Pennell Institute - Whirlpool Yearbook (Gray, ME)

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14 THE PENNELL WHIRLPOOL FRIDAY, THE THIRTEENTH Jerry Bean and his wife lived in a small house at Sugar Loat Mountain. Friday was a very unlucky day for both of these people; for example, once their wild sheep got. loose with her chain on and ran around the house until Mrs. Bean got out to trv and stop her. The sheep ran around her and her feet got tangled in the chain; so, atter a hard struggle to get untangled, she was thrown to the ground and her leg was bruised and bleeding when she crept to the house, bareheaded and with only one shoe. She had lost the other when the chain got tangled around her fect and the sheep had pulled on the chain. This had happened about four weeks ago, and today was again Friday, also the thirteenth, which was unlucky for the old couple. As it had been rainy all the week, Martha had just finished her washing and was sitting in the house as she said, “Jerry, I know something is going to hap- pen today. I feel it in mv bones, for today is one of the unluckiest days possible.” But the only reply she got from Jerry was, “Oh, Martha, don’t you be vcrossin’ that bridge before vou get to it for this may be a Incky day vet.” A little later, Jerry said, “Martha, I think I shall go to town today and get me one of those Radios so we can enjoy the long evenings with it this winter.” Mrs. Bean looked up as if she was disgusted and said, “Radio to fuss with every night before you go to bed and get only a few squeaking noises or a little child’s bedtime story. Whoever heard of the like, spending money so fool- ishly, and it will cause vou bad luck as sure as I’m a'living, if you buy it today.” But not paving any attention to what she said, he dressed up in his best Sunday clothes. He thought he looked fine in his new knickers and red and blue checked vest with a pink striped shirt. In a few minutes he was walking down through the pasture. Suddenly he heard a noise and turned around to see his old ugly bull coming after him. Tle tried to think what he could do, but it was useless. The only thing he could do was to jump the fence and run for the house. Just as he tried to jump the fence, the bull caught him and tossed him in the air and he landed half over the fence. His alee: were torn and his back nearly broken when he managed to crawl to the house with an old bag wrapped around him to cover up the hole in his knickers. On seeing his clothes torn, and him in such pain, Mrs. Bean could not help saying, “There, Jerry Bean, what did I tell you; today is Friday, the thir- teenth, and one “unlucky day for you!” Cruara Epwanps, 726.

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THE PENNELL WHIRLPOOL 13 Literary FRIDAY, THE THIRTEENTH Two old cronies, Mocha and Java, roomed together in Portland. They both worked as helpers to the second assistant to the third assistant to the first assis- tant bricklayer on a large building then being erected. Mocha was an old- time sailor, so, like all seamen, he was superstitious. He annoyed Java con- stantly for a month by bemoaning the coming of Friday, the thirteenth. When Java tried to argue, he would merely tell of catastrophes that had hap- pened on other such unlucky days. Onee he had fallen from the rigging of a schooner into a raging sea, and got his clothes wet. Another time he missed a chance to join the Grand Opera because he couldn’t sing. On the fateful day he was awakened by an exclamation from his partner. “Shux, [ forgot to wind the alarm. We've got just three minutes to get to work.” Thev hustled into their clothes and sprinted off, although Mocha declared that it was no use. The whistle blew a moment before they arrived. The timekeeper grunted at them as they passed, “You're both docked an hour’s pay.” As they were carrying bricks on the building top, Java stepped on Mocha’s toes. Two bricks were dislodged and fell. In the middle of an exchange of caustic comments, Java suddenly stared and pointed down. Workmen were running up to a mason who was lving on the ground. When the two room- mates reached the ground the still form had been carried off. Mocha cursed the day and groaned with such a woebegone expression that Java could contain himself no longer. “Tt’s just a joke on vou, Mocha. We framed up the accident just to give you a taste of bad luck, so you wouldn't be disappointed.” One of the work- men hesitated and then returned, “He saw only one brick fall. I reckon his shoulder’s broken from the other one.” Grorce Kent. POEM In making up rhymes I am beat, For that is no easy feat, I have thought and thought all day, But still my mind is all astray. First, I thought of snow piled high, Then of the full moon in the sky, And of the splendour all around, Of the beautiful snow-covered ground. If I could do just as I please, I’d be out in the field on my skis, So I think I'll hunt‘up a friend And bring to this short “pome” an end.

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THE PENNELL WHIRLPOOL 15 WINTER We shiver in the cold in the morning, We go to the school in a storm, Around us the snowdrifts are forming And we think we will never be warm. If we were as rich as old Croesus, We could go to the south far away, Where the beautiful climate would please us, We could lie in the sunshine all day. But cheer up, for springtime is coming, Then we will be happy again, When we listen to the bees and their humming We will think of the beauties of Maine. M. E. C., ’26. WHEN DREAMS COME TRUE Algernon York was feeling nervous and fidgety. The next day held more terrors tor him than had Febrnary sixth. On that day Blank Institute was to hold the grand finals of the public speaking contest. The winner was to be awarded with a prize of ten dollars. Algernon had picked that soul-stirring ballad, “Barbara Frietchie” for his reading. He spent a long evening repeating his poem to himself. It kept recurring to him in his sleep and’ he would waken his brother by his mutterings. He dreamed that he was speaking in the contest. The thunderous applause almost woke him up, but he staved asleep long enough to reecive the prize with a graceful little speech. The next day a schoolmate showed him a parody on “Barbara Frietchie.” It seemed to him so funny that he laughed every time he thought of it. He repeated it to several of his friends. The contest started at eight o’clock sharp that evening. The judges were in their places. He waited impatiently for his turn but his name happened to be last on the list. At last the time came. Up on the stage he marched, placed his hand on his heart and commenced. We wondered vaguely what the audi- ence was tittering about. Then he came to the climax. Flinging his arms, he said, “Who touches a hair of that old bald head, dies like a jass-aik! ‘Skip along,’ he said.” The audience roared. He stood horror-struek when he realized what he had done. He had given the parody on “Barbara Frietchie.” He did not get the ten dollars, but he did win a prize. The pupils “chipped in” and bought him a solid tin ear trumpet.