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

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THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 25 the buckles of his snowshoes. He was only six or eight feet up the pole when the leader of the pack leaped after him, the big wolf’s snapping fangs miss¬ ing Fred’s foot by inches. Paying no attention to the howling clamor below, he soon cleared the trouble. He then rang and reported the trouble being cleared, and asked to be connected with Perkins. “What’s up? What’s that noise?” came the voice of Fred’s friend. “I’m up, and that noise is wolves.” “Wolves?” “Wolves! Seven big ones—sitting around the bottom of the pole sing¬ ing for their supper. I’m the supper.” “How are you going to get home?” “Well, I have my automatic.” As Fred fired, the slide came back and caught in a wire, jerking the pistol from his hand. Adding insult to injury, the wolf he had aimed at was uninjured. Fred rang back to Perkins, and after he had told him what had happened, Perkins replied that it would be impossible to get a man there before morn¬ ing. “By that time I’ll be frozen; or I’ll fall off the pole, and just about two minutes after that. I’ll be a lot of nice, juicy hamburg.” “We’ll have to do something!” Perkins cried desperately. “I’ve got an idea; it may work. You’ve got some copper wire with you. Uncoil it and get some of it to the ground.” Fred uncoiled the wire, and connected it to the wires on the poles. The wolves immediately got all tangled up in it. A short piece remained in his hand but long enough to come within six or seven feet of the ground. He put one of his gloves on the end of it and lowered it. A big wolf made a mighty leap and almost seized it in his teeth. He hastily pulled the glove out of the wolf’s reach. “Try that a little later, big boy!” he chuckled. His test buzzer sounded. “Are you ready?” said Perkins. “When they’re all tangled up in it, holler ‘Shoot’ and I’ll turn on the juice here.” “Shoot!” Fred yelled in a few seconds. A flash of fire, a wisp of pungent smoke, and a howl from below. Two wolves jumped clear. The others were dead. The uninjured wolves sped down the mountain. “Turn it off!” Fred shouted. “It’s off! Did it work?” “Did it work? Oh, boy, got all but two of them and they’re in the next county by now.” “Say, Perk!” Fred’s voice trembled with elation. “I get the break! Five hides at fifty bucks apiece, and twenty-five bucks bounty from the sheepmen’s association—three hundred and seventy-five smackers! Besides getting out of a pickle.” “And you’re all right?” Perkins asked. “Never felt better,” shouted Fred. “And say! You hunt up another trouble shooter. I’m quitting next week and going back to school to finish my training. When I’m in the Major league, be sure to come down and I’ll give you free passes to the games.” Annette Rivard, ’32.

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24 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. “Trouble shooter talking on pole 4639,’ ' Fred reported, “Your trouble measures eighty-three miles from here, and you have about five miles to go. Can you make it before dark?” “Yes, but I’ll have to go home after dark. You office guys have a nice warm snap. How’d you like to be roosting on a pole up here in the hills with the mercury around zero and going down?” “I’d rather have a job that takes brains—like this one.” “Says you? How come you get it?” With this Freddie loosened the safety belt, and descended the pole. He retrieved his snowshoes and buckled the binding straps that held them across his ankles. A mile further he stopped to examine some tracks in the snow. “If those aren’t wolf tracks, you can fan me with a brick! Too big for coyotes. Fresh tracks too. I’m mighty glad they’re in front of me and going the same way I am, and I hope they keep traveling fast.” At the next pole he rechecked with Perkins, who gave him the news that Williams, trouble shooter in an adjoining block, had seen wolf tracks the day before. Fred replied that he had followed their trail about a mile, and much to his relief found it veered off up a canyon, but that he had his gun if they did come back. Fred soon was on the trail again and towards five o’clock he was within view of the mountain top where he was to detect the trouble. As he drew closer to his destination, suddenly he stopped. On the trail under the telephone wires were several black specks moving slowly up the mountain toward him. He guessed that they were wolves and as he watched them, a long low howl verified his opinion—the hungry cry he judged it to be, from talk he’d heard from hunters and trappers regarding wolves and their habits. Between him and the pack was the crossed-out pair of wires, six poles down the line from where he stood. The pack was twelve or thirteen poles beyond the trouble. Another bad break,” he muttered, stooping at the foot of the nearest pole to unloosen the straps of his snowshoes. The wolves had not seen him, and if he remained quietly hugging the cross arms, there was every chance that they would pass beneath him. and never see him. But at the leisurely gait at which they were travelling, stopping to make little excursions of investigation off the trail, it might be an hour before they passed beyond view of him over the mountain. “No!” he muttered, jerking the buckle tight and straightening it. “That trouble’s got to be cleared, and by the time they’re gone, it’ll be too dark to see it. Im going to fix it first!” He ran towards the pole whef e he was to repair the trouble. The leader of the pack caught sight of him and gave utterance to a joyous howl, the others joining the chorus, and with great leaps and bounds they came pouring down the trail toward Fred, who, with snowshoes on, raced headlong towards the wolves. Which would reach the pole first— the wolves sensing supper for their slavering jaws, or Fred, to whom it meant the discharge of his duty at the risk of a fearful death? He set his teeth tighter as he realized what would happen if he could not remove his snowshoes before the wolves reached him. He thanked his lucky stars that he made a practice of wearing his climbers while walking his block, and equally was he grateful for the resilient muscles and splendid wind his hard training in athletic sports had developed. With one dive he reached the pole as the nearest wolf floundered in the snow, thirty feet from where Freddie’s swift but careful fingers worked with

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26 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. ROMANCE. Grace sank into her seat with a sigh. She liked this study room, for the absent minded teacher paid almost no attention to the students in her charge. Some days Grace would study, or if she had nothing else to do, she would talk. This day was different. She was all a-tingle with excitement. She took The Letter from her purse, and hiding it behind her history book, re-read it the fifth time. Emery did write such wonderful letters! “I have just finished writing a book, and since I need a vacation, I shall motor down to see you on June fifteenth. Then, my dear, I shall prove to myself whether you are as sweet and charming as your letters reveal you to be.” She thrilled with anticipation. Today was June fifteenth! This period, and the next two were spent in imagining how Emery would look, for Grace had never seen him, although they had been cor¬ responding for two years. They had agreed to send each other neither pic¬ tures nor descripions of themselves, in order to make their correspondence more interesting. Grace did not learn much in school that day, and was glad when the bell for dismissal rang. She almost ran the short distance to her home. Her small brother was playing on the porch. “Has—I mean, is—has anyone come?” she asked. “I don’t know. I’m busy,” he replied, without turning ' around, and continued to prod a bug with a small stick. She entered the house and found that her guest had not yet come. Snatching something to eat, she dashed upstairs, and ten minutes later, she was seated with a book in the cool living room, dressed in a dainty green chiffon dress which made her creamy skin look whiter, and which set off the red gold of her hair. Sitting still became tiresome work after half an hour. Grace fidgeted. “I do wish he’d hurry,” she thought. “My first real beau! Of course, those children who carry my books and take me to Proms don’t count. Emery’s a man!” She knew from his letters that this was his first year out of college and that he intended to write books which would make the world fall at his feet. She spent another half hour thinking and dreaming, and suddenly she jumped. “What on earth is that noise?” she protested. “Rattlely-bang-chug-chug; rattlely-bang-chug-chug.” Rushing to the window, Grace saw a dilapidated Ford stop in front of the house. It looked as if it had gone through floods, and earthquakes and several wars, since it lacked everything it could possibly do without. The doorbell rang. Upon opening it, Grace saw a very dusty young man wearing smudgy glasses. “Is this-er-thirty-four Fairview Avenue?” a rather high pitched voice asked. “Yes,” Grace said. “Well, er, I presume you are Grace Franklin. I am Emery Titherington. Er, may I wash up a bit? The roads are somewhat dusty, don’t you know.” Then squinting at her through his dusty glasses, “Yes, you are very lovely, my dear,” he informed her. “Why, come right in,” and Grace led the way to the large guest room with the adjoining bath-room.