Peabody High School - Peabody Yearbook (Pittsburgh, PA)

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THE PEABODY 29 love? He didn't know what she meant when she talked affinity and such bunk. Dorothy never talked such rot-a fellow could talk sense to Dorothy! It was between dances, now that the music had stopped, one had to talk. One's jaws began to ache from that infernal grin that etiquette de- manded one should paste on one's face. Suddenly the worthless chatter stopped dead. An electric thrill seemed to pass through the room-all eyes turned as though by common consent to the big portiered doorway. Was that vision-Dorothy? Lithe and tall she stood beside her khakied escort. Dorothy's eyes were the blue of crushed violets, and shone like fallen starsg her shoulders were alabaster, rising from churned sea-foam, her hair, a queen- ly Coronet, her dainty head rested like a living cameo against the rich red velvet. One by one, as though drawn by a magnet, the male contingent sought her side. They waxed merry as the ladies waxed glum. Dorothy's laughter pealed out with refreshing spontaneity. Dorothy danced like a fairy, looked like an angel, coquetted like a vixen, and oftenest he saw her gliding on that khaki arm. How he hated that khaki figure! And Florence Reid's dulcet tone poured into his ears-ah, some other partner had claimed Dorothy-that khaki fellow was standing alone-now was his chance. And I think every girl should wait for her ideal, melted Florence. Excuse me, he said curtly. I'll-I'll-get you an ice. A whispered word-a nod from the uniformed man, and the two melted from the hall. They sought the fiickering lighted garage. Back to their primeval fathers they went, stripped to the waist, and fought and gashed and punched in contest for lady-fair. It was very short. Soon Bill was solicitously offering a soppy sponge to the fallen khalai-clad. They surveyed each other in the flickering light. Bill was quite presentable-the fallen one could not appear again that night for reasons more obvious than beautiful. Well, good-night, old man. Sorry to have mussed you up. Don't mention it. Goodnight. Bill sought the hall again, and found Dorothy. A look here, a word there, and the coterie gradually vanished, and he was left alone with her. . Say Dot, he said, looking straight into the honest eyes-blue eyes, true blue, they were. Say Dot, your soldier-friend was called away. Want to go home with me? She sought his eyes, and watched the bronze flush creep up over his neck and face. Why thank you, Bill. I'd love to, she said. They walked home together through the moon light. Wide and free they walked, yet he felt her nearer than ever before. But because boyhood reserve is very queer, and will not let the lips utter what the heart fee-ls, all he said was, Say Dot, where'd you siwpe the dress? Say, it's fierce!

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28 THE PEABODY of asking another girl. He was dead afraid of them, anyway-always laugh- ing at a fellow. Now Dorothy-she was different. You could talk sense to Dorothy. The coming dance wgas being given by Mrs. Stubbs, of Stubb Manor. She was of the typical small-town, newly-rich, overburdened with wealth and fat. The dance was bound to be a bore. Mrs. Stubbs called all the fellows dear, and told them to make themselves at homeg her daughter was languid and overfedg entertainments were planned down to the last scrupulous detail, even the palate-tickling supper served at midnight failed to melt the arctic atmosphere. They had agreed to cut it, Dorothy and he, and canoe around the point by moonlight. He wanted to show her the loon's nest he had found, and the two eggs in it. And then-Florence Reid called him up on the telephone. We all know Florence-she is that most insidious species of clinging parasite. Her escort had been called out of town, she said, her flute voice quavered pathetically. She hated to miss the dance, and lo, the knight in him rose up, and he was to call for her at 8:30 sharp. He whistled the high-sign over the fence, and soon heard the swift staccato of girlish heels down the porch steps. Say Dot, would you care .if I'd show you that nest some other time? Y'see, For some inexplicable reason he stammered and his eyes dropped. He had never had that trouble before. He could always meet Dorothy's eyes. Y'see, he stumbled, then brutally came out with the truth. I promis- ed to take Florence Reid to the dance. Florence Reid? there was suspicion, appraisement, contempt, even pity in the words. ' Yes, Florence Reid. You don't care, do you, Dot? anxiously. Why certainly not, Bill, her voice was sweetest suavity now. You're sure you don't care? he asked doubtfully. Perfectly certain. He sighed relieved. Dorothy was the best sport. Now some girls- -- Dorothy made her plans swiftly. Jack Zimmerman was on furlough. A wire would bring him home in time. He was a simp and as mushy as tapioca. No wonder Bill hated him like sin. Still, a good pair of broad shoulders were not to be sneezed at, especially when clad in khaki. Besides, Bill hated him like sin. lk Pk Dk PF Pk Pk Bk Pk ik ali Clearly Bill was not having a good time. Mrs. Stubbs lumbered about like a playful hippo, scattering dear's and welcomes in her path. Her daughter played hostess with the sprightly animation of a five-year corpse. Florence Reid, in accordance with the habits of her species, was clinging with the per- tinaoity of molasses, and with like effect on the temper. He wasn't used to such tactics, Dorothy didn't sigh wistfully every five minutes and remark how lonesome she was. Dorothy didn't steer the way toward the dark palm shaded corner, and deftly turn the talk to love. What did he know about

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30 THE PEABODY TO THE ORIOLE Little laddie in the tree-top, Black and white and red and gold, Master singer of the morning, Faithful daddie, brave and bold: VVas the sunset ever redder Than the flame upon your breast? VVas a costume ever gayer Than your glossy coat and vest? Did the maples ever rustle Sweeter whispers than your note? Did the pine trees ever murmur Stronger warnings than your throat VVas a maiden ever dearer Than your bride on yonder tree? Was a cradle ever sweeter Than the one that swings so free? Still survive the groan of battle. Brighten still these sacred hillsg Blend your whistle with the breezes Till the hand-of-silence stills. Paul VVakefield, 12-A-1. lil El El FRIDAY SKETCH CLASS