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

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' MANET 13 well off, But you didn 't know I was coming, so I thought it safer to bring my own lunch. Besides, then I can have what I like best. She smiled and went over to him to give him a handful of raisins, a small boy 's treat. Everything is ready, she said presently, moving a bowl of tiowers so that the sun would strike them. Suddenly she saw that the sun- light was darkened, and looking up, spied a tall figure in the doorway. Mr. Rogers saw it too. My boy. My boy, he cried. Oh, you 've come back. I knew you 'd come back. He slid out of his chair and went over to put his arms around his tall son. Over his father's head, the boy looked at Bette. Suddenly she seemed to hear the thunder of wave in her ears, to feel a choking suffoca- tion, to hear a masculine voice say, I guess she's all right now, and to look up and see that same face. She turned, however, and leaving the father and son, went out into the sunshine. II James Clarke 's house was comparatively modern, and seldom used. At present its owner was seated in a comfortable red leather chair gazing with a smile on his thin lips at a photograph of a girl with wide eyes and blond hair. The ring of his door bell interrupted his thought. A few minutes later Clarke 's monsieur ushered in a young lady, and discreetly with- drew. Clarke's eyes shot from the girl 's face to the photograph and back. Why, my dear, he said with a smile, How remarkable to ind you here. It 's a small world-. Do be seated. Bette sat down on the edge of a chair opposite him. Jim, she said earnestly, I want you to do me a favor. You stole that money from the bank, didn 't you? Yes, said Clarke, looking amused. But I paid it back and everything's patched up quietly. ' ' But that's not enough. Bette 's hand clenched and unclenched on the chair-arm. I want you to clear the name of the boy who was thought to have stolen the money. But why, my dear? Because I know the father of that boy, and I want them to be happy together the last few years of the old man 's life. Clarke crossed the room and half sat on the edge of the table. I will on one condition, he said smiling. And that condition is-that you marry me. The phrase rang in Bette's ears: then it mingled with the horrid sound of thunderous waves, and a boy's voice saying, If I ever do go back, I won't stay. And dad won 't leave the place because Mom died there. And then again the words, marry me, and the waves-. Only on that condition? Bette's voice broke the momentary silence. Only on that condition. And James Clarke always meant whathe said. Well, said Bette, getting up and trying tml make her voice sound light, You're neithei brutal nor a drunkard, and anyhow I haven '1 made such a success of things in my part of the world. Let 's call it a bargain. III It was evening. T he cool grass swept Bette 's ankles as she walked slowly along the ridge of the hill, surveying the landscape below. She turned, hearing footsteps in the dusk behind her. Oh Dick-I mean Jerry. Funny I keel calling you by the name I once knew you by.' Not a bit funny. Only natural, Jerrg grinned. 'WVel1, Ilm clear. And dad's as happy as a lark. He 's running around telling everyone that he knew I was a good boy. An. I, Bette? He sat down on a rock and gently pulled her down beside him. Of course, the best one I know. Jerry laughed. I've a dandy job offered tr me since my name was cleared. And right around here, too, he said. The sound of a car on the road below caused them both to look down. That,s James Olarke's car,,' said Jerry casually. Yes, said Bette, quietly. You know, said Jerry enthusiastically. when I pulled you out of that shipwreck, and then said good-bye after only a couple of weeks of knowing you, I was somehow sure weld meet again, and we have. Yes, said Bette sadly. We've met-tc part again. A grinding crash silenced Jerry's puzzled reply. Good heavens! he cried, jumping tt his feet, Clarke's car has smashed into an- other on the curve. lVait here, I'll go find out what happened. He ran off down the hill, leaving Bette tc- wait and wonder in the growing darkness. It was almost a half hour before he reap- peared, and Bette ran down to meet him stumbling in the dark. IVhat happened to Clarke? she demanded breathlessly. Clarke-Clarke's dead. But, we hardly. know him personally, Bette. It 's too bad but-. Bette's voice was low and hurried, I knov -we hardly know liimf' But Bette, you said just before the accideni that we'd met to part again. said Jerry, as the thought suddc nly reoceurred to him. What did you mean '? Bette smiled up at him through the darkness.. Never mind, she said. IV Back in his tiny house, little old Mr. Rogers was trying on a new pair of trousers, which oddly enough, sagged in the back. HAZEL BORNE, 11-1.

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Z2 MANET He opened the cell door, and handed the clothes to Esther, who changed quickly, Whlle he waited outside the door. She came out, her iiair mussed. her face streaked with dirt from fhe floor. Together they hurried down the corridors, and out into the bloody, autumn air, where fhey were greeted left and right by the now 'iniversal greeting of Good-day, Citizenf' and Good-day, Oitizeness. Two weeks later they were on a leaky fishing boat, crossing the channel to Dover. ,They had gnade their way to the coast after many hard ilays spent in securing rides and lodging from fhe still revolting peasants. They stood at the stern of the boat and watched the bloody shores of France recede in the distance, thanking the inerciful God who rules our destinies. that they had been so mercifully spared. EDITH LLOYD, II-6. SUNSHINE AND SHADOW t ' I The back door bell of Mrs. Adams' big White house rang timedly. Mrs. Adams herself, clad in a severe, rather old fashioned gown, answered the ring, while the hired girlhovered -in the back-ground. COakleaves, Maine, still had 'ihired girls, not maids.5 U . The early April sunshine was peeking in 'hrough the crack, and when Mrs. Adams opened the heavy door, the sunlight came boldly in, revealing a shabby little figure who, however, came no farther than the threshold. Good morning, ma 'am, said he. fumbling .1 shabby little cap in his Wide, knotty fingers. I was a-thinkin' that maybe as it 's spring 1-leanin' time youid have some work to be done, as I thought that since I've been kinda' in the habit of doin' your chores, you'd be wanting me-. His voice trailed of expectantly. Mrs. Adams was annoyed. She didn't like men whose trousers had that peculiar habit of sagging in the back, and threatening to turn finder their heels. iiNo, she said crisply, There's no work for you to do. Now get along with you. The little old man's overalls seemed to sag a little more at her words. 'Now don't think hard on me, ma'am, begged the owner of the saggy overalls. I'm sorry to have bothered you, but I was just a- vhinkin'. There was a slight pause during which a robin hopped across the lawn and industriously pulled forth a fat worm. XVell, good-day. ma 'am. The pitifully disappointed look on the old 1nan's face was enough to soften the hardest heart and Mrs. Adams did not have the hardest. On second thought. said Mrs. Adams briskly. UAggie will perhaps find something to flo. Vonie in. Mrs. Adams returned to the living room after instructing Aggie as to what duties and What pay should be given to the old man. Seated in a wide chair with one leg up under her, Was Bette, Mrs Adams' niece. Wl1o was that adorably shabby little old fellow? she asked her aunt. That old man? Oh, he 's been around here since the town was built, I guess. His Wife died soo11 after the birth of their only son. The boy was a comely chap, and bid fair to turn out well, but when he was eighteen-that was about six years ago-he got a job in a bank, and soon after some money disappeared, and he was ac- cused. They couldn't prove anything, but the boy left town because of the disgrace. His father 's been getting poorer and poorer, but he still thinks that his son is a good boy, even though he never hears from him. Mrs. Adams stood up suddenly. But that's enough talk- ing: there's much to be' done. And she swept out. Poor old thing, said Bette, softly. Poor thing. It took Bette just two weeks to become fast friends with the old man. She learned that his name was Rogers, and that his beloved son 's was Jerry. He had dark hair, said Mr. Rogers one warm day, sitting down beside Bette on the front step of his little house, first pulling up his trousers, and then letting the fullness there- of settle down in back of him. Dark hair, not golden like yours. And brown eyes, like his mother's, and a tiny bit slanty, not blue and straight, like yours. And he was a good boy, Miss Bette, and don it you let no one tell you different. He never took no money. Bette was exceedingly sympathetic. She sat with her white elbows on her knees, heedlessly crumpling her white muslin dress, gazing With her wide blue eyes over the pasture. And you never heard from him? she asked. - .Never. But he 's alive, Miss, and don't you-. lVhat's the matter, Miss? Bette's wide troubled eyes turned to him. t'See that man going down the road now? she asked. VVho is he? S Him'? Oh, that's James Clarke. He was junior pardner of the bank where my boy worked. Why? Know him'?,' Oh no, no. I just thought I did. Come, letfs go inside and have lunch. Mr. Rogers followed Betteis sunshine figure into the meticulously clean house, Where he watched her prepare lunch from a basket which she had brought with her. Now I could have got some vittles to- gether, said the old man protestingly from a chair in a corner Where he sat much like a troublesome small boy put out of the way. I.know, I know, said Bette, her heart catching at his defiant pretense that he was

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X14 MANET CONTRAST There are things far off Things We cannot see, cannot Touch. There are things near, The things we see and cannot Reach. There are things that we Could have If we would but stretch our hands and Take. Tliere are things that wc let slip by Things that are just beyond our Grasp. There are things that are gone forever The things we had and did not NVant. Priscilla Xvallace, 10-2. so WYNN, THE PERFECT Fool. On Tuesday night it has become, with most of us, a habit to tune in on that Crown Prince of comedians, 'fEd VVynn. For a half hour We listen to him and laugh at his witticisms, but when he has signed oif, his name perhaps, lingers in our minds for a few moments, but we soon go on about what- ever we are doing, just as if Ed XVynn did not iffXlSll. What follows is but an humble attempt .on my part to picture for you a general outline of his life. In the first place his name is not Ed NVynn. lt is Edward Leopold. He was born in Phila- delphia, on the morning of November 9, 1886. His early life was, for the lllosi part, happy, as the lives of most children are. As soon as the lad reached the grammar .-:chool age he began to show an interest in the atage, frequently playing truant from school in order to attend the performances of vaudeville in the theatres of his native city. Upon his graduation from the Central Phila- delphia High School, it was his father's plan -to send him to the University of Pennsylvania, but the young lad's ideas differed from his fathers in this respect, for he ran away from home at the age of fifteen, to enter a vaude- rille troupe. For thirteen years he wandered about the north Atlantic seeboard with this company, drawing twelve dollars a week until the show hit the reef in Bangor, Maine, in 1914. . It was in the last year of his association with the vaudeville troupe that he met the girl destined to become his wife. That girl was Hilda Keenan, daughter of Frank Keenan, so well remembered by the vaudeville fans of the late nineties - A The couple were married on the Hfth of Sep- tember, 1914, and from then on, life for the young comedian was a rhapsody, his young wife always ready to praise or criticise his work. In 1915, all that was needed to complete the young actor 's dream of happiness occurred, the birth of a young son. The boy was named Frank Keenan, in honor of his father-in-law. Later in the year, Wynn, the had changed his name for theatrical purposesl, joined the cast of Ziegfeld's Follies of Nineteen Fif- teen. This was the Erst actual contact with the River of Woe, Broadway, that the actor had so far experienced. It was at this time that the comedian intro- duced his famous comic hats that are almost a pai-t,of him. This stunt was inspired by a talk with his father who was, and still is, one of national powers of the millinery trade. ln 1916 the comedian made his debut at the Winter Garden, remaining there until he reached that cynosure of all actors, the starring role, in 1918. The World War did not find Wynn shirking. During the two hectic years of America's bap- tism of death in the trenches, the comedian is ei-edited with selling over three-million dollars worth of Liberty Bonds, for which service President. Wilson sent him a letter of congratu- latory thanks, and with it a signed photograph, which has ever since graced his dressing table. .ln addition to his selling of Liberty Bonds he gave more benefit performances than any other actor. For this, and various other serv- ices. he was presented with a bronze and silver medal by the United States Tank Corps. ln 1919, after the war, he was honored by The Actor 's Scroll for work in the behalf of his fellow theatricians, during the Actors' Strike of that year. Among his literary merits is the cup pre- sented to him by the Authors' and Composers' League, upon the writing of the Laugh Parade. He also wrote the Ed Wynn Carnival, The Perfect Fool, The Grab Bag, and Ed XVynn's Crazy Cross-Word Puzzle Book. Among his numerous gifts to charity and the church was the presentation of the entire pro- ceeds of a performance of The Perfect Fool, towards the construction of the Cathedral of Saint J olm the Divine, in New York City, at which occasion Bishop Manning accepted the relationship between the theatre and the church. At present he is afdliated with a large oil company, advertising that company's products for the trivial sum of SI55,000. a week. His home, Wynngate, in Great Neck, Long Island, is truly the home of one of our finest citizens. It was, probably, his fighting spirit that once caused one of his fellow actors to say, Jewish by religion, witty by nature, but successful by effort. ' , RICHARD RICE, 10-4. MY EXPERIENCE IN BERMUDA While visiting in Bermuda with my father we had the rather terrifying experience of seeing a hurricane.