Plymouth High School - Pilgrim Yearbook (Plymouth, MA)

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THE PILGRIM 21 But, father, I'd like to go fish- ing. Have I not taught you to be a dutiful son, George? Do as I tell you, you hear ? All right, father, answered George, sulkily. Mr. Washington departed for town. George was sorely tempted to go fishing, but as the elder Washington was an ardent sup- porter of Spare the rod and you ,spoil the child, George conquered his desires. For being a good boy his father had given George fa beautiful hatchet, and George had never had the opportunity of making good use of it until this occasion. I George set out cheerfully for the orchard. He came to the cherry tree, standing all alone at the edge of the field. His father prized it highly, for it was one of the few cherry trees in Virginia. George felt proud that his father had entrusted the tree to him. The lower branches of the tree did not need trimming and George 'could not reach the higher branch- es, which did. He sat down on a rock and thought. For fully twenty minutes he sat and pond- ered, then he got up quickly and said to himself, How foolish of me. I'll chop down the tree, then I can easily reach the higher branches. George proceeded to do so. He trimmed the branches and went home, tired but well sat- isfied, with the feeling that a man has when he has done a hard job well. , When Mr. Washingon came home he asked for George immed- iately. His anger was apparent. George came out and Mr. Wash- ington said, Who chopped down that cherry tree ? - George said, Well er-. I said, who chopped down that tree? came the relentless ques- tion. I did, said young George, weakly. You dare to stand before me and tell me that is the truth? said Mr. Washington fiercely. Oh, father, you know I never lie, ' said young George with a hurt look. But soon something else hurt. Cries of anguish issued from the wood shed, for George received a most trying beating in that half hour. At the end of the meeting. Mr. Washington said, Now, George, I hope that has taught you a les- son. George said sadly, looking at the ground, Father, it has, it has taught me never to tell the truth. At this George went quickly out- of-doors with the aid of his fath- er's boot. I know I have attempted a hard task in submitting the above story. I realize that I am trying to undermine a story that has been accepted as the truth for decades, but after years of research work I have accumulated documents to convince you of The Truth about the Cherry Tree. ' M. TOABE '25 X A NIGHT'S LODGINGSQ When Jim Dugan., a comedian whose show had broken up, reached the door of his room he found the following note tacked on it: Don't try and bust door open. Rent due 2 weeks-2 weeks more than we trust anybody. Mean- while take the air. Your Landlord, Tim Murphy. Huh, grunted Duganf. So I'm to be treated like a regular tramp. Well, I guess I amta bum at that, with only two bits in my pocket. Following the advice of Mr. Murphy he took the air. -LVM w+'l '

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20 - THE PILGRIM ' so I didn't waste my breath. He calmed down soon and sat still for an unusualy long time, perhaps five minutes. Say, Doc, do you remember that crow that we saw at the eighteenth hole the other day ? J'Yes, I answered, what about it.' Well, Doc, said he, I was out there playing a little while ago, and noticed that crow sitting on the green about four hundred yards away, so I says to myself, I'll see if I can hit that crow. So I picked up my driver and gave that ball an awful hit. It flew like an arrow and struck the crow right in the eye and knocked it over into Jim Finney's hen-yard. Now I don't mean to be skepti- cal, but that was pretty hard to believe, so I thought I'd tell him about the time that I went hunting and didn't get anything, except lost. John, said I, I want you to understand that I'd believe every Word you've said, if someone else had said it, so I'm going to tell you the absolute truth. Last fall I went down to North Windham hunting. The day I got there I took my rifle and tramped through the woods till it was nearly dark. Then I returned to the cabin. I sat on the doorstep cleaning my rifle when I happened to glance across the clearing. I saw a squir- rel run up a wild apple tree and pick off an apple. He sat on the top branch holding it in his mouth. Well, I picked up my rifle. I didn't want to hurt the little animal, but thought I'd see if I could knock the apple out of his mouth so I fired and the bullet struck that apple fair in the middle. But the sad fact is, the juice drowned the poor little fellow. Nobody called me a liar, but I guess they would have if I hadn't been there, so we all kept quiet for a while. Suddenly Sid Akeley's voice aroused us all. Say, felle-rs, ihe exclaimed, that reminds me of the night I was playing basketball at the Cord- age, and made a basket from- Adams interrupted Sid and turned to me. Doc, he asked, why is it that a basketball player always stretch- es the stories about his good shots ? F. L. CHURCHILL '26 THE TRUTH ABOUT THE CHERRY TREE Contrary to what is now accepted as the truth, there are many young iconoclasts who be- lieve that George Washington was a real boy and no unexceptional one at that. Since the early grades when George Washington's truthfulness was instilled into me by teachers, and since the time when my parents constantly held him up to me as an example, there has been lurking in my brain, for I have one, a suspicion that George Washington must have been a hu- man being when he was a boy, and he must have acted like the rest of us. As I grew older the suspicion grew with me, and quietly I have read Washington's life in biogra- phies, encyclopedias, and personal letters. After years of diligent study, I submit what I believe to be the truth about George Wash- ington and the memorable cherry tree. This is my life work, the precious hours of my youth have been spent on it, so judge me not too. harshly. George, said the elder Wash- ington one morning, I think the cherry tree needs trimming. See that it is done by the time I re- turn.

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22 THE PILGRIM , It was a cold night in February, and out in the street at eleven o'clock with no place to sleep was not a very nice place to be. As Dugant walked along thinking where he could eat and sleep, he noticed an oflicer ap- proaching, which instantly put a bright idea into his head. He would play the part of a drunk person, and he would be escorted to jail where he would have a night's lodging free. So he ruf- fled his hair and tilted his hat, and then staggered around in a circle. The oflicer came closer, but un- fortunately his eye was not on the comedian. To make matters worse he heard the shrill whistle of a brother officer in distress, and rushed away to aid him without noticing the remarkable perform- ance that had been staged for his sole benefit. Dugant stopped his impersona- tion in disgust. But he must have a place to sleep. Glancing up the street he noticed a portly gentle- man coming his way, swinging a cane. Promptly the active brain of the comedian originated an- other bright idea. He would seize the cane from the gentleman, who would have him arrested at once. The victim approached, head high, his whiskers flowing in the breeze. Dugant also approached, head low, his coat flapping in the wind. Hey, gimme that cane! growled the comedian, jerking the cane from the man's hand. Gim- me that cane or I'll bounce - The old fellow relinquished the cane without the slightest strug- gle. Oh, I beg your pardon, sir, he exclaimed, Really, I didn't in- tend to steal your cane--just pick- ed it up around the corner. You must have dropped it! Woof! Another good idea knock- ed down. It was getting colder and colder now and the time ap- proached midnight. A place to sleep was imperative. Suddenly Dugant noticed a young lady tripping toward him. The comedian decided at once that he would flirt with the young lady. If he had the same success that had attended his previous attempts in the art of flirting, he would be in jail in less than no time. Oh, boy! he cried. This is soft. I'll just walk up to her and say, 'Ah, little one, where goest thou? What? Then she'll let out a yell and have me pinched in a second. As the girl approached he noticed that she appeared down- cast and out of spirits. Ah, little one, where goest thou? began Dugant. Then he waited for results. j Well, you can search me, re- plied the little one! stopping abruptly. My show has busted up. Foiled again! But Dugant rec- ognized that he was face to face with a fellow performer, one, like himself, who was in distress. Sorry, he said. I'm in the same boat myself. Here, take this quarter. It's all I got. Thanks, said the girl. I won't forget you. Annie Tenny don't forget favors. She hasten- ed to a store nearby. As he watched the girl he no- ticed a man had stopped her. She let out a cry for help, and Dugant rushing over saw that it was Mr. Murphy who had accosted her. Hey! what's the idea? said the comedian. This man insulted me, an- swered Miss Tenny. Ah, here was a good way to get back at Mr. Murphy! Dugant closed his right fist, took aim at the face of his ex-landlord, then let go. It went! It would have gone much farther if Mr. Murphy's face had not stopped it. Then an officer arrived.. Miss Tenny, Mr. Murphy, and