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

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M .-l NE home unceremoniously, and the strict bound- aries had been imposed to teach us to keep our inquisitive young noses out of other people's business. Billy put his father 's field-glasses to his eyes and observed that Lars and Philip were having a fight in the side yard. He managed to convey to me a blow-by-blow description till the glad- iators disappeared, a11d once more we sank into silence, chewing our grass thoughtfully. A summer afternoon can be very quiet at times and tl1e only sounds we heard were the raucous laughter of the gulls, the muffled roar of distant surf, and that vague, indeterminate buzzing which seems to be always heard on a hot after- noon. Presently Matilda Jane wandered into our view. Matilda is our sister under the skin be- cause she eats all the time, the way we do. She is known to her intimates as Tilda and she lives a happy life of bovine content always minding her own business. Tilda, said Billy gravely, is a fine ex- ample of getting into a rut and staying there. I looked at him silently-I am used to his mental meanderings. VVhat she needs, he added, ' ' is individuality. ' ' '4You mean, I asked lazily, that she should learn Russian and wear what hair she has in bangs? I was not at all surprised by his statementg his talk was always mildly insane. Tilda, stated Billy, would look beauti- ful in red flannels. This time I was surprised, and disturbed. I stared at him with my mouth open. Don't you recollect that cow in Craw- ford? asked Bill. I saw the light. Oh, yes -but you wouldn't dare! Wouldn 't I, though? replied Bill. Here Tilda, here, I've got something for you! Tilda, all unsuspecting, ambled over, a wide smile on her gentle face. She looked trust- fully at Billy with those limpid brown eyes in a way that might have melted an older heart, but Billy was young and hard. Hello, old lady, said Bill. Here's some hay. She chewed it slowly, keeping her wide and child like gaze on Billy all the while. You go over yonder, Billy commanded me, and get Joe 's red llannels off the line. I opened my mouth to protest, but Billy said: Go ahead, he shouldn't wear 'em in summer. I saw the humor in the situation and grinned as I started off to where Joc's red flannels streamed forth upon the breeze. Billy knelt down in back of Tilda and pre- pared to make her individual. The subject tor should I say victim?j, eontendedly munched hay from my hand until she felt Billy's hand on her leg. Then she immediately became kittenish and sidestepped, her tail catching Billy in the face. He grinned and ducked. and the next recollection I have of the affair was T fl seeing Billy landing some four feet. off with a surprised expression on his face, and a frant ie Matilda tearing 2lU1'OSS the field as though J. pack of wolves were at her hccls. linhappy day! I still remember the hunu.: ol' that moment. Portugee .loe's flannels vvi-we practically strewn across the pasture in a. hull- dred pieces, and even in the excitement- ef' 'l'ilda's rebellion, I thought of Mamie Joi-. What. would she say? I shuddered to thinlc of her wrath. Billy was up on his feet, sg stout stick in his hand, ready for the chase. NVe were off, fast and furious. Tilda, far down the road, raised a cloud of dust like a troop oi' cavalry and then took the path past the fist! houses to t.he harbor. Oh, my g-ollyl yelled Billy. She,ll wrt-1 it the harborlw The first person Tilda met on her rampage was Snooky le Blanc. Snooky came out from behind his father 's boat, a can in his hand, full of rieh, red, paint. Billy shouted a warning and Snooky stared at the oncoming beast With- wide open eyes and mouth. He had no chance to get out of the way and Tilda swept him rdf his feet. NVhen the dust cleared, Snooky pw-- sented a rather gory appearance, for that rief.. red, paint covered his clothes and his face. He shook his fists after us and cursed with Gallic fluency. Here, 'llildaln called Billy. 'tHere, 'I'ilda! called I. But our entreatifrs fell on deaf ears. Tilda swerved to the left. and would pick out a bed of nasturtiums to wreck. She thought she was a bull, I guess and she put her head up and gave vent to her emotions with a sort of over-grown moo. We tried stalking her, but we were surrounded by a shower of uprooted nasturtiums. Tilda now chose a different refuge. She went straight for the Johanneson clothes lines, where the week's wash was hung out to dry, Snowy sheets tiapped tantalizingly in the breeze and Tilda evidently thought. they were waving an her. Anyway, she charged. A day of mis- fortunes! My heart stood still. I looked at Billy and Billy looked at me. Presently 'Filda appeared from under the clothesline. Despiif- my fright I doubled up in helpless laughter. If you have ever seen a cow with sheets fest00i.- ing her horns, you know why. Tilda start-tl at our mirth with wild eyes, her long face peer'- ing out from her veil after the manner of a bride, though a cow-like one to be sure. She whirled around and raced down the litt -e path that led from Johanneson 's to the mam road which was hardly more than six feat wide. On the other side ofthe road was .Iohai - neson's fish shack where fishermen meet to tar nets, paint buoys, talk over the affairs of the nation, and decide how to end the depres- sion. There was a group there now, and the smell of boiling tar mingled rather pleasantly' with the smoke of their ripe.old pies, as their

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8 MANET The leader poured a stream of Words in a Spanish sounding tongue into their startled ears. That it was Spanish was evident When the Indian guide replied in the same manner. Were they to be able to converse with these people and learn the strange secret of their isolation? VVere these people some band of lncas separated by the mountains from the rest of the world in bygone days? As they spoke Spanish they might even be the descendants of Indians who had fled from Spanish oppression into the wild mountain regions. And if so, had they developed into a new and strange race as often happens under like conditions? In any event, what would their fate be amongst these savages who plainly showed their dislike for them? The guide began to speak, unravelling the following amazing story. CContinued in the June Issued JOSEPH COSTELLO, 11-1. THE STORMING OF THE BASTILE The frenzied mob charged down the street With furious cries and tramping feet, Brandishing firearms and flashing knives, Hate in their hearts-avenging lives. The grim old prison was reached at last, The object of hatred for long years past. A shout, The prisoners, set them freel' 'Twas easyea dead guard-a purloined key. But the mob, full of hatred, their work just begun. Stopped at nothing-they plundered. they tortured, they hung! Long years had they waited. souls seething with hate. Ai-istocrats, rulers, at last met their fate! Margaret Duncan, 11-6. A LITTLE OF LIFE You know, life is a funny thing. Ton lay your plans for the day without thinking that something may happen to prevent their being carried out and suddenly you ind yourself confronted with disappointment. I guess most of us wonder why we are not illowed to carry out all our plans to a success- ful conclusion. but if we ever stopped to think vhat. would become of us if we always had 'hings as we wished them, we might .see just 'vhy even the best laid plans sometimes go astray. This is simply fate's way of letting us xnow that we cannot lay plans Without taking ner into consideration Erst. I wonder if you ever stopped to think what life would be like without disappointments and sorrows? We should become unutterably bored 'vith anything pertaining to life and would realize, perhaps for the first time, the reason for these seeming catastrophies. Is it not to nake us understand and better appreciate the ,goys of life? As life is at present we are all adventurers ind explorers, seeking experience, searching for happiness, and many times the very things we a1'e seeking are the things that hurt us the most and cost us the most dearly when We find them. Nevertheless, each experience, Whether harmful or beneficial, teaches us a great lesson in the school of life. We may not realize it at the time, but it is these details that make up our whole existence on earth. A man without experience may be compared to a man without arms. He is caught in the whirl of destiny unprepared for whatever life may see fit to deliver to him. At every turn he is held back by his handicap, the lack of adequate preparation, for this fascinating but bewildering game that is called life. Did you ever turn the pages of a calendar ahead and wonder what the future held for you? It is a decidedly interesting and intrigu- ing thought, but it is not to be built upon definitely for the capricious gods usually decide differently. And after all, who can tell what the morrow will bring? MURIEL Towns, 11-6, sNow-FALL Last night I heard a faint whispering Outside my window-pane. A soft, new sound. I thought, listening. It must be a gentle rain. And I slept again, yet in slumber That soft patter I still could hear Like a broken twig in the ivy, Or a dead leaf fluttering near. In the light of the early morning I arose, and drew aside The curtain. and there before me O'er the landscape far and wide- O'er the trees and shrubs and house-tops, O'er the church towers misty height, O'er all within range of my vision Lay a garment of purest white. And the air was filled with feathers, Mounding the hedge-tops high. From the wings of the downy snow-birds That flew along the sky. Mabel Macdonald. 11-5. RED AND MORE RED Billy and I sat on the pasture fence and chewed grass. There was nothing to do but chew grass. The August sun shone down, strong and bright, the ocean beyond the pas- ture was an unbelievable blue, and the gulls were startingly white against it as they Wheeled and iiashed in the sunlight. They were having a. good enough time, but we weren't. For that whole long day we were forbidden to go any further than the school house simply because we wanted to see, the night before, what Lars Johanneson was doing in Windy Point Cove. lVe had heard that he was engaged in a strictly illegal occupation carried on around the sea- shore, and we were greatly intrigued. What Lars was doing was none of our business, it seemed, and after being rescued from his en- raged clutches by the English gentleman at Wiiidy' Point House, we had been returned

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10 MANET talked and tarred away. Between two barrels at freshly tarred net. was suspended to dry. Of course, Tilda must head for this. The colli- sion would be inevitable, and shivers ran up and down my spine. I dare say Billy felt un- comfortable, too. The fishermen, serenely un- conscious of approaching disaster, smoked and talked quietly. Suddenly a new actor walked into the scene-Lars Johanneson, magnificent in white tlannels, a yachting cap set at a jaunty angle on his red hair, sauntered down the road. I felt a certain malicious joy as I thought of those iiannels. p How Lars missed seeing Tilda I never could figure out, but he did, and the results were satisfying-to Billy and me. Tilda rushed headlong at the nets, the tar, and the men. Through their midst she went, scattering them left and right. She would have walked right into the net, had she not seen Lars who stood still, regarding her with pained surprise. What- eyer made her do it I don 't know, but anyway she suddenly lowered her head and charged at Lars, who dodged-and a very neat dodge it would have been if he hadn't stepped on a stone and fallen backwards into tl1e spilled tar. ' Tilda stopped and looked at him with mild astonishment. No doubt she had never charged af man before. Once more she was the gentle and amiable creature of old. Through the last incident we had been like figures of stone. Now mutterings arose from upset fishermen, whose language at its highest was not exactly fit for drawing rooms. Their expressions were, to say tl1e least. very salty. Lars. however, said nothing He was craning his neck to see the back of the once spotless flannels. I giggled uncontrollably, and he favored me with a Charles Bickfordian stare. By this time, the whole village was.out and surrounded us. Questions piled in from every side. To each we answered in chorus: 'WVe haven 't the slightest idea. ' Lars started homeward, and I felt my heart sink when I thought of his rage. He would nurse it and pet it and some day it would burst out. His was the cold anger of the Vikings and I saw it light up his frosty eyes when he looked at us. Some of the villagers glanced at us suspi- ciously and the English gentleman arrived just in time to escort us home as he had done so many times before. He sighed faintly and said: Well, I must say, you've jolly well finished yourselves this afternoon. Thank heavens, you're going home day after tomor- rowq' Tilda trudged along docilely enough between us. The gulls were noisier than ever, but they were laughing at us now. Still, the aiair had its compensations. IVhen I thought of Tilda swathed in sheets, and Lar's white flannels, I laughed outright. I supposej' said the English gentleman, with a twinkle in his eye, 'ithat you still have not the slightest idea of how it happened. I've figured it all out, said Billy, with not a trace of a smile. I think Tilda just wanted to be different. ELIZABETH OGILVIE, 11-2. ESCAPE tWitI1 Apologies to Dickens? The French revolution! Bloody, ruthlessg the air full of foreboding and hatred. Peasants with empty stomachs lustily drinking the blood of selfish, foolhardy aristocrats. Aristocrats, refusing to accept the fact that if tire smould- ered long enough, it would eventually break into iiame. Count Raoul Henri de Coste, dare-devil son of a rollicking, nonchalant father, and a to- the-devil-with-consequences'' mother had al- ways dined, danced, hunted, and enjoyed him- self immensely. In fact he had never done a worth-while thing unless it was to pay pretty compliments to a very portly dowager. On the afternoon before the smouldering rubbish heap burst into flame, he called his valet to llllll. Gaspard, I shall attend the party in honor of Esther Dulac's twentieth birthday tonight. I shall want my blue velvet court dress ready soon after dusk. XYith Gaspard's assistance, he proceeded to dress for the hunt. Later that night he went galloping through the dimly-lit streets of Paris in his carriage. Crowds of peasants. menials, and servants of the lowest class were hovering around in fairly large groups, but Raoul was too occupied in- specting his fingernails to notice this rather strange scene. The sky was overcast and leaden. The wind was blowing in short and slowly lengthening gusts, and the dead leaves rattled like lonesome skeletons suspended in mid-air. Three hours later he was sipping Burgundy on a balcony in the palatial home of Esther Dulac. He was whispering impassioned love words to her, his fiancee, when she suddenly murmured, I wish you would stop just a moment, Raoul, and tell me what that red light is over there in the sky. He glanced up casually, and then fixedly. Now, I wonder what this is. Mon Dieuf' excitedly, HI saw mobs of peasants on the way over. Now, what the devil do you suppose they're up to? Oh, well, shall we go in and dance, Esther? UNO Raoul, I have a better idea! Letis go riding! You can take my brother 's habit, and I'll change right away. Theyill never miss us, they're too drunk. Hurry! I'll meet you at the stable in ten minutes. I'll order Charles to get the mounts ready at once.