North Quincy High School - Manet Yearbook (North Quincy, MA)

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MANET 11 The captain emerged from his cabin and shouted to the crew, who were wrapped in heavy rubber clothing, Launch de boats, row out a leetle way and cast de nets. Queek, I care not for dees 'little' storm or how long he rages! Through shouts of protest, the boats were launched a11d away the sailors rowed. Later they came back with the sad report that one of the crew had been drowned when his boat overturned and there were no fish caught. Dawes, disgusted went to his cabin for it was to have been his job to photograph the cleaning and weighing the fish. The crew went to the quarters but still the captain walked the deck. Late that night, an earnest conversation was being held in the crew's quarters. The crew were talking in a large group. One man cried, VVe must get reed of dees peecture man. He ees making de feesh run away and he make our man drown! I tell you, tomorrow night I weel go to hees cabin and knife heem. VVhat you say to dat my friends? Through shouts and cheers it was learned that Dawes was a jynx to these ignorant and superstitious men. The next day the storm did not abate, but continued. Again the catch was small Toward nightfall Dawes went to his cabin to retire. About 3.30 A. M. he was awakened by a sound of stealthy footsteps approaching his cabin door! Sitting abruptly up in his bunk, he snatched his gun from under his pillow and waited. He sat there about a moment or two which seemed hours. He looked out of the window. The storm had died down and the huge yellow moon spread a golden ray across the still black water. Suddenly, he was startled to hear the foot- steps stop in front of his door. He saw the knob move back-back-back and crash! Into the cabin rushed the leader of the crew. I-Ie was naked down to the waist. In his hand he carried a huge knife. VVith a mad lunge he dived at the terrified Jim. Grabbing the butt of his revolver, 'Jim cracked the man, who, with a moan, fell heavily to the floor. Into the cabin the captain ran and cried, 'What ees dees? pointing to the still form. Jim explained the best way possible and then with a. curse the captain grabbed the body of the stunned leader and dashed out of the cabin, slamming the door. How Jim got through the-night he does not know to this day for he was scared pink that the crew were coming to seek their revenge but they did not appear. 'When the Jessie Silvan docked, Jim rushed off to his employer's office in Boston. When he burst into the door of the oflice, the em- ployer echoed a. cry of surprise. J IM 'S ONCE DARK HAIR HAD TURNED PURE VVHITE FROM TERROR! After he related his experiences he said, Sir, I'd never go again for all the fish at sea! ' Jim is now the head photographer for a leading newspaper of New York and this is how he told it to me. Marjorie Bennington, 9-2. THIEVES Casey Riggs was an honest man. So he told himself and all his associates. Casey had ua peculiar brand of conscience, it had elastic qualities. Nobody but Casey himself under- stood Casey 's moral code. On this particular day he was walking down High Main Street just keeping his eyes open for good-fortune. Suddenly he stopped. A large, elegant-looking lady descended from a long black car and stepped across the pave- ment into an exclusive shop. In her progress she dropped her purse, unnoticed by herself or, so thought Casey, passersby. In the same instant that the purse left the corpulent lady's arm, Casey's conscience was stretching. Almost at the identical moment of the purses landing, Casey turned his head. This was done so that when he looked back, the lady would have vanished, and Casey, not knowing to whom the purse belonged, and knowing that all cops were crooks, he needs must keep the purse-and its contents. His soul satisfied, Casey turned his head and took a step toward the spot of the bag's fall. lt was gone! In that instant, someone less conscientious had seized the object of Casey's desire. Bitterly denouncing dishonest men, and fate, and everything in general, Casey shuffled down the street, turned the corner and swiped an apple carelessly from a fruit stall. Munching his prize, he shuffled on, cursing the god who created thieves. Hazel Borne, 10. LOVE, LUCK, AND FATE What was it that made Mr. Boyd, the most severe teacher in the Wilson School for Boys, to whom daily chastisement for the rnerest of offences were a daily occurrence, offer a new five dollar bill to the pupil whose grading in scholarship and deportment was the best for one month? That was love.

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10 MANET last night and with him was a girl, Frederick! Of course I have always known him to be wild. But to bring her here, here in my home! And that is not all, that is not the worst. She has some awful disease, and Frederick, I think it 's leprosylt' I was astounded, even horrified. And hot blood surged up to my head. iVhat right had she to bring me here, into the presence of a leper? Confound her. But I would show her. I would leave her to deal with her paranoiac husband alone as she well deserved. VVithout a word I turned and would have left the room had she not grabbed my arm and detained me. I pulled my arm away and glared at her. But she was not daunted. I considered it carefully. Mter all it was hardly probable that I would contract the disease by merely remaining in the same house. Elizabeth had kept her locked in a small room at the back of the house. I was even curious to see the creature. But I decided to wait until morning and went to bed only to toss about all night dreaming horrible nightmares. In the morning I attempted to figure out the situation. XVhat else could I do but transport the girl to a leper colony such as Molokia. Elizabeth had thought of doing this but had not known just how to go about it. First I would take a look at her. The room was Qn the second floor. The old butler led me to it dingily raised the curtain of the window of the door. I looked in and saw the girl kneeling by the bedside with her head bent onto her clasped hands. She heard us at the door and stood up quickly. And she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen or ever will see. She looked like a wilted flower standing there in a loose black garment like a monk's cowl with the hood pushed back, with a cord wound twice about her slender waist. She looked like a nun and the ecclesiastical garb accentuated her saintly countenance, her oval face, wistful drooping mouth and melancholy grey-blue eyes. Her hair was pushed back from her brow and let fall in its natural waves, soft and glossy as a child black as a raven 's wing. In her right hand she clutched a rosary. I cannot describe further. I was at sea what to do. Certainly I would not send this child, of perhaps seventeen years. away to a desolate isle to waste away her young life. All of that day and the next I pondered eeaselessly. I paced the floor clasping and unelasping my hands. Finally I decided definitely. I would appeal to my friend Doctor Froswell. I would even bring the girl to Lourdes if necessary. I would do anything with probabilities. This girl had adeeted me strangely. It seemed inexplicable. I am a man of forty and long since past the age of infatuation. At any rate I sat down at my desk and wrote to Croswell. Every minute counted but I wrote at length and in detail, careful that there was no omission. Surely he would answer such a plea. I sent one of the younger servants with the message. A day later my dear friend arrived, greatly con- cerned. I turned the patient over to him iinmediately and trusted in him to do his best. And fan- tastic as it may seem to you, dear reader, she became well again although it was after what seemed to me to be an unending number of weeks and days. I am a man of law and do not pretend to comprehend medicine, in the least, but I do know that she was cured by the oil of a certain Chinese tree called chaulmoovra l r: oil. The child is now attending a school of ballet in Moscow and I am making arrangements to adopt her. She is a genius of dance I am told. She expresses youth and innocence unsurpassed. And I rejoice that I have given her a new life. That alone is worth all of that awful experi- ence. And perhaps I am a better man for all of it. Elinor Reilley, I0-2. NEVER, FOR ALL THE FISH AT SEA Mr. Oxford, a famous photographer and his assistant, Jim Dawes, left for Gloucester to take pictures of fishing aboard a schooner which was to sail at 6.00 the next morning. Mr. Oxford was not to accompany Jim on the trip, and, save his camera, he was entirely friendless on this strange adventure. The schooner bore the name of the Jessie Silva. The burly captain was a Portuguese as well as the ignorant and superstitious crew. At the scheduled time the next morning the Jessie Silva sailed majestically out of the foggy harbor, her sails flapping in the wind, which was already too high and swift to pre- dict fair weather for the first day of the three- day trip. On the deck stood Jim, watching the harbor grow smaller. The crew were already doing their daily tasks, some singing and talk- ing in their native tongue. The captain paced the deck, his hands clasped tightly behind his fat body, a dark frown enveloped his ugly face. Gradually the wind rose so that within two hours it was shrieking around the Jessie Silva until it seemed as if it would be torn apart. XVhen it became too rough. Jim went to his cabin for a last inspection of his camera. By the time the boat had reached the fishing limit, a strong storm was raging. The rain fell in sheets and the waves were crashing over the fragile railings of the boat. The little boat, dropped anchor and lay rocking piteously in the merciless storm.

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12 MANET lVhat was it that made Karl Schmidt, the little foreign boy, whose parents, although ex- tremely poor, had determined to send him to a good American school, be the very one who. with a happy smile on his usually sad face. walk to the front of the room to receive from the beaming teacher the coveted reward? That was luck. YVhat was it that made the same happy boy lose, on his way home, the money wlnch he received that morning? That was fate. lVhat was it that made Peter Steele. whose parents were equally as poor and who had tried. to the best of his ability to 'earn the money for his parents, watch with a sinking heart another boy earn the much desired prize? That was fate. XYhat was it that made the much disap- pointed Peter, on his way home that evening. ind a well worn purse, bearing the initials K. with the money inside? That was luck. VVhat was it that made Peter, after a battle with his conscience, take to Karl 's humble home and give back to him the money which he had lost? That was love. A XVhat was it that made Karl, with a brilliant light in his eyes, divide equally the money? That was the greatest love of all. Priscilla Xvallace, 9-3. SUNSET The tops of pointed pines arise Against the glowing sunset skies: The sun, a ball of molten gold, Appears to have settled on the crest Of yonder mountain in the west. Lending the sky its brilliant hue lVhich melts above into softest blue. The night-bird callsg its shrill notes wake Echoes far across the lake: No breeze stirs through the woodland dalesg Tl1e stillness of the night prevails: The lake reflects the gold and green And mirrors the beauty of the scene. Sinking. a crimson blaze in the west. The sun now leaves the world at rest: No human voice to break the still, Softly the shadows fall, until The evening star gleams far away. Eclioes cease, 'tis the end of day. Bernice Lyford. VISION Life would be a crystal draught For which through aeons I had sought From a rounded. golden bowl. The world's not so precious. not the whole And after each sweet taste. then I'd raise 1111' eyes and drink again. Till at last when all was done, And all my drops were gone but one. I'd throw my head back with a sigh And. lifting sad eyes to the sky. See a light 119'G1' seen before. Hear celestial music soar. The sound of white rays as they met Till. with the aching glory. my eyes wet, I would drink the last drop up And laughing. throw away the cup. Elizabeth Balcom. 10 CLOUD F ANCIFS Swift. oh swift. thou lady moon. Across the night sky. soft, star-strewn, Phantom forms tlit by you. Hist! Their wisps of gossamer, cloaks of mist XVrapped round them, iioating out behind, Hastening past. Moon. art thou blind? Uh see. they hasten away. away-- Pray. why do you not turn and play? For see. they all sail swiftly by To Fairyland. Turn thou and fly. Oh. whither goest thou, fair moon '? Fie! Play. for day breaks all too soon. Come. hast thou done some wrong. in haste To flee. as though by monsters chased? Ah. stop. fair moon. the night is sweet, The stars are hung: the fairies meet To sing and dance. But thou-oh. tie! So swift. so white. you hasten by. Hazel M. Borne 10