ever yielded to this mad infatuation? She was startled by a knock on the door. Pierre! What could she tell him ? Slowly she opened the door and looked up. There stood Bruce! Her Bruce. She flew to his arms. She would never leave them. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 35 Only the occasional howl of a coyote could be heard as a pair of steady brown eyes gazed upon a man and a woman whose happiness had been preserved by that silent faithful watcher. Marguerite Moran, ’28. THE MAN WHO WAS AFRAID. “Listen, Bud, I’ve got myself in the deuce of a mess, something which will mean disgrace if I don’t find an open way.” Bud Crosby looked at him a moment, and then patted the “Lieutenant” gently on the back after the latter had told his story. Charles Bradford, or the “Lieutenant,” as he was called, had come to the only one who seemed to understand him when he was in a difficulty,—his ideal, Bud Crosby. In his confession he had said that he had led the girl that he loved to believe that he was one of the preeminent pilots of the Crack Pursuit Group of the U. S. Air Service in France. How she loved him for his bravery and courage! His passion for the vivacious Yvette was so great that he would not dare to disillusion her by telling her the truth about himself. He pictured her leap¬ ing from her chair in frenzy, with her blazing brown eyes full of contempt for a deceiver as well as a coward. Her proud head would be disdainfully turned away from him and her hands tightly clenched. No, no, he could not bear to see his lovely Yvette like that. He would rather die. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed bitterly, wildly contemplating suicide rather than let Yvette find out that he was afraid of flying. Even when the boys jestingly suggested taking him up for a pleasure trip, the “Lieu¬ tenant” would pale like a corpse and tremble at its very mentioning. However, flying had him in its grip, for he felt miserable off the aviation field, and yet on it he lived a life of nightmares. Often, while Bradford was washing and preparing the planes for flight, the pilots would listen with amazement to the “Lieutenant’s” theories and knowledge of aeronautics. They found out that he knew aviation to the letter, and they thought it extraordinary that this handsome chap had such an aversion for flying. Brad proved to be a puzzle about the field, but all liked him to the extent that he was affectionately named “The Lieutenant.” Further on in the confession, Brad stated that Yvette and her friends were coming to the flying field the following day to see him start on a flight. This was the last straw. Crosby remained silent and pensive. Then he spoke. “This is rather serious, but I have a scheme. I’ll help you out of the mess provided that you follow instructions.” Bud knew the “Lieutenant” was not really a coward, so he had determined to bring Bradford to himself, and this was his only chance. “The only way to make good,” he continued, “is for you to go on a trip in the presence of your girl. You see, Bennett, our best pilot, is to carry out a little mission tomorrow, but I could arrange it with the old fellow to take you as a passenger. I don’t imagine these girls know much about planes, but any¬ how I’ll make them think that you will control the stick. I’ll keep the girls away from the boys so that they will not spill the beans. This is my plan. Take 36 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. it or leave it, but remember if you haven’t the nerve to do it, you’ll—er- Here Crosby stopped and awaited an answer. The latter looked at him with the eyes of a fear-stricken beast. His face was as white as chalk, and his sensitive mouth was twitching. Finally, after a long mental struggle he said, “I’ll go.” With these words he turned away abruptly. That morning the “Lieutenant” kept close to Crosby and Yvette, and when the ship was finally ready, he bade them a quiet farewell and hopped off. After the two young men had crossed the Allies’ lines, and entered the hostile territory, they were attacked by two enemy pursuit planes which were camou¬ flaged so skilfully that they had taken the American unawares. Bennett, controlling the plane with one hand and discharging one of the front guns with the other, overcame one ship, but alone with a useless passenger in the rear, he could not hope to escape. This struggle went on for about fifteen minutes more when Bennett was badly wounded. Later in relating this battle to his friends Bennett said that it was marvel¬ ous how Bradford seemed to lose his fear and roared in his ears that he would change places and control the plane. He controlled the plane and managed the guns in his cockpit while the wounded Bennett easily used the rear guns. Ben¬ nett afterwards said that the plane was in the hands of a master. They evaded the second plane, and made one dash for their flying field. However, the plane was a wreck, and the two men were semi-conscious when they landed. It was found that Bradford was bored through the lungs badly. He lived only long enough to call Yvette and his friends to his bedside, and to show them a newspaper clipping. At last the mystery concerning him was solved. By the article and picture on the clipping he was revealed as the famous English fly¬ ing ace who was reported killed in a wreck, a wreck which, he indicated, had caused his great fear of flying. And it was after this that Yvette came forth from the room with a face eased of pain, even though death had deprived her of her hero. Lucy Iacovelli, ’28. RETRIBUTION. The sun rose over the Arizona desert clear and cold that day disclosing a bleak weatherstained hut to the one lone traveller, a youth of about twenty years. His well cut clothes, not at all suited for such journeying, were stained with mud, and one could scarcely recognize his curly chestnut-brown hair, so thick was its coat of desert clay. Our traveler approached the sinister-looking shack and knocked. Silence. He knocked still louder. Heavy footsteps were heard and a pair of piercing blue eyes met Bob Cameron’s dark ones as the door opened part way, showing a well built man of about sixty years. “Is this the direct way to Phoenix?” queried Bob pleasantly. “Yes,” answered the other gruffly. “You’d better come in and get warmed, for it’s a good day’s journey across the desert—about twenty miles.” Bob accepted the ill-natured invitation and entered the cabin. The old man set about preparing a frugal meal for his unexpected guest, glancing now and THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 37 then with uneasy curiosity at the youth who was making himself acquainted with his surroundings. “I’ve seen that lad somewhere before,” thought the older man while Bob was hungrily devouring the well cooked meal, “but where?” He pondered over this question until wakened from his reverie by these words: “Evidently you are accustomed to getting your own meals,” said Bob, “This food is splendid.” “Oh yes, I’ve lived alone here for many years,” was the reply. “By the way what is your name, my boy?” “Bob Cameron, sir, of Chadwick, Maine,” his visitor answered, between mouthfuls of rye bread. These words startled the older man. He turned ghastly white and clutched wildly at his heart. Bob rushed to him. “Water!” cried John Cameron. Then—“It’s all right, boy, it’s only another heart attack. I’ll be all right in a moment.” Scarcely had he spoken these words when the convulsed lines of his face relaxed and he was himself again. “Then,” said Cameron to himself, “My fears are well founded! He is my son!—What shall I do?” He recalled his past life—how he, John Cameron, a poor bank clerk, had, nineteen long years ago, wooed and won Mary Mallory, the most beautiful girl in the village. How proud he had been of her! How happy they had been! On the birth of their son, in order to obtain more money, John had robbed the bank, killed the guard, escaped, and here he was now, a fugitive from justice. Then as if realizing how queer his actions must seem to the boy, he drove these thoughts from his tortured mind and forced himself to play the part of host. “How—how are the folks back home?” “I am er-er a native of your vil¬ lage,” he said brokenly. “They were all w r ell when I left,” answered Bob while saying to himself, “He acts like a crazy man.” “How is your father?” queried John Cameron in a strained voice. “He was my best friend.” “He fell off the barge and was drowned the night of the great bank robbery nineteen years ago,” Bob replied, still wondering at the old man’s actions. All the time the boy had been talking, a great struggle was going on in the mind of the older man. Should he disclose himself to his son or not? His conscience said, “No,” but his desire to press the youth to his heart almost con¬ quered his reasoning power. With one supreme effort he cast off his desire, saying, “No, I will let him think his father was a good man, not a murderer! Thank God, Mary believed me innocent! Oh! how many times have I regretted my actions!” “Well,” said lighthearted Bob again interrupting the old man’s train of thought, little guessing the struggle just ended. “I must be on my way if I wish to join Mother before dark. She’s in Phoenix for her health. Good-bye, and thanks a lot for your kindness.” John Cameron stood in the doorway and watched his son depart out of his life forever—a man who had sacrificed twenty happy years for a few hundred dollars. The next morning the mail carrier found John Cameron dead on the floor, a revolver, with an empty shell, in his hand, a bitter smile upon his lips. He had made his retribution and had gone to meet his Creator. Doris Gorman, ’ 28 . 38 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. AVIATION—THE CAREER. An impending question is that of the choice of career. Many have consid¬ ered the question; many more are now about to answer it. The young graduate attaches tremendous importance to the issue and usually feels some qualms as to the correctness of his choice. When an error in selec tion of career is made, it is nearly always found to be detrimental to both pride and purse. In one noticeable instance, however, this unfortunate result is almost al¬ ways avoided,—when the chosen career is military aviation. A candidate for flying cadet in a military school takes examinations at government expense and owing to the peculiar requirements of flying, it is no discredit to fail to pass the examinations. The examinations are very thorough. The first examination is a physical test, probably the most thorough-going the candidate will ever undergo. Next is an educational examination. This covers the subjects usually studied during two years of any good college. Lastly, the most difficult test is given—the psy¬ chological test. It is a known fact that great flyers are born and not made. There¬ in lies the reason for this last test. The candidate is placed in an apparatus which closely simulates the movements of a stunting plane. From the reactions of the student expert psychiatrists can quite infallibly judge his inherent ability to fly. Twenty-five percent of all failures come in the last test. From the above, one may perceive that a person admitted as a flying cadet in a primary training school may be reasonably sure of completing the year-long course. He is surely not deficient in any quality which would make him an efficient military pilot. The flying cadet, at no expense whatsoever to himself, is trained for eight months in every branch of military aviation including seventy-five hours of flying. At the successful completion of the primary train¬ ing the flying cadet reports to the advance flying school at Kelly field, San An¬ tonio, Texas. At Kelly field four months are spent in perfecting the student in military aviation. Navigation, aerial gunnery, photography, and flying are intensively studied. One hundred and fifty hours are added to the cadet flying record. I he cadet, upon having accepted the privilege of completing the advance course, may well be conceded to be finely educated in his profession. In fact, the United States gives the best aviation training in the world to-day. I he graduate of Kelly field is commissioned as second lieutenant in the Air Corps Reserve, with opportunity to take examinations for active service in the regular army. Indeed there are many avenues open to highly satisfying and re¬ munerative employment in the various branches of aviation. In commercial aviation there are positions in plenty for the trained man. Since the war the airplane industry has been booming; the recent trans-oceanic flights have advertised aviation greatly. Aviation has struck the fancy and seri¬ ous consideration of the world from newsboys to industrial giants. There is something about flying that no other young industry has had,—the appreciation of the public. Much, indeed, is in the future for the enthusiastic young man who makes a determined bid for a real place in aviation now. It would truly be a rare privilege to develop with aviation. It is a career with possibilities forever grow¬ ing. George Siipola, ’ 28 . THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 39 TREES. “Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree.” —Joyce Kilmer. I wonder how many of us really realize what a wonderful miracle God per¬ formed when he gave us a tree? Why do so many of us take this gift for granted? Did you ever stop to consider what the world would lose if every tree were to be taken away? Let us think of the many kinds of trees. How like human beings they are, for there are so many varieties. The elm tree, with its stately branches bowing in the wind, the magnolia tree, loaded with beautiful blossoms, the weeping- willow, shading some babbling brook, the apple tree, with its beautiful coral blossoms, later developed into the delicious fruit of which we are all so very fond, the spruce, the hemlock, the pine, the fir, the oak, are all His gifts. If we were to visit a tree nursery, beautifully cultivated with a number of different species of trees, we should stop to marvel at their beauty and variety. And how many times, in the fall of the year, have we admired the beautiful reds, yellows, oranges, and purples which God has created? I hope that in time we may have more appreciative admirers of God’s trees. Reta White, ’ 28 . THE MUSTINESS OF ANCESTRAL PORTRA ITS. Of all the foibles of human nature, I do not know of one more fatuous than hanging upon the wall of the best room in the home dusty old images of one’s ancestors. There are people—the superior among us will smile—who seem to find de¬ light in showing to every caller the unbeautiful physiognomies of men undis¬ tinguished, prosaic, and long since dead. There are many reasons why this sort of thing irritates me, and each of them arises from my being a cheerful, optimistic fellow. In the first place, the very aspect of these pictures is forbidding. Every line in the face of any of these old codgers is held rigid, tense, as if life were not a calm, pleasant affair with more chuckles than grins, and more grins than frowns. One might imagine, gazing at an ancestral face, that the world really is a vale of tears—which it is if you let it be. One reason, I believe, for the revolt of the modern youth from the traditions of his elders, is that he is afraid that ad¬ herence to these traditions will make of him an old, frozen-faced fogy, worthy to be placed in a category with the owners of those highly moral visages in his aunt’s front parlor. And, looking at it that way, I can scarcely blame the youth for his revolt. And another thing, now. Those old faces arouse in a person thoughts gloomy, morbid—thoughts entirely too morbid for a person to entertain in a world of so much mellow sun. For here are men who have appeared upon this terrestrial sphere, who have spent a brief space of time upon this planet—en- 40 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. joying the same privileges and opportunities that others have enjoyed—, who have passed inauspiciously from this world, and whose names have never been men¬ tioned since. Now I don’t like to think of a man as a small grain of sand on the vast beach of eternity. Neither do I like to think of myself as microscopically unimportant in the scheme of things. Such thoughts, if carried to their natural conclusion, end with suicide. But such thoughts always come to the fore when I regard the musty images hanging there silent, immobile, and, I like to fancy,—sad. But away with introspection. And now a word to my readers: If there be any among you who wishes to invite me for a light-some evening at home (es¬ pecially if there is a fine meal involved) pray do not hesitate from fear of de¬ pressing me because you have ancestral portraits in one or, indeed, all of your rooms. I am a person who can stand up well under blows, and I shall be able to pass off lightly that dispiriting feature of your hospitality, if the dinner be excellent. Robert J. Cenedella, ’ 28 . TRAVELER SHORT STORY CONTEST WINNERS. Once more a Milford High Senior has been awarded one of the ten main prizes in the Boston Traveler Short Story contest, open to students of the High Schools of New England. In this year’s contest, which is the ninth annual competition held by the Traveler, the ninth prize, $5, was won by Miss Winifred Crowley of the Class of 1928 with her story “The Irony of Fate.” Other stories by Milford seniors receiving special recognition in the contest are as follows: “Letters,” by Miss Gertrude Moran, “Masquerade” by Miss Elna Whitney, “A Metamorphosis” by George Siipola, “The Inheritance” by Miss Elizabeth Sails, “Fine Feathers” by Miss Helen Luby, “Unsung Glory” by Miss Marguerite Taylor, “The Turquoise Eye” by Miss Helen May, “Two Minutes to Go” by Miss Ethel Mann, and “Retribution” by Miss Doris Gorman. Several of these stories appear in this issue. PEACE. With light finger-tip taps, with gentle raps, Insistent the rain beats “pit-pat” on the pane. The long busy day is tiring to chaps, And could I, I wouldn’t exchange sleep for fame. A soft yellow light from the lamp sweetly gleams This room that I took is a calm enough nook. Ah! This is content to outrival all dreams. Im happy: I’m lying in bed with a book. Robert Cenedella, ’ 28 . THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 41 THE WEAKLING PRAYS. Huddled pitifully he sits in Church, Alone but for tinted rays; He groans and with a shuddening lurch He kneels—The weakling prays: “Put me upon Thy workbench, God, And make of me a man, So that I’ll slowly, sternly plod At things from which I ran. “Always have I been sheltered from The hard things in this life, Now let me see the din, the scum; Show me the hell, the strife. “Make me dig, and plug, and sweat, With pain let me be crazed; Show me the worst of life, and yet— Let me emerge undazed.’’ Then he rose and shuffled away Through the door; his gait was slow. And before he left, we heard him say, “I’m glad. He heard me; I know.” William Grayson, ’28. DESTINY. I roamed, lone as the sea by which I wondered, And gazed on the infinities Of heaven and earth, and pondered As oft before: What shapes our destinies ? And I wondered what hand had carved each part Of the world’s great history, And who had given life its start? The eternal mystery. There, wearied by the raging sea, I went back home once more, And mused upon the things I’d seen Behind the sheltering door. And there at home I saw once more Where the Carver had left his brand— God is the mighty Sculptor, and man Is the clay in the Sculptor’s hand! Elna Whitney, ’28. 42 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. POISON. Men I’ve known have poison taken— then their strength has them forsaken. They died ’midst painful writhings, groans; while we were listening to their moans as poison hastened them to their goals: Small towns are poison to men’s souls. (Apologies to Alfred Kreymborg). Robert Cenedella, ’ 28 . MY EASY CHAIR. When they, the family, are all snug in bed, And cozy I sit in my easy chair, To dream by the embers and see visions there, I feel that the world is wondrous fair. In the flames appears a court so grand Of kings and queens and jesters odd, And on a throne therein the midst. I in state there calmly nod. I dream of fame and riches and love, A yacht or two and plenty of wealth, And of course, long life, and happiness. A wondrous house and—surely, health! I’ve traveled to Europe and China as well, And seen all the things which, man can make, And now to my room I will tiptoe off, For I hear my mother beginning to wake. Oh, well, for us all some sweet hope lies, 1 hough it be but in flames, I do not care, For my eyes are sleepy and no longer I sit And dream in my easy chair. Helen May, ’ 28 . THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 43 YOUTH—A Sonnet. Determined to suppress all joy, one day I thought of ev’ry quiet thing I could: Night shades o’ershading shade in silent wood; A virgin maiden kneeling down to pray; A thoughtful face set in eternal clay; The blush of rustic damsel being woo’d; Some hardy huntsman’s hut, humble and crude; Or cloistered nun in convent shut away. But banished I each thought as it occurred; For perfect statues give me men uncouth; For meek religion give me roist’ring strife; And I like action, not weak rev’ries blurred; For I am Youth, pulsating, eager Youth, And Youth is ever wed to ardent Life. Robert Cenedella, ’ 28 . THE PROFLIGATE SETTLES DOWN. “Confined, pent up, held firm, I stay here, for I must: I’ve had my day Of passion, lust. “Serene Italian sky; South wind, mere whisp’ring breath, Why must one die Of living death? “That German student’s room Where nightly we would go, Drink beer, talk art— So long ago. “I loved sweet Capri best, Italia, ’twas, sans strife— All mellow love And drowsy life. “The sweet, ecstatic pain Of love is not for me; I must decay In industry.” Robert Cenedella, ’ 28 . THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. THE HAUGHTY PINE. There stood on yonder lofty cliff a pine, In lonesome solitude and kingly state, Whose mighty pow’r and sturdy strength was great, Whose stately loveliness was e’er so fine Though it had seen not much of life at nine. But sad it is to tell the mournful fate That this proud tree endured by jealous hate Of other neighb’ring trees. It made no sign Of friendship or acknowledgement to them, For it was haughty in its lofty place That God had given it on this earth so wide. But retribution came to this vain gem, When spiteful Hurricane had marred its face; So now, with spirit broke, its shame it hides. Lucy Iacovelli, ’ 28 . TO A PARK BENCH. To hear the tales that you have heard; To see those human wrecks you’ve seen; Inspire the trusts that you’ve incurred; To know what fellow-man has been: ’Tis this would make me worldly-wise, Omniscient as the Destinies. Then might I do as I desire; Might understand the rabble’s wrongs; Find waiting chords in Poet’s lyre; And then I’d sing my two great songs: Song of Hate, for stupidity; Song of Love, for Humanity. Robert Cenedella, ’ 28 . RAIN. When the sky is dark and lowering And the weather takes to showering, Oh, it’s then we hear the softly falling rain. Very seldom it amuses us, We think it quite abuses us, I his human-sopping, never-stopping rain. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 45 Far worse it is when blowing, Or a-hailing or a-snowing Than the days of gentle blossom-bringing rain. Do we think this when we sigh out? No. We only rage and cry out, Oh, this everlasting, spirit-blasting rain.” So when you’re feeling teary, And the world seems dark and dreary, Just because you hate this dripping, drizzling rain, Think of all the good it’s doing, And instead of lost time ruing, Bless the orchard-spraying, dust-allaying rain. Robert Billings, ’ 28 . OUR DEPARTED CLASSMATES. Our hearts were free and joyous, too, Four short years ago, But hopes so bright and promising Have vanished like the snow. Four members of our class have died, And gone to join the throng With other souls who are in heaven, Up in the world of song. We miss them from our classes now At morning or at night. We miss their clever answers Which gave us such delight. Their books now are idle As they in death lie low. We miss their clever answers, too, Which gave us such delight. While in our hearts still sorrowing At losing our dear friends, This blest assurance cheers us on That we shall meet again. It is my prayer at closing now That we of twenty-eight Will so obey our God’s commands We’ll join them at the Gate. Doris Gorman, ’ 28 . 46 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. SPRING FEVER. To some folks each year comes a change of emotion And a quickening of pulse, a desire to roam, A longing to start off across the wide ocean, Always heading for some place far distant from home. It comes to them yearly, lasts many an hour, And during that time keeps them quite in its power. Very often ’tis classed with the early spring flower As a positive sign that the Springtime has come. The people who feel its effect every season Do not need to be told the extent of its urge. Against their attempts to oppose it with reason, More relentless it is than the sea in its surge. ’Tis then they stop burning the long midnight tapers For the purpose of writing their English “comp” papers. Their history’s neglected for cutting of capers, Celebrating the fact that the Springtime has come. Greek, French, Mathematics all fall down together. The favorite subject then seems quite a bore, The most mild restriction a bothersome tether Which keeps them confined when they’re longing to soar. Awaiting them after that trip filled with pleasure, And awakening say with disgust beyond measure, “Oh, why can’t I travel now Springtime has come?” So this is the reason no teacher expects it, That they do as much toward the end of the year. And planning his work an instructor selects it In order to slacken when Springtime is here. For study then lessens and day-dreams replace it. For a few weeks or so, as psychologists trace it, This fever defies all our pow’rs to efface it And proves once for all that the Springtime has come. Robert Billings, ’ 28 . AFTERMATH—A Sonnet. On emerald slope where once the battle roared, A breathless silence reigns, and yet we know It was not long ago the clash of sound Rang out, and war proclaimed its dreadful woe. The quiet hills now lie in silence deep, No more the din of battle sounds afar, The fields, in peace, forgetting war, now sleep; THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 47 (Yet war, the age-old curse, has left its scar.) The little towns spring into life the while, The tiny homes, low leveled, rise once more, The people plough their fields and even smile, They glean their harvests, singing as of yore. Brave men and women, smiling through the rain, May you reap peace—to blossom in war’s train! Elna Whitney, ’ 28 . COMPANIONS. The moonlight reflected on the waters of blue, A canoe slowly gliding and holding just two, Who quietly sit as if deeply in thought— Just a man and his dog that he loves a whole lot. They head toward the shore their journey to end, And up through a pathway they noiselessly wend; Companions in life with deepest devotion In love with each other but with silent emotion. They dwell just together, their secrets they share, Which would never be kept by a human pair; So if ever in life a comrade you need, You’ll find that a dog is a friend indeed. Phillip Gagnon, ’ 28 . RAINDROPS. Pitter, patter, pitter, patter, Listen to the raindrops chatter, Talking, shouting, laughing, crying, We can even hear them sighing. Pitter, patter, pitter, patter, All the bustle and the clatter, As they hurry on their way, Just where to they cannot say. Raindrops on the window pane, How I love your sweet refrain, Always gay and free from care, Happy-go-lucky men of the air. Beatrice Rivard, ’ 28 . 48 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. LIGHT ESSAYS. Note:—The following were written in imitation of certain “airy trifles” by Morley and others read in class. CLASS RINGS. Undying symbol of eternal love, badge of undiluted adoration, insignia of fulfilled desire—that’s a class ring! With what suppressed longing and vivid dreams we await them! With what enthusiastic shows of elation we receive them! How proudly we sport them and how viligantly we guard them! (For the first few weeks.) What a battle is waged the first week after the samples are shown! Some few enterprising young souls make a journey among their less ambitious classmates and bribe, plead, command, and entreat them to vote for No. Such-and-such. Of course, there is always a small minority who decide they like another, but after being cajoled, and threatened, and shown the very great pecuniary differ¬ ence, they are at last brought around to the other way of thinking, or shall we say, purchasing? Then the vote is taken. Wonderful! We win. That treasured circlet is to be the CLASS RING! They are distributed (after you have first brought your $6.50) and are objects of display among the under-classmen, and to strangers. “Yes, that’s my CLASS RING! Of course not! How could you ask that?” But what a change Father Time makes! After a couple of months: “Sure, you can take it. Return it sometime.” Of course, we look anxiously at the erstwhile owner each time we meet, and are rewarded by its gleaming appearance. I really can’t understand anyone’s lack of loyalty to that perfectly lovely ring. As for letting it out of my possession, mercy, it’s not to be thought of. c CAST OF “ON THE PARK BENCH” CAST OF “THE SIEGE” i THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 49 In olden times ’twas customary for a lady to decorate her gallant knight with a tiny bowknot of blue ribbon, symbol of undying fidelity, or perhaps a dainty glove, its resting place his gleaming helmet. And now—! For a Junior to sport a Senior class ring, he has “IT” and is an object of envy among his less fortunate classmates. But look around among the Seniors a few weeks before graduation. Per¬ haps you ask one of these superior beings, ‘‘Where’s your class ring? “Class ring? Why, er-er, I wonder, if—class ring? Oh, yes, yes, (light dawns) Oh, my CLASS RING . Yes, yes. Why, that—er, where on earth is it?” And so we go on and on, as the bee from flower to flower, and some fair day meet with our own old class ring, even though on a stranger, and (if one had a genius for problems), we might be able to trace it back through its devious journey. By the way, has anyone seen my class ring? Helen L. May, ’28. ON RAIN. A rainy day! Day of all days! “Then if ever come perfect days.” How many times have you, dear reader, uttered naughty words on rainy days? Ah, it is my pleasure to inform you that rainy days were instituted for your amusement. The next rainy day, instead of sulking about the house, draw a chair up close to a window, and listen to the entertainment provided expressly for you. May¬ be you will hear the rat-tat-tat of a march, or it is probable that you will be able to distinguish a lively jazz tune played for you by the rain, with the howling of the wind substituting nicely for saxophones. Besides being an entertainer, rain has another important property very use¬ ful in everyday life. Allow me to relate an incident that will serve as an expla¬ nation of this attribute. I purchased a $10.98 “all-wool” suit, and as soon as I was able, I blossomed forth with it, in order to show my friend the wonderful bargain. Suddenly large black clouds began to ac cumulate in a clear sky, then splutters of rain, then torrents! Alas, the sun shone on a sad spectacle which it grieves me to describe. Let it suffice to say that my “all-wool” suit bore a close resemblance to my six year old brother’s apparel. Did I curse the element? Oh no, dear reader, do not judge me too hastily. Instead I offered up a prayer of thanks for the unmasking of an unscrupulous clothes dealer, who would never again have the honor of my presence darkening his door. We can never have enough of glorious rain. Oh, just a moment! On second thought I’ll have to confess that rain for forty days and forty nights would be too much even for me. .Samuel M. Ianzito, ’28. 50 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. THE AFTER-WAVE REFLECTIONS. Oh, yes, I can speak from experience, as many of my classmates will tell you. It was a rainy night but I would have my hair curled. What if it did come out? The others were having theirs waved; therefore I would have mine waved. I did. It poured all that night, but I wouldn’t wear a hat—too much trouble. I arrived home that night a little after midnight dead tired. I dropped into bed, not caring a lead nickle whether I looked like a hedge fence or the soaked half-cut hay stack that one sees in the winter on the Boston road. But the next morning my pride had regained its normal height, and I began to hope and fear. After lying for about a half an hour reflecting on the effects of the rain on my hair, and having at one minute a rosy vision of a perfectly marceled head of hair an d the next a terrifying picture of crinkly hair that might delight a dusky South Sea cannibal maiden, I hesitatingly pushed one bare arm out into the cold morning air to explore the disturbing regions. The report tele¬ graphed back by the fingers was: “Unknown lands, very undulating (still some wave left, thank goodness). Peculiar formation.” This message necessitated an immediate rising to gaze into the mirror, my heart greatly lightened. But alas, it was not long thus. What a sight greeted my sleep-laden eyes! True, on the very top were several hummocks, but the ends were terrific. The whole image reminded me of Medusa’s hair. The ends snarled together stuck out just like infant reptiles. I grasped my comb, and using the finest part, I combed, slashed, yanked, and pulled at the offending strands. The effect was but to make it more unruly than before. I gave up trying to comb it out and started to brush it vigorously. I gazed again into the mirror. The sight was overpowering. Each hair stood out as though starched and then frozen to rigidness. One glance sufficed, and I bolted for the bed. I lay there for hours, it seemed, wondering why on earth the good Lord hadn’t endowed all the feminine sex with wavy hair instead of making most of us troop to a hairdresser and then suffer such apprehensions the next day. I vowed never to undergo such an orgy again—until the next time. What? es, of course, the others went through the same actions and reflections, Can’t you tell by appearances? Elizabeth M. Sails, ’28. ON RATS. You don t like rats? The poor things! You do them a great injustice. They are such tiny, defenseless creatures. Perhaps they are spoken of as being color¬ less; that is not their fault. t here are many girls who would be colorless but for the use of cosmetics. They have no romantic element? Let us imagine a young man and a maiden sitting in the parlor after a lover’s quarrel, looking at each other with fire in their eyes. Soon a little rat runs across the room. The young lady is terrified and about to faint when the young man comes to her rescue. And thus the tense atmosphere between them becomes natural once again. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 51 How many times have mice provided amusement for you, when in a comedy at the theatre, you see one crawl in the garments of the villain, and thus enables him to show his gracefulness by producing an artistic, original dance. And then it jumps into the clothing of the other actors and actresses respectively and causes a general mix-up. Personally, I believe that the mouse was the cause of the Black Bottom. So, patient reader, the next time you gaze upon one of these sharp-eyed little creatures, pick it up and make it more colorful by the use of your cos¬ metics. Then look closely in its eyes, and you will read romance and comedy in them. Theresa I. Trotta, ’28. HAIR. Did you ever, while you were sitting in the State Theatre, stop to think of what makes the different colors in the hair of the people around you? Some have red hair, some brown, others have black, gray, and some have none at all. I came to the conclusion that in the scalp there must be a little cell filled with nature’s dye and when the hair goes through this cell to go out, it naturally absorbs the dye and comes out that certain color. Another thing baffles me: how does the hair keep on growing after you once cut it? If a man goes in the woods and cuts a tree down, another will not grow from that stump, but if you cut your hair, two weeks later it is longer than it was before. One question puzzles me more than any lesson I ever had in History, and that question is: Why is it that we all have hair? To most of us hair must be no more than a bother. You wake up in the morning and wash your face, and im¬ mediately after you start fussing with your hair. First you wet it, and with your comb you pull and tug for fifteen minutes until you have it in place. Then you turn around to go away when you see half of it falling out of place and dangling in the air. You go back to the mirror and madly pull it down again, but again it refuses to stay where you place it. You go through the day with every other minute finding you vainly putting back your hair but in vain. During the evening your hair decides to stay down and you shout with joy to think that you have succeeded. What! It is time to go to bed? Your work has been in vain. You must go to bed and mess up your hair again, and begin the battle all over again the next morning. So for my part I think hair is a bother, and we could do nicely without it. Joseph Tominsky, ’28. THE YOUNGER GENERATION. How much disruption and scandal this younger generation brings about? The expressions “What is this younger generation coming to” and “Now, when I was your age,” constantly flow from the speech organs of the older generation. It, the rising generation, causes worry and anxiety for parents and relatives, it seems, 52 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. but has there ever been a set of younger folk so capable of taking care of them¬ selves ? Since I am one of the coming citizens and also one of this scandalous group, it is natural that I should be faithful to it, but I feel that in doing so I am sensible. As each generation comes along, new styles, new manners, new actions become perfectly proper which in the last generation would have been considered as shocking. No decent girl would have worn her skirts eighteen inches from the ground in the nineteenth century. Yet now a dress two inches from the ground would be ridiculed. Everyone must admit that today’s fashions are much more sensible and healthy. Since styles change, pastimes and pleasures vary likewise. Again, as styles have changed for the better, so have actions followed suit. Now, a girl or boy takes great pleasure in playing tennis, golf, swimming, and numerous other sports from which one derives a great deal of exercise, which certainly is a benefit to one’s health. I have heard stated that automobiles have caused this “wild life,” as it is put. If Henry Ford and some of the other automobile manufacturers had not bothered to invent horseless carriages, we should probably all be calm, quiet, gentle little gentlemen and ladies sewing a fine seam. Words of disapproval are heard everywhere concerning drinking by the younger set. Not that I am in favor of it, but if some of the older generation did not install stills and make cocktails, would the younger set know anything about such an evil? Of course not, and it really becomes a serious thing when even girls adopt this pastime. There are numerous frivolous things that we do or we are supposed to do, but as a whole I think the rising generation has shown much more common sense than their fathers and mothers did when they were the younger generation, and certainly the girls are much more able-bodied and capable. So why the worry? Barbara Shaw, ’ 28 . ROOSTERS. Roosters! Those dear barnyard songsters who so hate to have mortals miss the beauty of sunrise that they begin to sing so loudly at two o’clock, that one must get up and shut the window. How often have I wished some boarding¬ house keeper would make our neighbor’s warbler into soup! But consider their usefulness. Roosters are incomparable advertisements for barbers. I often wondered why my barber didn’t have one for a pet. They are officers of the law, sustainers of life, caretakers of beauty, and above all, living alarm clocks! What! You don’t believe they bring trade to barbers! Each morning the rooster sings out, “Cut-cut-get your hair cut,” until Willie or Mary get so peeved that with murder in their souls they go to the barber. Sister Sue has let her hair grow, but it is so unbecoming that even the rooster protests very loudly. After listening to his complaints for a week or so, she too goes to the barbers. Then think how the poor traveler welcomes our domesticated bird early in the morning. He crawls stealthily up to the fence, looks around on all sides, pounces on the rooster, and soon the delicious aroma of cooking chicken is tickling some sleeper’s nose. THE OAK LILY AND IVY. 53 The rooster is a great help in keeping the jails full. Some poor, unfortun¬ ate, hungry soul tries to take our pet. Queer sounds are emitted from under the vagrant’s coat, the household is aroused, and the thief is sent up for one month. Now dear readers, having considered the sterling qualities of our friend the rooster, let each and every one of us resolve never again to eat chicken soup. What would we have done the last four years if friend rooster had not awakened us in time for school! Doris Gorman, ’ 28 . THE COMPLEAT PREPARATION. (Memories of Isaak Walton) Spring, the beautiful season of awakening, brings no reawakening to the joys of fishing at my house. Far from it. Spring, summer, autum, winter—in all seasons, symbols of the glorious sport of fishing are in evidence. Hooks, lines, sinkers, strips of lead, “Swedish jiggers,” flies, and articles resembling minute feather dusters are only a few objects in the conglomerate mass which comprises the fishing tackle. The fishing trip is planned. A period of widespread exploration of the sur¬ rounding towns in search of “live bait” ensues. Finally, in some enterprising man’s cellar, several dozen minnows are discovered swimming disconsolately in a dilapidated bath tub. The minnows are seized upon, and the plans proceed. When minnows are out of season. Mother Earth provides the eager angler with as many of her languid children, the earth worms, as he desires. He has only to dig. These unfortunate worms are placed in a tin can in whose top the consid¬ erate fisherman has punched holes so that the worms may breathe with ease. I never have quite understood how worms do breathe, since they have no visible noses, but that is an unimportant detail. The fish poles are brought forth and dusted. The lines are tested. The hooks are arranged with extraordinary care. Everything is ready. Then the Isaak Waltons adjourn to their respective homes and shortly emerge, clothed for the trip, a sight to startle any sane person except another angler. The costumes are always very interesting, but those used in the winter, are, I believe, the most picturesque. In winter, several pairs of pants that have passed all usefulness except as “fishin’ pants” are donned, one pair superimposed on another. The effect is beyond description, but the fisherman evidently considers himself a model of sartorial perfection. He clumps about impatiently with a bundle of “tilts,” wondrously constructed contraptions of sticks, red flannel, and corset bones, under his arm. For the benefit of my female readers who are not so well ac¬ quainted with fishing properties as I, I will explain that when a fish yields to temptation and bites, the bit of red flannel flies up, released by the bite, and the fishermen rush to pull in the fish. Finally Sarah Ann, the fishing Ford, rattles up, and the fishermen blithely set out. Calmness descends. Once more the preparations have been made, and once more the party has set out. With “baited” breaths we await the return. Elna A. Whitney, ’28. 54 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. CLOCKS. Of all the things which we have ever looked upon, the face of the clock is the most familiar. We see the clock every where, in our home, school, office or any where we may happen to be. We see many kinds of clocks, large and small, from the beautiful intricate watch on a feminine wrist, to the large ponderous clock on the town house tower. But what ever kind of clock it may be, it is subjected to the same treatment,— looks, looks, looks! If looks were wearing, what would become of all our clocks? There is one timepiece I know everyone likes,—the beautiful chime clocks. How many times on a quiet evening have you listened to the chimes, pealing out their simple message in the still night air! On the other hand, how many times have you been awakened in the still gray of the morning by the insistent singing of the alarm clock. That is the true test of a man’s self-control. If you can refrain from throwing it out the window, you are an ideal man. Then, too, have you ever been awakened in the morning to have the clock say 7.45 o’clock, when you are supposed to be in school at 8 o’clock? You rush about, take one dive into your clothes, eat your breakfast on the run, do a marathon to school and then arrive at 7.45 by the school clock. Boy! What a grand and glorious feeling! But what an important place in our lives the clock occupies. We regulate our lives by it. If we are late too many nights, w r e disturb the family peace; if we are late for work, we lose our position ; and if we are late at the drug store, we lose our beauty. All in all, what would happen if our clocks failed us? And yet what praise do we ever bestow on them? Our watch may run for years without a slip and when it stops for a day, it is left hanging in a pawn shop window. Such is life. That which serves us best receives the least consideration. John A. Merrilees, ’28. GIRLS—(By a Woman-hater). You know, girls are funny things to write about for they are so-er-well-that is to say they are queer creatures. Girls generally reach the height of their queerness when they are seniors in high school, for they are then or think they are, just about the niftiest piece of creation ever put out. When you look at one of these masterpieces (that’s ironic, please) you cannot help but double up with laughter, for here’s a true analysis of a girl as I see it. Starting from the feet and progressing toward the head, or as they say, from bad to worse, you see in order: one dainty little pair of slippers (they get bigger every day) ; one pair of silk hosiery (cotton is so common ) ; next, a little way above the slippers (It’s getting farther every day), comes a dress, or so they say. Then comes a sweater or sweat shirt, and on top of this is set a head, (if you are building a model, a piece of wood will do). Upon this head there are: one set of red, red lips, one nose plastered with powder, two tiny ears, one set of eyes of purest blue, and a mop of wild hair. This head, I forgot to say, is en- THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 55 tirely empty of any thing useful, but the poor thing has to have something into which she can throw her cud of gum. There’s only one other thing to discuss about a woman and that is her stomach. They say an army travels on its stomach, but a girl never eats (that is she waits until she goes out with her boy-friend to eat). So taken all in all, a girl is worth about—well, what would you give? Raymond H. Lynch, ’28. ON BEARDS. A beard—what shall we call it? Stamp of senility, badge of infirmity, dis¬ reputable brush, or signpost pointing to indolence? Can a beard on a tottering old man indicate aught but respectability? On a young man, does it always signify laziness? What the deuce does it mean on a woman? But there—let us leave the ladies out of this. I can think of no great lady so masculine that she had a beard. George Eliot’s countenance was equine, but we are not told whether the horse she resembled was a male or a female. It is seemly to be charitable to so great a personage; let there be a tacit agreement that it was the latter. But to return to beards, I have one. Heretofore I have had only a mous¬ tache, which I have preferred to designate moustachios, which is Spanish or Beluchistanian for the same thing. But now—a beard. I first discovered it one morning as I was washing for breakfast. It was really a jolt to me at first; I quite lost my usually admirable equanimity. I flit¬ ted about the house, happy as Don Ray in Hopedale. I stopped once before a mirror to make sure. There could be no doubt about it. In the middle of my chin (right where the dimple would be, had I a dimple) there reposed a fine beard. It was only one hair, really, but what can you expect for a starter? Many students of the Milford High School will remember that day. It was the day when Cenedella disregarded all precedents, and arrived at school on time. Many learned discourses have been written on that occurrence, and many a cold dinner has been warmed by the heat of argument over what possible motives or inducements could have led the slothful Cenedella to arrive a bonne heure. Billings, Miss Snow, and even Mr. Quirk have endeavored each to force his opinion on the inquiring public. They prove to their own satisfaction—and reenforce their proofs with copious extracts from the Latin and Greek masters— that I was ill, that I was bribed, and that I was momentarily insane. Their papers display admirable erudition, but one virtue they lack: they are not right. Like Mr. Mack’s dog, I “had a reason for it:” I wished to display my new¬ found beard. I rushed up to the first boy I saw—it was Grayson, I believe— and, breathless, I blurted forth ' ' the astounding news. “A beard,” said he, and he scanned my face closely. “Where?” “Right there,” I replied, and pointed. “Oh, yes. Yup, I see it. Hmm.” And Grayson, who should have been a prosecuting attorney, reached up, and with cruel thumb and forefinger, he plucked out my, alas, too scanty beard. That was a blow, I can tell you. But I have since forgiven my erring mate, 56 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. and I even deign sometimes to speak to him, for my beard has come out aagin threefold—there are three hairs now. I can’t determine whether I resemble more closely Walt Whitman or Ezra Pound. I hope the former, but, lean as is my face, it is probably the latter. I seem to remember that in The House with the Green Shutters , a man was spoken of as “not worthy of his beard.” I hope that when I die, I may be eulo¬ gized as “a man not only worthy of the beard he had, but deserving of a far greater beard.” Robert J. Cenedella, ’ 28. LONG HAIR. It may be said that long hair is no longer, and bobs seem to have taken its place. The characteristic by which girls have been distinguished from men for so long is a thing of the past carrying away with it many memories cherished by our fathers. In the good old days of their youth, when girls wore their hair in braids, or the more fortunate in curls, pesky boys were afforded great amusement in tugging on the long hair of their fair acquaintances. If they wanted to make their young lady friend very happy, a nice hair ribbon would do the trick. Now— well, the boys know how expensive gifts are. Barber shops, one the favorite haunts of men where confidences were safely placed, are now becoming greatly patronized by the women, who incidentally can’t keep secrets. In my estimation long hair signifies purity. Lady Godiva and our first female parent, Eve, would surely have been much more embarrassed if they had had bobs like our twentieth century women. Modern efficiency may have led to the adoption of short hair more than anything else. It’s a -great deal easier, I have observed, just to comb and brush hair than it is to pile a mass of it on top of the head and attempt to arrange it in a becoming style. So when fashion decrees bobs, doctors indorse them, and women accept them, it looks as if the artists and musicians will have to create the long hair style among men if it is to survive. Philip C. Gagnon, ’ 28. WASTE PAPER BASKETS. What a little thing the waste basket is! How insignificant and unimport¬ ant ! To most of us it is merely a recipient of any shape, manner, or form, ready to accept whatever we may deign to bestow on—or in it. How it is abused, kicked around, and, after a period of usefulness, harshly crushed from existence! How little do we appreciate its real value, and it is valuable, for what should we do without it? Schools, homes, offices, buildings, M. H. S. ORCHESTRA, 1927-1928 M. H. S. FOOTBALL TEAM, 1927 58 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. Milton adopted for “Comus” a simple human story as the central motive instead of a more artificial and fantastic theme. A tradition of long standing asserts that the central episode of the sister and brothers losing their way in the woods is based upon an actual occurrence. The tradition is that Lady Alice Egerton, with her brothers, Mr. Thomas Egerton and the Viscount Brackley, did actually go astray in Haywood Forest, near Ludlow while returning by night from a visit to some relatives in Herefordshire. The sister in some way became separated from her brothers, but they were all soon rescued by a servant from the castle. Upon this simple human episode Milton based his masque, “Comus,” rec¬ ognizing the peculiar fitness of this type of poem for the conveyance of moral and philosophic truth. It is overweighted with moral teaching, and lacks the lightening influence of humor. Besides having a simple human incident as the central motive, “Comus” has a mythological element, which is made to serve the purpose of a moral lesson. Comus, the principal character in the masque, stands for sin. His father was Bacchus, the god of revel, from whom he inherited a beguiling beauty; his mother was Circe, an enchantress, from whom he has received a strain of dark cruelty, and a delight in subjecting human souls to sin, and fitting human bodies with grotesque animal features. Like his mother, he dwells in the midst of his victims, persons whom he has changed by his spells into creaturees half man and half beast, and whom he leads nightly through the forest in unseemly revelry. This uncouth crew typifies those human souls who, after giving up their inner purity, gradually become innured to a life of sin, and lose their di¬ vine property. One night while Comus and his band of followers are indulging in their usual uncouth enjoyment, Comus feels the presence of the Lady wandering alone through the woods. He quiets his band of noisy revellers and approaches her alone, in the garb of a simple peasant whom “thrift keeps up about his country gear.” Under pretense of conducting her to a neighboring hut for shelter, he lures her into his palace, which is built in the depths of the wilderness. Here he seats her on a throne in a room of state “set out with all manner of delicious¬ ness.” He casts aside his disguise and appears in his true character, trusting to his eloquence to change her innocence and purity to sin, and thus bring her under the power of his magic. She refuses to drink from the cup of sin, and remains adamant despite his arguments. He tells her that it has power to re¬ fresh her completely, but she answers that he lies and that “none but such as are good men can give good things.” Comus laughs at her doctrine, and tells her that mortals who do not use the abundant gifts that Nature has given them are not thanking God properly. To this argument the Lady answers that Nature intended her gifts only to good people who practice temperance, which the Creator much prefers to gluttony and excess. While Comus has thus been enticing the Lady to partake of the false pleas¬ ures offered by sin, her brothers have been vainly searching for her. The Younger Brother is exceedingly anxious about her and is afraid that she will be overwhelmed with fears and perils of an unknown nature. The Elder Brother is of a more philosophical character and believes that his sister has a hidden strength which will protect her against all harm. In answer to his brother’s query, he replies: “’Tis chastity, my brother, chastity: She that has that is clad in complete steel.” THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 57 towns, and cities would be simply littered with undesired bits of this, that, and the other thing without the useful recipient. The waste basket is considered of no consequence whatsoever. Yet, in fact, the head, if one may so term the inside of the waste paper basket contains more than the head of some humans. Continually, day in and day out, it receives more knowledge, and even if all of it is taken away, the next minute it is starting its upward climb again toward intelligence. And how unlimited is its field of information—the solution of a difficult algebra, or maybe geometry problem, an important telegram or other message, the stock market report, a valuable formula, the combination to a safe, the plans of a gang of robbers, and so on to infinity. Endowed with such an amount of knowledge we should respect instead of abuse the waste basket. So when again you run against one or stub your toe on it, beg the “professor’s” pardon instead of cursing. Mary L. Burns, ’ 28 . ON GREASE. Often I sit down and with chin in my hands ponder over the excessive use of all kinds of grease. From the cradle to the casket, grease plays a prominent part in the life of humans. The young babe is rubbed with olive oil to keep the skin soft and healthy. Early in life the female learns the use of cleansing and vanishing creams. But as the years go by, the time spent before the mirror in¬ creases with leaps and bounds. Hours of perfectly good time are spent ap¬ plying cleansing creams, astringents, and beautifying creams for numerous species of wrinkles known only to the female sex. The society woman often has her face enameled as regularly as she has the woodwork in her reception hall touched up. The jars of grease with so many pedigreed names which ornament her dressing table resemble the chemist’s laboratory, the substances in them suf¬ ficient for a series of experiments. I am blessed with a freshman brother who spends most of his waking hours spreading his hair with vaseline. Oh, the vanity of adolescent youth! And yet he is but a sample of the male sex. Man to-day spends as much on grease and in tonsorial establishments as woman spends on all her various treatments at the beauty parlor. It’s grease, grease from morning ’till night,—from the shiny greased head of the milk boy to the polished society matron who has undoubtedly exiled herself in the recesses of her dressing room, head swathed in a turkish towel under the soothing fingers of the masseuse. The shop girl is generous in her application of grease before tinting her cheeks with that red paint they call rouge. Again, grease is useful in the removing of that same paint. It exceeds by far the powers of that universal cleanser—soap and water—which is seldom used by the painted flapper because some beauty specialist says that soap is a hindrance to that school girl complexion. It is grease that is advertised as removing freckles, whitening the skin, re¬ moving all sorts of blemishes, tightening the sagging muscles about the chin, and removing the double chin. Likewise it is grease—though I admit it is a differ¬ ent kind—that lubricates the axles and various mysterious parts of that gas 58 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. eater, the automobile. Though man hates to admit it, there is one universal truth: grease keeps the world moving—automobiles, airplanes, and right down the line to that painted flapper, who keeps the rest of the world from coming to a dead stop. Florence E. Snow, ’ 28 . SCIENCE AND WORLD PEACE. This is the scientific age, and science has rightly been called the “World’s greatest civilizer.” In the jungle age, war was the only way—Nature’s way—of enabling the fittest to survive. Today, modern science teaches that “Reason is the only method of attacking problems.” Primitive man was ruled wholly by his emotions. Science would have us use common sense. Never has there been so hopeful an attention directed to the problem of securing and maintaining peace in the world, not through conquest,—the jungle method—but by en¬ couraging common sense and international good feeling—the modern scientific method. Not only are people in all the countries of Europe and America frank¬ ly tired and disgusted with war and plainly determined to abolish it, but states¬ men and those who control the foreign policy in London, Berlin, Paris, Tokyo, and Washington are all convinced of the folly and waste of fighting. “The diplo¬ macy of tomorrow,” says one statesman, “will be based on the greatest possible amount of human sympathy with the feelings and ideas of neighboring countries.” Let us consider for a moment how science in its three branches—mechanical, electrical, and chemical—is bringing about this international understanding and good will. The mechanical engineers, with their scientific knowledge, have mapped and explored the far places of the earth, while the great transportation systems are carrying commercial progress into all the inhabited parts of the globe. The great developments in the automobile and air-plane industries are not only closely connected with the progress of civilization, but are arousing a common interest and enthusiasm in all nations which must eventually bring about per¬ manent peace. 1 he automobile is an example of the application of scientific brains to prac¬ tical ends. A little over thirty years ago, the automobile did not exist. At the beginning of 1928, there were more than twenty-seven million automobiles in the world, and their importance has increased with the numbers. Every citizen to¬ day is dependent upon the industry of citizens of other nations all over the world. So it is easy to see that the removal of the automobile, aside from the personal inconvenience which everyone would suffer, would have a paralyzing effect on world industry. An even greater achievement in science is aviation. Everyone has read about Commander Byrd’s transatlantic flight, as successful (except for weather) as Lindbergh s, his Arctic flight, and his proposed attempt to fly over and chart the Antarctic continent. No expedition ever undertaken has aroused more in¬ terest and anticipation over the entire world than that which Commander Byrd is about to lead into the South Polar regions. Geographers of all countries will share equally in information about the only part of the land surface of the earth that has not been mapped and traveled over; and every intelligent person, whether European or American, whether scientific or not, is fascinated by the cool daring of the plan. But all these flights are made possible only by the THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 59 intelligent use of scientific knowledge, and common sense, the result of scien¬ tific knowledge. To quote a memorable remark made by Miss Herta Junkers, daughter of the designer and builder of the Bremen, “Aviation is not a weapon to fight wars with, but the finest means in the hands of humanity to avoid wars, to bring people together. It annihilates the barrier of space. It is the means of transportation which will bring nations closer to each other. It is also a wonderful common interest in which all nations can share.” In electrical research, of the various discoveries that have had so much to do with the social and economic relations of nations, the most important are the telephone, the telegraph, the television, the wireless, and the radio. When we think that a radio audience of forty million people in the United States alone may hear at the same time the same proposition, whether it be amusements, mer¬ chandizing, politics, or education, we realize what a world-wide influence we are using. Lack of definite information may be the cause of much misunderstanding and lack of harmony between nations. But with the radio, this difficulty is easily eliminated for one has only to turn the dial to the wavelength used by London, Berlin, or Paris, to hear the very latest official news. What an op¬ portunity to educate the public in world peace! The up-to-date connection be¬ tween individuals and between nations by electrical communication systems has had an effect impossible to estimate. In October of 1927, the General Electric Company’s station at Schenectady picked up and rebroadcast a station of Sydney, Australia, 9,970 miles away. Music carried on the late evening program of the Australian station became breakfast-hour music for the American audiences. Just before the sign-off at 11.30 P. M., Sydney time, a male quartet sang, “The More We Are Together, the Merrier We’ll Be.” and in that song forecast what may prove the highest mission of radio, the promotion of international understanding. If mechanical and electrical research are represented by the great transpor¬ tation and communication systems—the automobile, the airplane, and the radio— carrying commercial progress into all the inhabitated parts of the globe, what may be said of chemistry? It is more closely c onnected with the industries of the world than any other science, and the country that leads in chemistry will ultimately be the richest and most powerful. It will have the fewest waste ma¬ terials, it will have the best manufactured articles, it will have the best foods,— the most nourishing and the cheapest—it will possess the secrets of the most pow¬ erful explosives, the hardest steels, and the mightiest engines. Surely a population educated in the science of chemistry is the greatest asset a country can have. Con¬ trary to the old popular idea that a knowledge of chemistry must result in wars more deadly than our World War, Alfred Nobel was not far from right when he thought he had taken an important step toward the abolition of war when he invented nitroglycerine. To quote Professor Millikan of The California Insti¬ tute of Technology and one of the five American scientists to be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, “Alfred Nobel has, I suspect, exerted a larger influence in that direction than all the pacifist organizations that have ever existed.” Thus it may readily be seen how these branches of science, in developing transportation and communication, have already brought the nations into closer contact and have so increased the possibilities of an international good will. According to modern science, these facts carefully and impartially collected, and the date analyzed, must lead necessarily to but one conclusion “The greatest gifts of science to the world are research—the discovery of new knowledge—and edu¬ cation—the passing on of the accumulated wisdom—and research and education will solve the peace problem of future generations.” 60 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. Classmates of 1928: For four years we have worked together. After to¬ night, each of us must go out into the world to meet and conquer his own prob¬ lems. “Progress and achievement result only from the conquest of difficulties. He who conquers wins. “Thanks to our instructors, we have learned something of the scientific attitude toward work. We have learned that “Education is the best discipline for the adventure of life.” Therefore let us go forth with courage, to hold to our convictions, with tolerance for the beliefs of others and with a high ideal—“To each, his own.” Teachers, fellow classmates, under¬ graduates, and friends of the Class of 1928, to each and all we now say, “Fare¬ well.” Robert Billings, ’ 28 . OUR TEAM. BALLAD. Here’s to our school and baseball team, One of hard-working boys, A nine that when upon the field Just fills our hearts with joys. A splendid pitcher of wide renown, Siki, our all round star; As captain bold he leads the way By batting hard and far. Merrilees wears the catcher’s mit And swings a wicked right, And with the ball when he connects He slams it out of sight. And then at first we have Morcone, A new but faithful aid; He’s caught the ball and hit it, too, In every game he’s played. Ralph Shaw holds down the second base; A keystone firm he is! He catches balls both fast and slow, And bats them like a whizz! Tomaso is our new shortstop, One of the senior class, And when the ball comes by his glove, He shouts, “It will not pass.” At third base we have Federici A little fellow, too; With the rest he bats the ball, And misses very few. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 61 Sibson plays out in the right field, At bat he sure can clout; And when our rivals hit a fly, He bags it for an out. At center we have Gordon Shaw, His first year on the team. He catches flys and at the plate He makes our faces beam! Bonina plays out in left field And he’s a cracker jack! He catches flys and up at bats The ball he surely whacks! The team is good, but not without Its subs would it come through O ' Donnell, Consoletti, and Mack, Iannitelli and Roberti, too! Much credit we owe to our coach, Hop Riopel, the Great; He trains the boys and shows them how To “bat up’’ at the plate. Let’s give a cheer for all the boys Of good old Milford High! A last “Three cheers’’ now long and loud, B efore we say, “Goodbye.” Helen E. Luby, ' 28. SUNSET. We see a band of heaven glowing gold And tinged with orange, scarlet, red, A contrast to its framework bold Of darker shades, dull purple weired with lead, An everchanging pattern in the sky, Increasing in its splendor as we watch. Here brilliant fairy castles tower high. Now comes a mountain range with ragged notch And deep ravine, soon followed by a ship High tossed by billows huge, a prairie fire With flames which give a leap, then sink and dip, And waning, seem to lose their meaning dire. Imagination keen is all we need: By that alone are Sunset’s beauties freed. Robert Billings, ’28. 62 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. GARRICK CLUB REPORT. I he David Garrick Dramatic Club of the Milford High School organized early in the school term for its sixth consecutive year. The following officers were elected: President, Robert J. Cenedella, ’28. Vice-President, Charles Dowdell, ’28. Secretary, Mary Swift, ’28. Treasurer, Samuel W. M. Ianzito, ’28. During the first part of the year, the fifty-four members of the club had each an opportunity to appear upon the stage in tableaux, which were presented at the club meetings. These tableaux served as invaluable object-lessons to the club in matters of stage arrangements and costuming. On May 25, 1928, the club gave a public performance of four one-act plays: The Siege, On a Park Bench, The Difficult Border, and The Boor. Each of these plays had been previously presented at meetings of the club. The success of the club was artistically as great as ever, but financially it was not up to the showings of former years. • d he club made two pleasant trips to Boston late in the year, attending the Shakespeare Festival of the Academy of Speech Arts, and viewing the drama When Knighthood Was in Flower, which was presented by the same school. ' I ' oo much credit cannot be given to Miss Sadie O’Connell, our indefatigable acu ty advisor, whose untiring labors have, this year as formerly, made pos¬ sible the success of our organization. Robert J. Cenedella, ’28. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 63 THE LATIN CLUB. The Excelsior Club was organized January 17, 1928 under the direction of Miss Loretta E. Murray. The Latin name “Excelsior” was chosen for the name of the club which means “Onward and Upward.” The officers of the club were as follows: President, Theresa Trotta. Vice-President, Helen Luby. Secretary, Barbara Shaw. Treasurer, Robert Cenedella. This club was formed for the purpose of creating enthusiasm and interest of the students in the classics and the study of classical literature. Although this is the first year of the club’s existence and the achievements have been few, may it be successful in all its work in the future years. Barbara Shaw, Secretary. THE ACE OF CLUBS. The Commercial club of the Milford High School was organized January 10, 1928. The officers elected are as follows: Faculty Advisor, Miss Lillian L. Egan. President, Ellen Granholm. Vice-President, Reta White. Secretary, Roger Dolloff. Treasurer, John Anesta. The name decided upon was “The Ace of Clubs,” and the motto, “By our own efforts we hope to rise.” The operation of an adding machine, skits, discussions, and the use of various office appliances were taken up at the meetings. On the trip to Boston, May 1, 1928, the members, with Miss Egan and Miss Curtin as chaperons, visited Bryant and Stratton School of Business Administra¬ tion and Burdett College in the morning. In the afternoon the Club went to the Metropolitan Theatre. The final social affair of the year, was a weinie roast, held at the home of Alice Knox, Purchase Street, on June 4, 1928. Despite the rainy evening all members had a most enjoyable time. With the help of our faculty advisor, the business of the Ace of Clubs was successfully accomplished. Ellen Granholm, ’ 28 . 64 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. Htblettcs BASEBALL. After the winter months had at last passed and the weather showed some signs of spring, a call for candidates for baseball was issued. The first call was for the battery men to limber up their muscles which had been dormant through the winter months. This meeting was held in the Armory. A week later the rest of the ball tossers were called. As soon as it was warm enough to go outside, we began our stiff work-out every afternoon. In our first game of the season we romped away with a win over the Woon¬ socket nine 6-1. This game was called at the end of the sixth inning on account of adverse weather conditions. After this start we defeated our next opponent, Ashland, 13-0. Then in the following week we defeated the much talked of Natick team in a 12-3 triumph. In our first Midland League game we won over Hopkinton, 6-5, in a hard fought game. At Hudson we suffered our first set back, the score being 10-3, but we came back very strong when Ashland for the second time suf¬ fered another severe drubbing, 20-3. On the next day we journeyed to Framingham and returned victorious: 8-6. In our next league encounter we took Marlboro in camp to the tune of 10-3. Our next game was at Hopkinton. It was scheduled for a twilight game and produced many thrills and hair raising plays, with neither team sure of a victory until the last man was retired, but again the Milford boys won 4-3. At Maynard we suffered our second defeat by the score of 5-4 with “Lefty” Iannitelli in the box, who, although only a sophomore, deserves a great deal of credit because of the fact that this was his first game of baseball that he ever pitched in High School. In the following week we defeated Westboro twice, 14-2 and 12-5, thus putting Milford in second place in the standing of the league. Our next victim was Marlboro and they went down 6-4 in defeat in an in¬ teresting game, hard fought from the time the umpire called play till the last man was out. In our second engagement with Hudson we went into a triple tie for first place when they were banished 12-1 with “Lefty” Iannitelli pitching shut out baseball. Just a word of praise to the boys who made baseball one of the activities in our school life. The battery was composed of Peterson pitching with Merri- lees on the receiving end. The substitute pitchers were Iannitelli and Consoletti who helped greatly in this department. In the infield were Morcone, a new man, who played first base with the veteran Ralph Shaw at second base, “Midget” Tomaso at short stop, and Federici holding down the bat comer. The substi¬ tute infielders were McNamara, W. O’Brien and D. O’Brien. In the outer gardens were Bonina roaming in left field, Gordon Shaw, cov¬ ering the mid section, and Sibson in right field. The substitutes were: Roberti, Williams, Parenti, Brown, O’Donnell, and Cugini. Not too much can be said in praise of our coach, Mr. Riopel, whose untir¬ ing efforts have aided us in attaining such a high standing in the Midland League. Much credit is also due to our able principal, Mr. Quirk, who has always taken so great an interest in athletics and worked diligently for our welfare. Elmer Peterson, ’28. BASEBALL TEAM, 1928 66 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. And then there were some faithful subs, Ready to do their best; And when we found ourselves in need They helped us out, you bet! Great praise and words of credit are due Our coach—Mr. Riopel, For “Hop’s” hard work was not in vain, As we can truly tell. To him and the boys we wish success, Success throughout the years. Let’s get to-gether now,—1-2-3! Three well deserved loud cheers! Catherine M. Moran, ’27. WOULDN’T THE SHOCK BE FATAL IF:— We had a new High school? There was no school Monday when Tuesday was a holiday? Lloyd Stowers forgot to give his opinions? Rosen heard a remark the first time? Sydney Solomon forgot to pass some side remarks? Room 8 didn’t whisper? Miss Bureau said “unprepared” in expression? Kizer lost his smile? “Dick” Ferrucci winked at the girls? Ernie Lombardi lost his million-dollar smile? Miss Connolly sat still one minute? Miss C. Moran forgot to have her hair marcelled? Miss Perna kept still a whole period? The eight o’clock bell failed to ring? Callery flunked English A? Miss Ireland stopped giggling for one period? Miss Murphy forgot how to sing? Miss Bullard had a pencil? Carlson failed to argue in class? Bowen didn’t look bored? Miss Black didn’t start reciting with “well”? Crandall paid attention to his lessons? Miss Bragg talked above a whisper? Carlson didn’t blush ? Miss Ryan forgot to teach Burke’s Speech? Miss Fiorani was wide awake in English A? “Sir, your daughter has promised to become my wife.” “Well, don’t come to me for sympathy; you might know something would happen to you, hanging around here five nights a week.” THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 65 WOULDNT IT BE FUNNY IF: Miss Ryan forgot about Woolley’s? Tominsky didn’t argue? Ranahan didn’t laugh? Miss Sweeney didn’t talk after the first bell? Miss Shaw didn’t smile? Miss Moran forgot to curl her hair? Miss Lalley got excited? Miss Ross lost her voice? Miss Hedberg’s curls became straight? Roberti forgot the battles of the Civil War? Miss Taylor wasn’t witty? Miss M. Bums spoke above a whisper? Billings didn’t understand Trig? Miss M. Swift was impolite for just once? “Siki” couldn’t pitch? All the seniors attended their class dances? Miss Ryan didn’t have a sermon for every occasion? Siipola forgot his vocabulary? Miss Shaw wasn’t tall a nd beautiful? Miss Snow flunked History A? Siipola didn’t sway when he stood to recite? Cenedella couldn’t write compositions? Merrilees could write by the “Palmer Method”? Ranahan stopped laughing? Shaw was boistrous? Miss Luby failed in English A? Miss Busconi and Miss SanClemente didn’t chum together? M. Burns hurried? Billings failed in Chemistry? Miss Casey didn’t smile? Miss Kynoch forgot her student’s bag? Dowdell didn’t smile at the girls? Costrino forgot how to play the violin? Miss Shaw got excited? The Seniors took a trip to Washington? Lutfy wrote legibly? Brown didn’t mention the army? Grayson forgot how to make excuses? Cenedella wasn’t the life of the party? Merrilees’ hair got mussed up? Connie Bilsbury wasn’t hungry? Fili Busconi didn’t part her hair in the middle? Grayson didn’t have “IT”? Pearson talked distinctly? Larson wasn’t bashful? S ammy Ianzito got excited? The Senior Class should go some other place besides Nipmuc on Classday? Ralph Shaw wasn’t athletic? Finn didn’t always take the opposite side? Miss E. Mazzarelli lost her good disposition? Miss Shaw wasn’t popular? 66 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. WOULDN’T IT BE FUNNY IF: Roberti forgot his History? Miss Mann lost her smile? Conlin wasn’t reminded to stop talking to the girls? Ianzito didn’t like Dramatics? Miss Whitney failed in Latin A? Miss M. Moran hollered? Miss Ryan didn’t have any relatives for illustrations? Miss Mann wasn’t in a hurry? Larson disturbed the class? Miss Smithies didn’t smile? Miss Eldredge didn’t have her hair waved? Dolloff got excited? Miss M. Mazzarelli made any noise second period? Mr. Quirk allowed talking in the halls? Miss Hedberg shouted when she recited? Everyone paid his athletic dues? WOULD THE WORLD COME TO AN END IF: Miss Smithies spoke up loud? Miss Ryan forgot to give tests? Kirsner forgot to express his opinions? Billing’s couldn’t answer any question he was asked? Miss DeLuzio didn’t have a smile? Ianzito could do versification? Anesta and Dolloff had a quarrel? Shaw couldn’t play football? Conlin stopped teasing the girls? Miss Crandall ever hurried? Miss Luby ever became lazy? Ianzito wasn’t polite? Merrilees never laughed heartily? Miss Dunlap disturbed the class? Lynch lost his voice? Miss Shaw got angry? Anything bothered Miss Taylor? Cenedella lost his imagination? Miss Snow didn’t have something on her mind? Miss Rivard made any noise? Miss Luby lost her smile? Merrilees was allowed to talk sixth period? Ianzito didn’t smile? Grayson was in a hurry ? Miss Luby and Miss Gorman were separated? Miss Crandall’s hair was straight? Finn didn’t argue? Miss Ryan forgot the punctuation assignments? THE OAK LILY AND IVY. 67 A ONE ACT TRAGEDY. Scene—a room adorned with a flat-topped bar like unto those of pre-pro¬ hibition times. A student approaches. Mr. Quirk (in deep voice) : “Enter! Enter! stand not there as an ox, enter!” (pupil starts). Pupil (quaking) : “Yes, sire.” Mr. Q.: “What is thy desire? Come thou for a packet of paper, or foul thought, hast thou been ostracised from some room of learning? Thy face! I have misgivings.” Pupil : “I come to beg a slip of dismissal, sire.” Mr. Q.: (aside darkly) : A slip of dismissal, highest of all favors bestowed. Zounds, and again zounds! Expound thy unworthy excuse, plug.” Pupil’. “Verily, sire, my stomach groaneth like the very wrath of hades un¬ leashed, yet also doth my head whirl like your pencil sharpener in action. My malady is comparable to no earthy horror. A slip—a slip—I beg. Mr. Q.: “Thy tongue, clod, hasten it into my vision that I may perceive the falsity of thy tale.” (Student obeys). Mr. Q .: “As clear, I hold, as the crystal waters of the Round Pond. Hence, wretch! If in an hour thy stomach and head still are engulfed within this mon¬ strous maelstrom of which thou tell, come, and, I trow, justice shall be done. Pupil’. “Yet list, my sire, my head, my. 68 THE OAK LILY AND IVY. Mr. Q .: “Hence—m y temper loosens.” (Pupil groans—dies in hallway). Mr. Q .: “Egad!—Janus’ ghost! Would I were never born! Methought he punned—yet nay—he lies lifeless. Oh noble soul, quit this, thy most ignoble body.” Chorus of wails-. THE END. William Grayson, ’28. PASS THE ASBESTOS SPOONS. A colored preacher down South was trying to explain the fury of hell to his congregation. “You all is seen molten iron runnin’ out frum a furnace, ain’t you?” he asked. The congregation said it had. “Well,” the preacher continued, “dey uses dat stuff fo’ ice-cream in de place what I’m talkin’ ’bout.”—Ex. Dealer: “Well, wasn’t I right when I said it was a 90-horsepower car?” Customer: “I don’t doubt it, but 45 of the horses wants to go one way and the other 45 another.”—Ex. He (teaching her to drive) : “In case of emergency, the first thing you want to do is to put on the brake.” She: “Why, I thought it came with the car.”—Ex. Guillible: “I’d like to see some good second-hand cars.” Disillusioned: “So would I.”—Ex. “The modern girl’s hair looks like a mop,” says a critic. But that doesn’t worry her. She doesn’t know what a mop looks like.—Ex. “Young Harold’s body has been recovered.” “Why, I didn’t know he had been drowned.” “He hasn’t. He merely bought a new suit of clothes.”—Ex. “Are you Hungary?” “Yes, Siam.” “Then Russian to the table and I’ll Fiji.” “All right; Sweden my coffee and Denmark my bill.”—Ex. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 69 Young Bragget: “My grandfather built the Rocky Mountains.” Unsympathetic Listener: “Aw, that’s nothing. Do you know the Dead Sea? Well, my grandfather killed it.”—Ex. Fond Mother: “Yes, Genevieve is studying French and Algebra. Say ‘Good morning’ to the lady in Algebra, Genevieve.”—Ex. She: “Meet me at the library tonight at seven.” He: “All right. What time will you be there?”—Ex. “So you and your wife had some words?” inquired the judge. “Well, I had some, your Honor, but I didn’t get a chance to use them.”—Ex. Bill Grayson one day said, “Confound it! My own head, I’d like to pound it. From above in her bower My girl tossed me a flower, But alas! A flower pot was around it.” —R. C. EPITAPHS, BY THE BUCCANEERS. Here lies Gagnon with a chewed up ear, He looked at a girl when her fellow was near. Ianzito lies here; say some prayers as you pass: He remembered an assignment that was forgotten by the class. You’ll not find his bust in the hall of fame: Finn was too modest his glories to claim. Lynch was his name and lynched he was; He talked too much without just cause. “She talks twice as much as the other girls I know.” “Yes—she has a double chin.”—Ex. “Where are you going with that red lantern?” “Oh, I just found it. Some careless fellow left it beside a hole in the road.”—Ex. 70 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. CLASS HEROES (As seen by H. L.) 0 Most popular all-round boy—Sammy Ianzito. Boy with the most girl-friends—Charlie Dowdell. Most popular with faculty—Robert Billings. Mr. Athletic—Ralph Shaw. Best dancer—Jack Merrilees. Mr. Clever—Ray Lynch. Mr. Meekness—Francis Larson. Our Artist—Don Ray. Our Male Songster—Leo Roberti. Our Literary Genius—Robert Cenedella. Best Dressed—Bill Grayson. Wittiest and best hearted—John Conlin. Our musician—Joe Costrino. Most Bashful—Frank Piccinoti. Best natured—Leonard Ranahan. He: “I had an awful close shave in town this morning.” She: “Mercy, Jack! What was the matter?” He: “I needed it.”—Ex. Helen L: “A fellow just told me I looked like you.” Helen R: “Where is he? I’ll knock his head off.” Helen L: “Never mind, I killed him.”—Ex. EPITAPHS. Here lies the body of Donald Ray Who strangled himself yelling Hey! Hey! In Tominsky’s memr’y our heads now bow: He handled explosives but didn’t know how. Cenedella, student, poet, sage— Died in Braggville at an early age. ‘ Mary,” said the mistress suspiciously. “Did you clean this fish before you cooked it?” Lord, mum, wot’s the use of cleaning a fish that’s lived in the water all its life!”—Ex. Mistress: Why are you sitting in the chair reading, when I sent you to dust the room?” Servant: Oh, madam, I failed to find the duster, so I am dusting the chairs by sitting on each of them in turn.”—Ex. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 71 CLASS HEROINES (by H. L.) Best looking—Barb Shaw. Most popular with faculty—Lucy Iacavelli. Most popular all-round girl—Barb Shaw. Miss Athletic—Ethel Mann. Best dancer—Dot McMaster. Miss Clever—Mary Burns. Wittiest and happiest—Mag Taylor. Best dressed—Mary Swift. Miss Business-like—Florence Snow. Miss Meekness—Frances Lilley. Our songster—Mae Ross. POETS AND AUTHORS. A slang expression—Dickens. A young domestic animal—Lamb. To agitate a weapon—Shakespeare. A worker in precious metals—Goldsmith. Roast beef, what are you doing—Browning. Pilgrims kneel to kiss him—Pope. A fraction in currency and the height of fashion—Milton A common domestic animal and what it can’t do—Cowper. A ten footer—Longfellow. The value of a word—Wordsworth. Which is the greater poet? Shakespeare or Tupper—Will-is. An interesting poem—Arkenside. A barrier built by an edible—Cornwall. A French preposition and an enemy—DeFoe. BRING A GUN. Teacher: “Tomorrow we will take the Life of Johnson. Come prepared!” PLAN GOES WRONG. A man walked into the lobby of a hotel where he left his umbrella. He put a sign on it which read: “This umbrella belongs to a champion prize-fighter. I’ll be back in ten minutes.” He returned in twenty minutes to find his umbrella. It ‘was not there. But he found the card on the back of which some one had scribbled: “Umbrella taken by champion long-distance runner.” A man who always had difficulty in spelling words that had ie and ei in them mentioned the matter to a friend. “Well,” said the friend, “I have a rule for such cases. It is a rule which in 43 years has never failed me: Write your i and e exactly alike and put your dot exactly between them.”—Ex. 72 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. WITH APOLOGY TO MILTON. When I consider how my health is spent ’Ere half my days in this dreary school, And that one energy which is such a fool Lodged with me naught, though my soul more meant To serve therewith my Ambition, and present My true ability, lest civilization is lost, “Doth God exact studying, at any cost?” I fondly ask:—But brains to prevent That question, soon reply: God doth not need Either a pupil’s study nor his effort; who best Bear under English they serve the test; His state Is kingly; thousands at His bidding fail History A and Chemistry too, without reason: They also pass who only stand and bluff. (Written by a person whose identity I do not know, yet I have been given to understand she is a Senior.—F. S.) WATCH IT DEVELOP. An Englishman, A Scotchman, and an Irishman were arguing as to who had had certain things the longest. The Englishman said, “I’ve had this horse ever since it was a colt.” The Scotchman said, “I’ve had this cow ever since it was a calf.” “Well, that’s nothing,” exclaimed the Irishman. “I’ve had this cart ever since it was a wheelbarrow.”—The Automobilist. COLLEGE SWEETHEART. “Mother, that boy of ours ain’t doing nothing at college, but fooling ’round with the girls.” “Oh, I think no, Hiram. He’s a-working hard I know.” “A-working hard, eh? Then what do you make of this here Alma Mater he’s alius writin’ ’bout he loves so much?”—Ex. There was a young Senior named Bob, Who rivaled Irving S. Cobb. He was very bright, And how he could write! And make folks both laugh and sob. —H. C. L. She: “Those flowers look wilted; where did you find them? In the gutter? He: “No, on a door knob.”—Ex. “Just think, three thousand seals were used to make fur coats last year!” Isn t it wonderful that they can train animals to do such work?”—Ex. THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 73 TO THE BELL. (With apologies to the writer of Charmaine). I wonder why you keep me waiting, Each student cries in vain. When thoughts of reciting I’m hating, Will you ring for me again? I wonder if I keep on praying, Shall I hear your sweet refrain? I wonder if you’ll be too late to rescue: I’m waiting, just waiting for you. Marguerite Moran, ’ 28 . (A popular song on Oral Composition Day.) Teacher—“Who can name one important thing we have now that we did not have one hundred years ago?” Tommy—“Me.”—Ex. S. A. Eastman Co. Paper and Corrugated Boxes 8 GEORGE D. VIRES Confectionery 70 Central Street Milford E. H. NEISTEIN Junk Dealer 76 Depot Street, Milford, Mass. Call 11-M Compliments of..... NOLAN BROTHERS Get it at BRIDGES PHARMACY MILFORD, - MASS. James L. Lilley Auto and Sign Painter 73 Forest Street Hood’s Old Fashioned Ice Cream “The Flavor is There!” Kodak Supplies, Candy Prescriptions accurately compounded J. H. O’GRADY, Prop. 193 Main Street Milford, Mass. 74 ADVERTISING SECTION. NORTHEASTERN UNIVERSITY DAY DIVISION THE SCHOOL OF ENGINEERING In co-operation with engin¬ eering firms, offers four year curriculums leading to the Bachelor’s degree in the follow¬ ing branches of engineering: Civil Engineering Electrical Engineering Chemical Engineering Industrial Engineering Mechanical Engineering THE SCHOOL OF BUSINESS ADMINISTRATION Co-operating with business firms, offers four year colleg¬ iate courses leading to the Bachelor’s degree of Business Administration in Business Management or in Accounting Finance The Co-operative Plan of training enables the student to com¬ bine theory with practice and makes it possible for him to earn his tuition and a part of his other school expenses. For catalog or any further information write to: NORTHEASTERN UNIVERSITY MILTON J. SCHLAGENHAUF, Director of Admissions Boston, Massachusetts Five year programs on co-operative plan on and after Sept. 5, 1929 ADVERTISING SECTION. 75 F. G. KERR Monumental Company Successor to A. C. Kinney ALL KINDS OF CEMETERY WORK GRANITE AND MARBLE MONUMENTS Tablets and Headstones Lettering a Specialty South Bow St., Milford, Tel. S21-W Real Estate Bought and Sold MILFORD FURNITURE CO. “We make a home Out of a house. Milford, - Mass. JAMES B. EDWARDS Undertaker and Embalmer Tel. Office 225-W House 225-R FULLER WILSON BOSTON AND MILFORD EXPRESS Compliments of. JOSEPH H. DOYLE, Esq. AT GRADUATION TIME Your friends expect your photograph Special prices to graduates 773V W. A. Flannery Photographer 224 Main Street, Milford, Mass. Compliments of. X. Xucbint Son Compliments of. ALFRED J. OLIVER, D.M.D. Compliments of. Hleranber SH0iannantonlo dlMlforO, Mass. 76 ADVERTISING SECTION. H. M. CURTISS COAL AND LUMBER CO. soa Shingles and Lumber of all kinds Flooring, Windows and Doors s 48 Pond Street, Milford Compliments of. W. C. WATERS Builder s 25 SPRUCE STREET MILFORD, MASSACHUSETTS J. MASTRIANNI BROS. First Class Shoe Repairing by Machinery Also Shining Parlor 83 U2 East Main Street Milford, - Mass. MONTI ROSSI Monumental Work Milford, - Mass. GRANITE AND MARBLE Statuary and Carving a Specialty Building and Monumental Work 58 EAST MAIN STREET, Tel. 845-W Residence, 8 Hayward St., Tel. 362-M Residence Tel. 94-R ARTHUR J. HEROUX Undertaker, Embalmer and Funeral Director Taxies for all occasions Milford, - Mast. Night Calls, 8 Prentice Ave. Compliments of.... J. F. CATUS1, Esq. JOSEPH MORCONE 23 Main Street Milford, Mass. Bonded Banker Steamship Agent Notary Public Justice of the Peace ADVERTISING SECTION. 77 B. VITALINI Dependable Coal Service Tel. 593-R Milford, Mass. T. E. MORSE CO. 5 South Bow Street Painting and Decorating Paints and Wall Paper for Sale RISEBERG’S THE LEADING CREDIT HOUSE 171 MAIN STREET, MILFORD J. A. TYLER Manufacturer of Shoe Racks Screens, Sawing and Planing J. F. HICKEY Insurance and Real Estate 224 Main Street Milford, - Mass. Compliments of. Woonsocket Mills Remnant Store All kinds of yard goods and dry goods Latest dress patterns a specialty 140 Main Street Milford Compliments of. FRANK J. HYNES Transportation Anywhere Anytime Telephone 41-R COSTELLO’S STORE CENTRAL STREET Tobacco, Confectionery and Ice Cream Sunday and Daily Papers O. D. COSTELLO, Prop. Tel. 284-J. Compliments of. A Friend 78 ADVERTISING SECTION. Compliments of. BARNEY COAL CO. Coal Coke Wood Prompt Reliable Service sra YARDS 31 Main Street 51 Depot Street Tel. 121 Tel. 940 Compliments of. DR. THOMAS J. NUGENT Dentist 8 MILFORD, - MASS. CHARLES E. COONEY DRY GOODS H 222 Main Street, Milford Compliments of. New York Bargain Store DRY GOODS Ladies’ and Children ' s Apparel C. CHAFETZ, Prop. 63 Main Street Milford, Massachusetts Compliments of. JOHN E. HIGGISTON Plumbing and Heating 26 Spruce Street Milford, Mass. Compliments of. BEN LANCISI ML S. McMahon HEATING and PLUMBING 11 Court Street, Tel. Milford 1125 8 It Pays to Consult McMAHON ADVERTISING SECTION. 79 Compliments of. The Home National Bank 221 Main Street, Milford, Mass. “The Bank with the Chime Clock” Now is the time for you to start a good banking connection. We will be glad to serve you. JAMES LALLY HENRY VOLK Dealer in • FLOUR Soloist and Instructor of the Violin GRAIN, HAY and POTATOES Tel. 5 7-M, Studio 35 Pleasant St. 9 Exchange St., Milford, Mass. Milford, Mass. Compliments of. Compliments of. BABY ROSE CIGAR CLIFFORD A. COOK Mfg. • H. L. SCHULTZ ELDREDGE SON Wall Paper Electric Company Duco a and DuPont Paints 244 Main Street, Milford, Mass. 42 Exchange Street - Milford 80 ADVERTISING SECTION. ftbe Gbarlescraft flbress 43 Exchange Street Books, Pamphlets, Commercial Printing, Color and Halftone Printing, Wedding Stationery, Finest Correspondence Papers, Embossed and Engraved Work. This Book was Printed by Gbe CbatlCSCratt fl te00 Checking Accounts Savings Accounts We are Happiest Then It is a pleasure for us to have you consult us about any one of your financial problems. And if we are able to render you a service we are truly happy. Milford National Bank Trust Co. Trust Department Safe Deposit Boxes JVlIhFORD, JVIASS. 157 Main Street New Store New Goods Featuring Goodimate Blue Serge Suits Smartly tailored and designed to provide Style and Value ADVERTISING SECTION. 81 Established 8911 Incorporated 6991 Dependable Service-Good Values The fact that we have served the people of Milford for sixty years is sufficient proof that we have given dependable service and good values. It is our aim to continue. Henry Patrick Co. «5WWes of Sunny Colors and Youthful Styles in Coats , Dresses , Hats , For Women and c JXCisses Virgie-Earl Company 215 Main Street Milford, Mass. GILMORE’S (Formerly Mader’s) Good Things To Eat - Drink - Smoke - Read 256 Main St., Milford, Mass. Compliment of A. B. MORSE Druggist Compliments of...... HENRY IACOVELU MELINE BROS. Wholesale and Retail Dealers in Wallpaper, Paints and Hardware 187 Main Street Milford Tel. 327-M Compliments of Milford Grain Company S3 82 ADVERTISING SECTION. Compliments of P. Eugene Casey Compliments of. Dr. William J. Clancy MILFORD, MASS. Compliments of. GUIDO SABATINELLI Masonry Construction Residence, Franklin St., Tel. 410 Compliments of. DR. B. F. HARTMAN Veterinarian Milford, Mass. Phone 1266-R MILFORD DYE HOUSE CLEANSERS, DYERS, TAILORS The only Dye House in Milford or in the radius of 25 miles doing business direct with the public and the public only. Work called for and delivered M. T. HAYES Tel. 1034 98 Main St. Tel. 1213M 25 Cedar St. Colbert, the Florist Flowers for All Occasions Q 5-7 Pine Street, Milford, Mass. Store 411-W LEO DeFILIPPIS, CUSTOM TAILOR OVER A. P. GROCERY STORE 118 MAIN STREET, MILFORD 201 Main Street, ' v� h - - V — Compliments of. YEE PAH WAH EX-SERVICE MAN HAND LAUNDRY “Save with Safety” at Your Rexall Store Neilan’s Drug Store ■I m wmmm 76 MAIN STREET, MILFORD, MASS. Price List Shirts 16c. Gents Pajamas Spreads 35c. Silk Shirts 25 pair 25 Table Cloths Collars 03 Socks pr. 05 25 to 35 Ladies Shirt Sheets 15 White Coats 25 Waists 25 Pillow Cases 08 Overalls 25 Under shirts 10 Dress shirts 26 Gents White Union Suits 16 Ladies White Waists 25 B.V.D Union Uniform 66 Neckties 05 Suits 16 Night gowns 16 Curtains Handkercheif 03 Under pr 60 to 70 Drawers 10 Towels 03 to 4 First Class Work Guaranteed For your health eat good fruit The Tampa Fruit Company 176 Main Street Milford, Mass. Harry B. Torosian Sons EXCHANGE STREET BAKERY JOSEPH F. MAININI, Prop. Specialty of Doughnuts, Wedding and Birthday Cakes and All Kinds of Pastry . . V ' . . ’ K r V Telephone 1304-J Milford, Mass. 1; - ■ Compliments of...... ■; MOTOR EQUIPMENT CO., Inc. NASH SALES AND SERVICE STORAGE AND REPAIRS J - i The Automobile Store Complete Main at Spruce Street, Milford , : . RICHARD HEALY COMPANY 512 MAIN STREET, WORCESTER Women’s Misses’ and Children’s Finest Apparel f.v-.;