Plymouth High School - Pilgrim Yearbook (Plymouth, MA)

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24 HW-wg Wm,-mm1w-1vi1'HE The game was over. Dancing had be- gun. Meanwhile, several big boys had summoned a little fellow from the front row, to whom Miss Somebody had tried to talk, and were now shamefully brib- ing the little boy to dance with Gwen- dolyn. After many refusals, the boy ap- proach-ed Gwendolyn, and she, unaware of the cause of his appearance, raised her head with a victorious air and left her seat. Down the steps which led to the dance floor she proudly walked with her partner. Could they dance? I was never to know. On the last step, terror suddenly seized the boy, judging by the expres- sion on his face. He looked at the dancers towering above him, at the smooth floor, hesitated a brief second, and then-. Up the stairs which he had slowly descended, he ran, deserting Gwendolyn. And she, a wave of morti- fication crossing her face, fled, disap- pearing through an exit conveniently nearby. IRIS ALBERTINI, '33 WORK OF THE STORM O'er the castle, black and gloomy, Thunder rolled in fearful crash, Lightning sprang, like some white steed Maddened by the battle's gore, Down to earth, with crash triumphant, Seizing, gripping those black walls, Tearing asunder gloomy dung-eons, Laying bare the farthest chambers, Crashing through the winding stair- - ways, Sending madness mid its splendor. Thrice it flashed, and thrice succeeded, Struck its prey and, loose once more, Soared to heaven. Thunder rumbled, Rolled, muttering in dying anger- Storm had left its prey to darkness. Far below the sky the ruins, Black and charred, with vast halls crumbled, Lay in majesty-the remnant Of the fire from heaven triumphant. Of the knights and of the ladies, Of the gorging banquet feasters, Of the yelping curs and beggars, Of the serfs and peasants lowly, None remainedg but in the darkness, In the charred and broken ruins Lay one thing untouched by fire, One thing left by storm unravaged- Symbol of a brave knight's courage- Sword! Unbroken, gleaming brightly, Yet you lie among the ruins, R-emnant of forgotten splendour! MARION E. MCGINNIS, '35 mlI,LQ,E1M. .,.., DISHES POR twenty-five years, she, Maggie McLeod, had placed those dishes on the table and then taken them oi. Twenty-five years, three hundred and sixty-five days a year, three times a day-it exhausted her to think of it. And now she would never have to do it again! oh! During those first few years, how she had loved it, planning for meals just what h-er William would like, and then afterwards carefully washing and wiping the shiny, new, pink and white plates! Som-etimes William had helped her, but not often, b-ecause he was so liable to break her precious dishes. -Then during the first years of little Johnnie's life, she had enjoyed cooking for her hungry husband and her growing babe. How the baby used to gurgle as she fed him from the little mug with the kittens on it that his Aunt Ruth had sent him! Poor little Johnnie -they had striven so hard in the old days to give him everything. She had been happy to make sacrifices for the baby. And then the night that William was killed- Her vision blurred and she stopped her dreaming to wipe her spectacles. Time had dulled but not killed the pain which seized her heart when she re- called that horrible night-th-e strangely ill-at-ease man who had tried to explain to her that the train had jumped the tracks and William was dead. At first her numbed brain had refused to be- lieve it, but finally- Well, no use to bring back those mem- ories now. She hadn't minded getting the meals and washing dishes for Johnnie, but all too soon he had grown up and left her-to make his own way in the world, he had said. After that only force of habit made her prepare the three light meals a day for herself alone. Gradually the once-loved task had become hateful. But now she was to be alone no longer. Johnnie was coming home- coming home to take her away to meet his wife and to live with them. Johnnie was rich now, he said in his letters, and she would never again have to wash dishes. Humming to herself, she prepared h-er meal and ate it. A boiled egg, a cup of tea-that was all she required now. Her mind formed a little song-John- nie's coming home, J ohnnie's coming home-she would never be alone again. How had she endured it all these years? The doorbell rang. Could it be

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THE P1LGR1iy1 23 much of this article is interrogative, the perhaps poorly formulated idea is to awaken an interest in the mysteries of our own world, and to show the folly of the world's most intelligent men seemingly Wasting their time and en- ergy in the building up and the tearing down of impractical theories concern- ing the universe. The average man shows little interest in this field. Is it not better that the magnificent brains that these men possess should be put to a more practical use such as delving into terrestrial mysteries, instead of worrying about th-e expanding and con- tracting of the universe or the method of advancing technocracy ? ROBERT MARTIN '34 ON JIG-SAW PUZZLES Crossword puzzles! nay, nay! But jig-saw puzzlesu hey heyy! SINCE the beginning of Time, people have sat up nights trying to think of ways to waste it. But with the sudden popularity of jig-saw puzzles, their troubles are solved. Rome wasn't built in a day-runs the old adage, but with the time wasted in doing these puzzles in the U. S. in one week, Rome, Chicago, and points West could bave been erected, and by hand. Insane asylums provide their inmates with these puzzles to keep them busy, so the mentally deficients' brain will run in circles, squares, angles, and curlicues, instead of in a single track. The jig- saw puzzle's popularity is due to de- pression. Instead of worrrying where the next loaf of bread is coming from, the head of the house ponders as to how he can place a portable chimney, on a possible cottage. Not only is jig-saw puzzling a waste of time, but long seances with a mass of jumbled edges is harmful to the op- tics. People used to see spots before their eyes, but now it is corners which dance before them. Many a highly nervous person has been reduced from a normal being to a shrieking maniac who raves and swears hefll heave the blankety fthing out th-e window. Why not apply the principle of jig- saw puzzling in a beneficial way? For instance: at breakfast time hide hubby's toast in one corner and half an egg in the kitchen oven, and let him look for them. Not only will the exer- cise do him good, but it will train his senses to be on the alert. Another method of procedure would be to have the ofiice secretary tear up all import- ant letters and let the boss put them to- gether again. When his job was com- pleted, at least he would be rewarded with more than a picture he'd seen hundreds of tim-es before. MIRIAM GIFFORD '33 AT THE ELEVENTH HOUR WI-IEN my sister begged me to take her to the basketball game and dance, instead of going to the theatre to see Marie Dressler, I naturally thought of the comedy that I should miss. How- ever, I was compensated by witnessing a short drama more humorous than some comedies Wh-ere the actions of the actors are forced in an eiort to pro- duce a laugh, and no humor is present -except in the eyes of youngsters. In the large hall, we- sat in the third section of the first balcony. A few rows in front of us sat an interesting little girl,-little, I say, but only in size and in h-er eleven yearsg for in dress and actions she had the air of a prepossess- ing grown-up miss who was conscious of good looks. She was dressed in a short, red shirt, close1'itting, red sweater, and a r-ed tam, perched on her comely- shaped head revealed, at the nape of her neck, a mass of short, brown hair which had apparently been curled, judging by the way in which a small hand was lifted every now and then to see if each curl wer-e still in its place. The small hand was lifted in a manner which bespoke of the endeavors of Miss Somebody to impress casual glancers with a graceful g-esture. During the game, Miss Gwendolyn le Moyne sat b-ehind several boys whom she endeavored to' -engage in conversa- tion. She succeeded only in drawing the partial attention of the biggest boy and a few words from the others in reply to her remarks, in spite of the pert little nose, well-shaped chin, and sparkling brown eyes. She did not r-ealize that at a basketball game, although a girl of her age and type may primarily be in- terested in boys, boys her age would be more interested in the game than in a pretty girl. However, it might not hold girl. However, it might not hold true in true in the ease of older boys. The cool responses of the boys had no effect on her good opinion of herself and she kept on making remarks and chewing her gum as persistently as ever. Surely some of the boys would dance with her when the time came.

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THE PILGRIM 25 Johnnie so soon? She patted her dress, her hair, and ran to the door. But it was only a messenger boy. She took the telegram and went back to her meal. Th-e song was still in her mind- Johnnie's coming home, Johnnie's coming home- She had finished her meal before she remembered the message. Then, with the hesitancy most people have about opening telegrams, she opened it and read: Madam: We are very sorry to inform you your son died this morning from acute alcoholism in the Westchester County Hospital. Please communicate with J. P. O'Brien, Chief of Police Westchester, N. J. For a long time she sat still, too dazed to move. Over and ov-er she read the aw- ful missive. How could that little slip of yellow paper have such an effect on her life? For hours she sat there, un- moving. Then she rose and started to clear the dishes from the table- FLORENCE ARMSTRONG, '34 WILLETT RAINER. sNoW RECONNOITERS WILLETT was born when it was hail- ing. They blamed that for his ap- parent lunacy although the hail was really not to blame. It was his brain. Many people said he had none. That would appear to be impossible, but even now there is a. question. He almost died. Th-e specialist said pneumonia. Maybe it was brain-fever. Who knows? Nobody but the doctors-and even they may not. He's alive now, though. He wouldn't have been missed if he had died. That is, nobody but himself would have known it. Perhaps he wouldn't have. The only way he could have found out was to have tried. He didn't try. Probably didn't know enough to if he had wanted. He fell downstairs once. That's what made him cross-eyed. He is, you know. The doctors couldn't straighten them. He didn't care- couldn't look any worse anyhow. Red- headed-his aunt was. She wasn't dumb, though. At least not so bad as he Was. Black-eyed-space-the unknown quan- tity. No, it couldn't have b-een the hail! Willett Rainer Snow, graduate of Detective Correspondence School Incor- porated, peered around the corner of the house. Nothing there-he wasn't sur- prised. H-e ran quickly to a tree, climbed up-resembled an ape in the branches. Jumped down-ran up the steps. Sat in a chair just as his red-headed aunt came around the corner-appeared not to notice her. She had seen his actions from a window. Two men entered. Willett and the men left to buy an ice- cream at the nearest soda fountain. Left in large covered truck, passed soda foun- tain, and continu-ed. Ended in padded cell. Taunton! JOSEPH SHAW, '33 TREASURES The greedy, grasping miser clutches his gold, and Presses it to his bosom with a cov-etous cackle. The actress, thirsty for fame, gloats over the Glamorous applause of her U admirers. The teacher smiles with satisfaction at the close of a long life Of continued service-guiding and aid- 1ng ' youth to learning. The scientist receives his long- desired reward- Recognition. The aviator realizes his dream- accomplishes the unprecedented feat- Spans the Atlantic. I I sit before the open fire Recalling happy memories, And thank God for friends- My treasures! .SHIRLEY M. DUTTON, '34 4 THE OLD MAID TURNS Happy birthday, dear friends say, Looking younger every day! Tell me Fortune smiles on me, 'Cause I'm forty, yet I'm free. Then their glances slyly stray, Note, Her hair is turning gray. 'Ads' that I have read declare Gentlemen prefer them fair. Should I, could I dye my hair? Well, I wonder, do I dare? Yes, I'll buy some Golden Glint, Greying hair shall give no hint-I'm forty! Please some man shall find me fair, Gazing on my gold-en hair, Though it's wrong to change rnvself, Gosh, it's lonesome on the shelf. A. COHAN, '33