Plymouth High School - Pilgrim Yearbook (Plymouth, MA)

Page 33 text:

THE PILGRIM 31 CATASTROPHE One summer evening in the year 1858, as the setting sun was turning to flame the glassy surface of the Caribbean Sea, Captain Thomas Chandler was sitting on the deck of his schooner, the Nancy Chandler, smoking his pipe peacefully. Molly's havin' quite a tussle with that un, ain't she, Cap'n? remarked the fat first mate, Joe Carson. Um, grunted the captain squinting his small, blue eyes and watching the large gray' and white cat dextrously handling a huge, squealing rat with all the art of a Veteran rodent hunter. We sure got well stacked with rats, if nothing else, he went on. By the way, Joe, what became of Molly's kittens? Sold 'em at Jamaica, replied the mate. The natives never see any cats except the ones that come on ships. They never knew they caught rats un- til I showed 'em Molly. The place is swarmin' with rats so I sold 'em right off' for about twenty cents apiece. Say, Cap'n! Just happened to thinkg I reckon We could make- So do I, interrupted the captain quietly, replacing the pipe in his mouth. Six months later in Boston harbor, the Nancy Chandler was being loaded with a large cargo, which consisted, be- sides quantities of New England ex- ports-, of exactly 296 feline specimens of all sexes, colors, ages, and breeds protesting in no uncertain manner at this sudden exile. However, Captain Chandler was giving brisk orders and paying no attention to his unhappy cargo or to the jeering onlookers. During the fifteen days' journey to Jamaica, the ship was a howlin' bed- lam as Joe Carson described it. Pipe down, you screechin' critters l he would bawl lustily as he dealt out their rations of salt fish and water. O'ught to be glad you ain't in with them, Molly. The cats remained in vigorous good health until the last two days of the journey when they apparently began to tire of their monotonous diet. All petered o-ut, I guess, was the way Joe accounted for it. Two hours' after landing at Jamaica, all the cats were disposed of at a. profit of about 35800. Joe was gleeful and the tall, quiet captain was satisfied. However, it was not all smooth sailing. The ship remained in port some time because of bad Weather and because the captain had encountered difficulty in disposing of the rest of his cargo, con- sisting now chiefly of perishable goods, at a price high enough to make any profit. On the sixth day he received the disturbing news that nearly all the cats had died, either from the sudden change in climate or from the change from the diet consisting entirely of salt fish to one of rats-. Furthermore, the natives, believing they had been swindled, were furious, and refused to have any deal- ings with Captain Chandler. By 'this time the cargo was practically unsal- able at any price, and the following day the captain directed that it be 'thrown overboard. Ast he watched seven hundred dollars' worth of cargo splashing into Kingston harbor, Joe remarked gloomily, Net Receipts, 358.C'0. CHARLES COOPER '35 ,i.i.l,.-.- TRICKY ADVERTISEMENTS Once P. T. Barnum said, There's a sucker born every minute. Granting this, we still don't believe enterprising companies should take advantage of the unsuspecting public by misleading ad- vertisements. There are plenty of fair ways of advertising through interest- contests and radio broadcasts. Rarely do we read a magazine or paper but we see an article about a contest, with grand prizes of automo- biles and one hundred dollars, pro- moted by some business establishment for advertising purposes. A good per- centage of th-ese are interesting, worthy of entrance, and fair to all. It is the other part of the group that we criti- cize. We, ourselves, have had several ex- periences along these lines. We no- ticed in a daily newspaper a coupon from a well-known numismatic com- pany offering its rare coin book, giv- ing prices and details about coins upon receiving four cents in stamps for post- age. In return we received a folder of four pages with very brief informa- tion, and an order blank for the real book, which we thought we were get- ting before, at the price of one dollar. There was nothing we could do. Some companies sponsor guessing contests. The person who sends in three labels from the product and guess-es the contest correctly, wins one hundred dollars, while the person who sends in only one label gets less than one hundred dollars. Other concerns offer money and prizes for a name for their new product. This

Page 32 text:

30 THE PILGRIM off his cap, threw it to the ground, and trampled upon it. Then, after flexing his biceps so hard that the monstrous, knotted muscles split the sleeves of his leather jacket wide open, he clenched his mighty paws so that each knuckle stood out like a baseball, only twice as hardg and, rushing to the door, with one mighty heave wrenched it off its hinges and charged into the room. There, seated across the room, was the cook in all his splendor, with a spot- less, snow-white napkin tucked under his chin, spreading a freshly-cooked. big, juicy steak Cbarely discernible un- nerneath the lavish garnishing of onionb with a lump of butter about the size of a big brown egg. The facial expression, one of peace and extreme contentment, vanished, and one of horror,-of ghastly horror, took its place. Slowly he pushed back his chair and tugged at his napkiin, his eyes fixed up- on those of the crazed lumberjack, who sucked in his breath like an enraged go-- rilla and advanced, step by step, toward his victim. The tempting odor of delicious steak smothered in onions did not deter him. The hapless cook backed into the cor- ner by the stove, follow-ed by the fiend. Seizing on-e of the red hot stove covers by the holder, the hash slinger hurled it. Mullaney, the iron man, caught it, dashed it through the window, advanc- ing again, his massive hands opening and closing like the business end of steam shovel. The cook, as a last hope, snatched the huge kettel of beans from the oven and dumped it over the head of the infuri- ated wood cutter, fastening the handle down under his granite chin. Mugs Mullaney, man mountain of the lumber camps, passed out like school children after receiving their diplomas. When he came to, some days later, he was informed of the contents of a letter found in the belongings of the cook. who had escaped. The letter, addressed to the cook, read :- Received your shipment of beef and will send immediately Cif not soonerj 500 lbs. of beans. The men can work just as well on beans as on beef, and think of all the money you save! If you get another supply of be-ef intended for the lumber camp, I will gladly exchange it for beans and a rea- sonable cash bonus for your own pocket . . . There is a motley group of Maine lumbermen searching the world over for a scoundrel who fed human beings beans for breakfast, BEANS for dinner, and for supper,-BEANS! Week in, and week out,--beans! beans! beans! And still more beans! ! ! FRANCIS TRASK '34 PRECIOUS TREASURES Upon the steps of time an old man satg And in his skinny hands, he held His whole lifels treasure. For more than four score year and ten He had livedg and tho, his hair was snowy white, He still loved life. His wrinkled brow and trembling limbs Were tokens of his passing life- And old age held him fast. And what had he from all those years- A mighty store of hoarded gold? Nay-treasures more precious far! The memories of a 1ifetime's work, The prayers of many invalids saved, And, best of all, of duty well done! And so he sat-and was content. Tho' ever weaker grew his limbs, His heart was ever strong. H. SURREY '34 JUST THINGS An old pitcher Spilling bayberries from its mouth, Its fat body Tinted rose from the sun. Maple furniture- clean, shimmering In the light, A print or two, Roomy chairs and gaily hooked mats. An India hanging, Mellow blue, green, and yellow, With faint tracings of faded pink. Many colored backs of books, Little china dogs And curiously carved figures, All such dear, precious things I love so well. JEANNETTE MARTIN ,34 CONTRAST Through the darkness of night A torch gleams, Making a path of light Across the water. Ripples slowly creep To the shore From the foamy wake Of the tug. Upon the grimy decks Strong men, Handling the lines, Sweat and toil, Struggling in the dim light Of oil lamps. Everywhere are smoky fumes And filth. LUCY HOLMES '35

Page 34 text:

32 THE PILGRIM contest is fair on the surface, but one can discover that, if he sends in one name, he has a chance of one out of probably ten thousand. Only one prize is awarded, the companies pick the winning name, and the label of the product must be sent in. We do not wish to ban all contests and advertising of this sort, but people, when deceived by one advertisement, will be wary of another which is really reliable, and there are many giving suitable and worthwhile prizes with no tricky words and phrases. We believe that, if tricky and unfair advertisements are eliminated, it will mean more business for reliable con- cerns and pleasure to the customers. HARVEY BARKE '34 A DESERTED STREET Dimly it flickered, as if it were mak- ing one feeble effort to regain its form- er radiance. Then the gas light at the farthest end of the deserted street, suc- cumbed to the soothing stillness and burned in ag dim, evil glass. Fascinated I walked slowly down the street. An ethereal white mist settled over the worn pavement and forlorn brownstone buildings. My fancy stray- ed. Wonderingly I tried to peer with my mind beyond the heavily-bolted doors and the shaded windows. Suddenly the buildings were not for- lorn but evil, seeming to harbor all the fiends from the bowels of the earth. Faintly, gradually growing louder, a plaintive cry of a nocturnal bird pierced my thoughts. I was afraid! The mist closing in on me, stifling my soul as it did the lights, the brownstone buildings so cold, unfriendly,-had I unmeaningly stumbled upon a place not meant for human beings! Swishing sounds, so soft, yet so distinct crept into my ears. Cold, soul-freezing breezes fanned my face and body. In a mad frenzy of pro- found fear I Hung out my arms to rid myself of those things, but I merely fed the flame of their desire to torture such intruders as I. Running, stum- bling, babbling, I fled to my room. There was my only weapon, the box! With trembling fingers I formed a pel- let from the powder in the box, heated it over my oil burner, and then put it into my pipe. Once, twice, I inhaled the soothing fumes and once again I was safe, alone with my dreams of beautiful things. RUTH MURPHY '34 THE POWER AND THE GLORY Had you studied a large map of Al- sace-Lorraine as it was before the Franco-Prussian War, you would have found a small village called Roppveiler situated almost on the boundary line between France and Germany. It was a friendly little town with its time-hon- ored thatch-roofed cottages nestled in the valleys. The home of the Burgom- eister was set apart from the rest and befitted his station. Hooverbrunner, a large brook, ran through the center of the hamlet, and on sunny days the vil- lage women were wont to wash their clothes there with much chatter and song. Many of them had sons of eighteen or twenty, who were serving in the regular army, for all able-bodied youths were compelled to-serve for a period of two years. These village wo- men often proudly discussed letters they had received from their boys as th-ey washed and scrubbed their clothes clean and white on the stones in the stream. On fair days the younger boys tended the cattle as they grazed upon the grassy slopes of the hill, and the village maids often accompanied them. No puny pale girls were these. They were strong, healthy peasants with clear, bright eyes, and long braids of hair flung over their shoulders, and they wore wooden shoes called schlapper. They were used to work and hard work it was, too. Sometimes they labored all day in the fields at back-breaking toil, and thus they developed strong bodies. No, these were no fragile, dainty, por- celain shepherdesses. They were of the earth and proud of it. Everyone in Roppvieler spoke Ger- man, had German names and German customs, and did business in the neigh- boring German cities. Indeed, few of the people in the hamlet knew whether they were French or German citizens, and they cared less-until the war came. And, with the war came seething times. With the advent of the Franco- Prussian conflict came also the baring of the fierce hatred which the people of France bore the Prussians, and the L-ot- tringen, natives of Lorraine, suddenly found a devotion and loyalty that they owed to France. The villagers were 'ught to look upon the Germans across the border who had been friends and business associates, as hated enemies. Prussian soldiers spread terror by in- quiring at each house, Are there any