Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

Text from Pages 1 - 32 of the 1915 volume:

Thomas Crane Public Library Quincy, Mass. The Golden-Rod—April, 1915. Contents. Frontispiece PAGE EDITORIALS...................................................... 1 APRIL........................................................... 2 THE RED DEVIL, No. 7............................................. 3 RASTUS.......................................................... 5 SCARABiEUS MUMMY................................................ 7 THE STORY OF THE SUGAR MAPLE................................... 10 WHICH............ ............................................. 10 WHEN THE ANIMALS ESCAPED....................................... 11 THE DEACON’S GIRL.............................................. 12 THE QUITTER.................................................... 13 HIS LAST CHANCE................................................ 14 THE BEAUTY OF CHILDHOOD........................................ 15 SCHOOL LIFE.................................................... 16 ALUMNI NOTES................................................... 19 EXCHANGES...................................................... 19 ATHLETICS...................................................... 20 JOKES.......................................................... 22 Just the Thing For Soles with thU Stamp Guaranteed not to Break Wears longer them Leather Winter Wear We Have It In White, Grey and Black F.DMONSTON’S Goodyear Shoe Repair C. M. PRICE CO. WHOLESALE AND RETAIL ITcc Cream Manufacturers WASHINGTON SQUARE WEYMOUTH, MASSACHUSETTS Telephone 340 Cor. Maple and Chestnut Sts. Mention THE GOLDEN-ROD when patronizing our advertisers BASKET BALL TEAM tTbe (gol englRofr______________ Volume XXIV. April, 1915 No. 5 GTfje olben=ftob Published seven times during the school year by the PUPILS OF Q. H. S. Address The Golden-Rod Quincy High School, Quincy, Mass. EDITORIAL STAFF EDITOR-IN-CHIEF.....WILLIAM MacMAHON LITERARY EDITOR.....HAZEL LIVINGSTON NEWS EDITOR...................ARTHUR BOWEN ART EDITOR...........GUSTAF VonCOLLN ALUMNI AND EXCHANGE EDITOR LOUISE CHURCHILL JOKE EDITOR..........REGINALD H. GAY ATHLETIC EDITOR........ROBERT E. FOY BUSINESS MANAGER . . .WILLARD CROCKER ASSISTANT BUSINESS MANAGER HOWARD BOWEN For Sale at Quincy High School Advertising Rates per Seven Issues $3.00 ... Card Space $5.00 ... Double Card Space $20.00 - - - Per Page Half Rates for Three Insertions EDITORIALS. Another class meeting has again shown the poor way in which these meetings are conducted. The senior class held a meet- ing on Friday, March 19, at which the class picture was discussed. Mr. Crocker, the chairman, called for a vote by raising hands and announced that Mr. Nerses’ plan of having separate pictures put together for a combination class picture had been defeated, and that the class would, therefore, have the usual group picture. The ruling was dis- puted and a ballot vote called for. Im- mediately there was a rush for paper and it would have been easily possible to have voted three times and thus caused another ballot- ing, for the votes were taken on papers of all sizes, shapes, and descriptions. That vote, especially when all particulars of the cost were not announced until later, cannot stand. It would be well if every class avoided this difficulty by procuring cheap but distinctive ballots, and impartial, or at least uncom- municative, tellers who would distribute one ballot to, and collect one ballot from, each member present. 'I'he junior number of the Golden-Rod was a success, at least from a literary point of view. The juniors furnished a great deal of excel- lent material. We are sorry to say that this is not wholly true in the sophomore number. The boys have furnished about 90% of the material while the girls are re- luctant to contribute their best efforts. Two of the sophomore girls contributing in this number have done so before and can be classed as workers. We have tried to pick out the best themes from those passed in. but we hope that the freshmen will give us more work to pick from for their number. Why is it that track sports do not flourish in the Quincy High School? There are many boys every year who have not the weight, nerve, or ability to play football, basket ball, or base ball; but they might make good in tract events. No boy should moan over the fact that he is too small or too slender for football: he may be able to run or jump, and thus do something for his school, and win his “Q.” Very little interest is shown in the inter-class meets which are held every spring; little, if any, practise in preparation for the meet is held. If enough boys will come out for the inter-class meet this year, a good team may be picked from the winners of the differ- ent events, and later be developed into a good track team. We have not had a track meet with an outside school for three years. If this team is formed, perhaps meets with other schools may be arranged. Quincy has one of the best tracks in this 2 The Golden-Rod vicinity, and it is hardly ever used. Mr. Thompson has followed the track game for years and knows the game from start to finish. Mr. Paulson also knows the game and is willing to give his services. If the boys do not respond, these men cannot show their coaching abilities. More spirit is needed, and when the call for candidates for the inter-class meet comes, let everybody respond. Robert Davis, To. I wonder how many girls have seen the. last editorial in one of our latest exchanges, the February “Tripod. How many of you read the editorials carefully anyway? How many gain something from them? Again, I will ask:—How many girls have read this editorial? It asks why the girls of that school do not start an athletic association like the boys. Now, why can’t we start an as- sociation among ourselves? It is true that we have played a few basket ball games this season, but how many showed up to practise or to cheer? The Sophomore 1st team is the only one that has practised and played faithfully. The Senior girls evidently thought it wasn’t worth while to represent their class. Only about three of them turned up, not enough, anyway, to make a complete team, so some of the Juniors were thrust into the background that these Seniors could play. Is this fair? “It is never too late to mend,” so when Miss Anderson calls for candidates to make up Field-Hockey teams, as she in- tends to do, let us have enough girls to make it worth her time, for I know that she will be more ready to help if she finds that we are interested in athletic sports. You can try to be eligible at least. Now, remember, girls! Gymmie, T7. APRIL. What month is it when just a touch of green On every bush and shade tree can be seen? It’s April. When May-flowers scent the woodland air And brooks flow along without any care? It’s April! —D. Brown and M. Atwood. The birds begin to return from the South, the trees begin to bud, the grass grows green, the little brooks begin to flow, and the sea and the sky try to out-blue each other, in the beautiful month of April. —Bernice Stoddard. JUST SPRING. I love the emerald pastures And I love the budding trees; I love the flitting bluebirds And I love the springtime breeze. I love the brilliant crocus And I love the balmy air; But, oh, I hate the heavy, Itchy, winter underwear! —Frances Horton, T7. LIFE. Life is a joke. All things show it; Look at the Freshman, Then you’ll know it —Frances Horton, T7. The Golden - Rod 3 THE RED DEVIL, NO. 7. Part I. In the darkened living-room at 65 Kemp- ton Road, Pleasant Valley, N. Y.,a boy sat motionless, with his head on his hands, listening dully to the monotonous ticking of the clock on the mantle-piece. With heavy strokes, it struck the hour of seven. The noise penetrated through the silent rooms, and into the brain of the stooping figure on the chair. A moan escaped him as he raised his head. Mechanically, he moved across the room, and reached for the matches as if in a dream. He struck a flame, and touched the wick of the student lamp on the table. As the flame burned higher, it threw its shadow fantastically across the boy’s countenance. It lighted up a mass of brown, curly hair, thrown back in a pompadour, but now sadly disarranged. The deep set eyes, matching the color of his hair, looked sunken and haunted. The well shaped lips were compressed in a straight line above a de- termined jaw. His whole appearance was one of utter despair, as indeed it might be, for a great sorrow had come to seventeen year old Roy Gordon. But five days pre- vious he had received a telegram from a town in New Jersey, saying that his parents had been killed in a railroad wreck, on their way home from Florida. Poor Roy, he had re- lated the sad facts by telephone to his near- est relatives, an aunt and an uncle. They had come on at once to take charge of the funeral and to assist Roy. It was now even- ing on the day of the funeral, and they had left for their home, to arrange for the moving of their goods to Pleasant Valley. Roy, left alone, thought deeply. Only the day before the arrival of the fatal telegram, he had been intensely interested in the news- paper accounts of an automobile race. He had always had a mania for speed, and had been interested in races, auto races especially. An idea suddenly same to him, a stupendous idea. He cared nothing for school, or play, or home any more, now his parents were gone. He would be through the high school in a year anyway. Yes, he would do it. He would go to Indianapolis, where the drivers were quartered, and become the pupil of one of the racers, but which one? The boy pondered. “Yes,” he mused aloud, “the very one. Old Jack Winston is the cream of them all. He knows more about autos and auto racing than any one out there. I ’ll be his pupil—if he’ll have me. I’ll slip out tonight, leave the door unlocked, and write a note to Aunt. But the money; I can’t get mine from the bank till I’m of age. Where can I get it?” Then he recalled the visit of one of his father’s tenants that day. He had left thirty-five dollars as his monthly rent. His parents would never need it, he sadly reflected, and added to five of his own, would be just forty dollars to carry him to Indianapolis. He would be economical, and find work as soon as he got there. With Roy, to think was to act, and at once he hurried to his room, took from his drawer fresh underwear, shirts, collars, and ties, and hastily packed them, together with his toilet accessories, in his suit case. He then procured the money, and after considerable thought, wrote the following note: Dear Aunt, Much as I would like to live with you and Uncle Jim, I cannot remain where old memories would constantly come before me, so have gone West., Don’t try to find me, for I shall change my name, and find work somewhere. Your loving nephew, Roy. He then went down the front stairs, and out the door, leaving it unlocked. He took a final look at his home, and turned his face toward the station and the West. About eleven o’clock that night, a very stiff and tired boy slowly walked toward the 4 The Golden-Rod exit of the Grand Central Station in New York. A short distance off, Roy beheld the large electric sign on the Manhattan Hotel, and to it he made his way. He walked up to the desk and asked for a room. “Front,” called the clerk, “room 328 for this gentleman.” Roy could not help smiling at the title, as he followed the bell-boy up to the top floor. Once in the room, Roy lost no time in get- ting between the covers, and soon was dream- ing of great races, with himself the winner. He arose at seven and paid his bill, decid- ing to breakfast at a restaurant on account of the difference in price. At quarter of eight he had finished his meal, and was speed- ing toward the Pennsylvania Terminal in a bus, from whence he would go to Chicago. Thirty minutes later, at the same time that Roy was being carried farther and farther away from his home, his uncle and aunt were mounting the steps at 65 Kempton Road. No one came in response to several vigorous pulls at the door bell. “Maybe lie’s gone out and left the door un- locked,” suggested Mrs. Brewster, and she tried the door. It opened, and with a strange presentiment she entered. The note was at once discovered, and Mrs. Brewster sank white-faced into a chair. “Oh, Jim!” she gasped, “that poor boy- going West all alone. What shall we do?” “Brace up, Mary,” he said kindly. “I’ll go to the police at once.” He caught up his hat, and left the house. In a little while he was back. “I’ve done all I can,” he said. “The police have notified the papers, and have wired the largest cities in the middle-west to be on the lookout for him.” The long New York train slowly came to a stop. Through the crowd, Roy made his way to the street, and began to walk leisurely- past the store windows, pausing now and then to gaze at some particular one that struck his fancy. It would be an hour yet, before the final leg of his journey (from Chicago to Indianapolis) would commence. Several hours later, a very nervous and excited boy stood in the corridor before room 73, which the hotel register showed to be occupied by one John Winston. In response to his knock, a cheery voice bade him enter. In a leather arm-chair by' the window, sat a man who appeared to be about forty-five. A pair of piercing gray' eyes looked up from under heavy black brows. They held a look of interested curiosity, and Roy- got right down to business. “My name is Roy Gordon,” he began. “I’ve come from the East. My parents have just died—.” He paused a moment, and then went on. “I have always been in- terested in everything pertaining to autos, especially racing. I didn’t care to stay in my old home any longer, so I came here, with the intention of becoming your pupil, of learning the racing game from you, meaning of course to pay for my lessons. I know this isn’t in your line.” he went on quickly, “but I thought—well may be—perhaps you could take me.” Roy paused for breath, and stood twisting his cap. “Sit down, boy,” said Winston kindly. “Now let see me if I get you straight. Your parents being dead, you came West for a change of scene and to satisfy your hobby. You want me to teach you auto racing.” “That’s it,” Roy assented. Then Winston questioned Roy closely. “Ever had any experience with autos?” “Yes, I drove my father’s once in awhile.” “Racing’s a dangerous game.” “I know it. That’s partly why I like it.” “Sort of reckless for one your age, ain’t you? How old are you anyway?” “Seventeen.” “How about relatives; do they approve?” Roy was silent for a minute. Finally: “They don’t know.” “Oh, run away?” exclaimed Winston, eye- ing Roy keenly. Roy had the grace to blush. “Near relatives?” persisted Winston. “My aunt and uncle are the nearest, replied Roy. They didn’t want to take The Golden-Rod 5 care of me. They don’t want children, boys in particular. Thet never had much to do with me till my parents died.” “Were you planning to change your name?” continued the racer. “Yes,” said Roy. “I’ve changed it al- ready.” Winston smiled. “You’re prompt,” he said. “What do you call yourself?” “Billy Irving,” was the quick reply. “Well, Billy,” said Winston rising, “as you say, it isn’t in my line, but I ’ve got reasons of my own. How about terms?” “How much do you charge?” Winston mused reflectively. “I guess fifty cents a lesson will be all right.” he said. “When do I start?” queried Roy thereafter Billy) quickly. “Well,” said Winston, “You go out and find a hotel, and if you’re ready to begin to- morrow morning, report here at ten o’clock.” Billy did not trust himself to speak, but nodded briefly and went out. As the big clock was striking ten the next day, Billy entered Winston’s room. “Everything all right?” queried his teacher. “Yes,” replied Billy, “I’m staying at the American House.” “Then,” said Winston, “we want to get down to business.” He led the way to the garage where the cars of the racers were housed. Over in the corner was a long, low racer, tapering to a point at front and back, with long, tentacle-like ex- haust pipes at the side. In front of the low seat was a wind-shield, attached so as to offer the least resistance to the wind. On the red back was painted the number, 7. Billy gazed upon it in admiration. He rubbed his hand caressingly over the slick body. Then Winston climbed in at the wheel, and motioned Billy to the place beside him. Winston headed out into the country, and Billy’s first lesson was begun. (to be concluded.) Brayton Blake, ’17. RASTUS. George Royden sat curled up in his father’s arm-chair absorbed in a book spread before him. When George took such a position he was lost to the world. Suddenly a strong hand took a firm hold on his wiry neck and began to shake him. “Leggo! Leggo my neck!” he managed to gurgle between the violent bobs of his head. The hand relaxed and the stern voice of his father boomed like a Krupp Gun as he stooped to pick up the book. “What kind of a dime novel are you reading now? Huh, “How to be a Detective.” More trash.” “’Taint trash. You told me to read in- structive stuff that would help me in life,” answered the boy, all the time keeping an eye on the door and calculating if he could make it in three jumps. “And it tells how to disguise yourself,” he went on. “Huh, listen! The idea! Why, you couldn’t make yourself look different if you turned in- side out. Get out!” George made a hasty exit, marching double time as he knew he was persona non grata. He went directly to his room, as he always did when he was angry. There a sudden thought smote his brain. Bright thoughts rarely did so or his brain would have long since been wrecked. He would show his father that he could disguise! Accordingly he quietly left his room, and. after a hurried reconnoitering, entered that used by the servant. It was, at present, not occupied, for Sam, the butler, chamber maid, cook, etc., had been discharged the day be- fore. The reason was that Sam had taken too much liberty with Mr. Royden’s cigars. George opened the closet door and began flinging garments into the room. After picking out the required attire, he returned to his den. 6 The Golden-Rod “We’ll see who’s right, me or him,” he soliloquized, chuckling with satisfaction. The garments were crammed into a suit-case and shoved under the bed. That night at supper George timidly asked, “Pop, can I go over to Jimmy Nichol’s house to spend the rest of the week? His mother says she don’t care if ! come.” “Go ahead,” was the answer. “You’d go anyway, so I might as well say yes.” Supper over, he made hasty preparations. So, after his mother had seen that he had several essential articles and had drilled him on manners, he departed. Bright and early next morning while the Roydens were at breakfast, the front door bell began to jangle violently. “Confound it!” exclaimed Mr. Royden, rising from the table. “Who’s out this early?” He opened the door and there on the steps stood an unexpected spectacle. The vision was a uniform of vivacious red with big sparkling brass buttons. The uniform was filled by a person with the blackest face, broadest grin, and whitest teeth he had ever seen. “Am yo’ lookin’ foil a first-class butlah?” questioned the sight. “Yes, but why?” asked the bewildered Mr. Royden, not comprehending the situation. “I’m him,”said the black person, grinning even more broadly while he pointed at his flashy breast with a long, bony finger. “Come in. Come in, and I’ll see what I can do for you.” The butler stepped inside and stood twirl- ing his hat on his finger while he shifted from one foot to the other. After a whispered conference, they decided to give him a trial. Mrs. Royden showed him his room. “You will begin right off,” she explained, “as I see you’re all ready. But where’s your suit-case?” “Nevah had one ob dem things.” “Is that all you have?” she asked, point- ing to his uniform. “Dasall.” “Well, come and I’ll show you where to begin.j, He followed obediently. The day quickly sped. Aside from trip- ping over the rugs and placing the white sheet last in the bed the day was very success- ful for Rastus. (That was the name he had given, adding that people “call me mos’ anythin.” When Mr. Royden came home from his office that night, Rastus met him in the hall. He took his hat and coat and hung them up with great dignity. Rastus also brought him the evening paper, lighted his cigar, and procured his slippers. He created quite an impression on Mr. Royden. At supper that night Rastus’ luck took a decided change. First, he tripped over the rug at every trip between the kitchen and dining room. Also, he put salt in the sugar bowl when requested to refill it. These things made Mr. Royden sputter wrathfully. Things reached a climax, however, when Rastus spilled the cream all over the table. “Confound it, you black rascal! Have you got any brains at all?” roared Mr. Royden. “Don’ know. ’Spects I have,” Rastus answered rather reproachfully. Things quieted down somewhat until Mrs. Royden noticed black spots all over her clean linen table cloth. “Rastus! Rastus! come here quick!” she called, rising from her seat. “Comin, Missus,” sang his voice among the rattle of dishes in the kitchen. “Whah’s mattah?” he asked as he shuffled into the room. “Let me see your hands,” she said, pre- emptorily. “Wha’ foh? Der’s nothin’ de mattah wid dem.” Nevertheless he reluctantly produced them. Straight to the sink she led him and soon plenty of water and soap was administered. A dirty white began to appear. Mrs. Roy- den gasped. “Leggo! Leggo o’ me!” wailed a voice with which she was familiar. The scrub- bing continued with added vigor. That night George sneaked into the library, T h e Golden - Rod 7 where he found his father seated in the arm- chair, taking luxurious puffs at a big cigar. “Pop,” he exclaimed, exultantly “who said I can’t disguise myself?” “Huh, you better get out before I lick you again,” answered Mr. Royden, chuckling to himself. —Russell C. Johnson, ’17. SCARABAEUS MUMMY. (Continued) “Such a long and dreary night,” moans the captive as he nervously watches the ascend- ing moon. The chanting and evening songs of the Bedoins have ceased and all is wrapped in deathly silence, broken only by the melan- choly notes of a turtle dove perched on a dwarf olive snag growing among a pile of crumbling rocks in view of the prison window. Slowly the moon ascends, casting its misty purple shadows on the cold, solitary prison. It has at last reached its zenith, and;the captive with a triumphant jump springs to the door, inserts the key, gives it a twist, and the massive door swings noiselessly open. Cleopatra sits mounted on a small white Arabian horse among the rustling palm trees like an immovable statue. The breeze gently parts the veils about her face, exposing a countenance of rare beauty. It is this picture that is disclosed to Von Hohenlohe as he trudges over the sand in the direction of the oasis. His heart leaps with joy as he nears her. Pointing coldly to a horse, she motions to him to mount and, without uttering a word, silently leads the way down the palm-girt path and out into the open desert. Suddenly shouts and cries that the prisoner has escaped fill the air and the camp that they have left behind them is all astir. The escape of Von Hohenlohe was undoubtedly discovered by one who was set on guard and has spread the news among the sleeping Bedoins. The chief soon appears and orders his men to mount as quickly as possible and follow him. Leaping into the saddle and digging the spurs into the Hanks of his horse, he dashes down the path through which, only a few moments l e- fore, Cleopatra and Von Hohenlohe had van- ished. The moon gives insufficient light to dis- till guish anything a great distance away, but reasoning out which path they have prob- ably taken, with a few hurried orders to his men, he plunges forward with ten or twelve of their number following him, their sabres clashing against their stirrups and their turbans flying in the air. Steadily they cover ground, rising and sinking into the dunes. “We are discovered! They are closely following us!”gasps Cleopatra as the heavy panting of their horses and the thud of the footfalls reaches her ears. “Spur your horse, we have yet some chance of out-running them.” The pursuers are now on the rise of a dune and the pursued in the trough. “Oh, Allah, forgive me!” Cleopatra cries when she sees that their capture is inevitable. “I should rather die and my bones whiten on these vast deserts unknown than be discovered thus by my father.” At the close of this simple Egyptian speech she draws a small pearl handled dagger from the folds of her silken garment and muttering “My escape depends upon you alone,” thrusts its sharp point into her heart, burying it to the very hilt. She falls face downward, pale and limp, upon the neck of her terrified horse and still firm in the saddle is borne by it into the sight of Von Hohenlohe, who dazedly clutches his forehead, unable to collect his thoughts, he is so astounded and horrified at the suicidal actions of the one who has set him free. But! What is that, that glistens upon her exposed arm? It is a band of beaten 8 1 h e (Golden-Rod gold studded with jewels, rare and priceless. There is not another piece of goldwork like it in all Egypt. He has it now. This is the woman whom he had saved from the Arabian thieves at the Pyramid but because of her veils he had no way of identifying her before. But, as it will be remembered, he had taken special notice of that rare piece of jewelry, which had been the object of the attack of the thieves. In spite of his ignorance of her identity she had recognized him and had en- deavored to repay his deed by setting him free. Why she did not plead with her father for his release and perform the deed honor- ably is a question which will remain unsolved. With shouts and threatening gestures the Bedoins encircle horse and rider. The chief catches sight of the limp body of his daughter, the stain and the protruding, dagger. Covering his face with his hands he offers a silent prayer to Allah, mingled with the forgiveness of his daughter and his own sadness. Von Hohcnlohe is roughly torn fron his saddle and with glances of hatred the Bedoins threateningly swing their sabres above their heads. He is securely bound and placed upon his horse and without further delay brought to Cairo and given with little ceremony into the hands of the jailers there, where he is impris- oned, pending his trial, charged with the theft of a mummy and attempted escape after imprisonment. CHAPTER III. In the twilight gloaming the figure of a man appeared on a deserted street with a night shroud drawn about his head and slinking from one protective shadow to an- other until he had reached a spot beneath a barred prison window. Here, drawing the cover from his head, he whistled softly. Presently a head appeared at the window. “Is that you Achmet?” questions the man behind the bars in a soft voice. “Yes, Sahib, it is I,” is the equally soft response. “Did you get the mummy to Alexandria safely?” “Ah, yes, safely indeed it is hidden,” proceeds Achmet glancing cautiously about him to see that no one hears, “in the cellar of my brother Mohammed Hassan’s house. He is an honest merchant of that city and you may feel sure that he will care for it as well as if it were his own.”-“Hist, the guard is approaching. Go, Achmet, or I fear that I shall have a companion in this dank cell.” The day dawned clear. The invigorating morning air gently wafted into the cell of the prisoner, and he sleepily arose from his cot and strode to the window to breath in more of it and to gaze out into the narrow streets. What a sudden change had come over the city since yesterday. The balconies of the crowded houses were hung with festal tapestries and throngs of people were surging into the streets. To the beat of a drum a band of soldiers passed by followed by more, gor- geously arrayed in red and gold; these formed themselves in two long columns on either side of the street. What did all this mean? Per- haps the Khedive was coming, but that was a usual event and no such display was made of it. As he stood there thinking, suddenly the cry of “Hail, the Emperor! He approach- es!” filled the air, and people suddenly opened the casements ol the balconies and stept out, bearing garlands of flowers which they threw down into the street through which he was to pass; and the people on the street pushed and craned their necks impatiently that they might catch a glimpse of this notable person- age. Presently his coach comes into view. There he sits, surrounded by the leading men of Egypt. His face Vcn Hohenlohe recognizse as one he has often seen in pictures. It is not an Egyptian potentate but the Emperor of his own native country on a visit to the Orient. As he gazes upon his clear open face he can not help but regard him as a close friend, although the gap of relationship between them is of in- credible width and of unfathomable depth. The The Golden-Rod 9 possibility that this mighty man can set him free comes to his mind as often an idea will, when one is driven to utter despair and lie will grasp it and cling to it until, as impossible as it may seem, it will often materialize. So with determination Von Hohenlohe grasps this one and with pen and ink he writes and rewrites a letter which he intends to send that evening by Achmct to the Emperor wherever he may be stopping within the city. It reads thus: To your Imperial Highness: I, your humble servant, am imprisoned here at this city for the excavation of a mummy taken in behalf of the University of Heidel- berg. and for an attempted escape after im- prisonment. Could your majesty consider such a thing as a compromise with the offi- cials? Your loyal subject, Max Von Hohenlohe. He passes the note that night to Achmet through the bars and gives him instructions as to where he shall most likely find the Emperor and how he shall gain permission to have the note presented to him. CHAPTER V 44No. 54, at the end of the corridor and your name, sir?” questions the guard at the gate of the prison. “Oh well, I guess for the occasion Hohenlohe will do,” replies a tall,dignified looking per- son, handing his card to the guard. Re- moving his cork hat he enters and makes his way to the end of the long row of prison cells. “Von Hohenlohe? Am I right?” he asks of the prisoner. “Oh, yes, Your—Your Majesty,”—struck with awe upon finding himself in the pres- ence of the Emperor. “I shall ask of you in the first place, Von Hohenlohe, that you reply to my questions briefly as my time here is limited and further- more I do not wish to be recognized by the people if I can avoid it. “In a report that I received from the University of Heidelberg a few months ago I recall a statement concerning your journey here and its purpose. If you have committed no other crime than to excavate a mummy I think that I shall be able to persuade the officials here to free you. I leave it to your cleverness, though, to get the mummy to its destination as I am aware of its priceless value to that University. Now may I ask if it was a Scarabaeus mummy that you un- covered. “Yes, Your Majesty, and in perfect con- dition. It is now hidden at Alexandria.” “Have patience and I think that I can se- cure your release.” With a motion that it was time to depart, he closed his remarks by say- ing that he wished Von Hohenlohe would send word to Potsdam to him informing him of his luck, and he strode down to the prison gate where a carriage was waiting. On the following day when the prison gates were thrown open, a man holding in his hand a scroll stamped with the imperial black eagle as sign of the approval of the Emperor stepped out into the street, where he was met by another man in native garb and together they walked to the banks of the Nile, where they boarded a dahabeah bound for Alexandria. Through the crowd at the Alexandria dock pushed two men, one an Egyptian, the other a European, followed by a donkey cart bear- ing a large box marked for the University of Heidelberg, Germany. It was hoisted a- board a large German liner. The whistle shrieked the signal that all was ready for departure. The German clasped the hands of the Egyptian and with a smiling farewell, hurried up the gang plank. A moment after- wards it was lowered and the great ship slow- ly plowed through the white foam, growing smaller and disappearing in the blue expanse of sea. Frederick F. Johnson. 10 The Golden Rod THE STORY OF THE SUGAR MAPLE. The great King had finished making the world, and the birds, the flowers, and the trees were choosing their homes. All the birds chose the air, all the flowers the fields, but each tree chose the home where it thought it would be the most happy. The willow went to the mountain brook to shade its banks. The silver birch together with its friend, the basswood, went to the lake side. The pine, the spruce, and the hemlock chose the sides of the lake mountain, for they were vain trees and wished to be admired by all. There was one tree, however, which had not chosen a home. It was the maple. Far away from the lake, there lived an- other mountain. When he saw his friend, the lake mountain, so beautiful, he wished to beautify himself, too. So he called to all the trees, “Come and make your home with me.” The pine, the spruce, and the hemlock murmured. The willow drooped a little nearer the brook, and the birch and the bass- wood nodded their heads together. Each said, “I am too happy where I am.” But the little maple thought, “If the great moun- tain would only let me come,” and finally said, “Dear mountain, will you let me make my home with you? I am neither so beauti- ful nor so useful as the other trees, but will do my best to make you happy.” “Let you?” cried the mountain, “I shall be contented and happy if a dear little tree like you will come to me.” After many months the great King came to visit His children. He praised each for its work, and when He came to the maple, He said, “You of all my children have served Me best, for you have sought to give happiness to others. I will make you the most useful and beautiful of all trees.” So He gave the maple a sap for which men seek, and when fall comes and He turns the leaves yellow, red, and brown, it is the most beautiful of all trees. Priscilla White, T7 WHICH ? “Jack” Sheridan, captain of the Need town College baseball team, had finished his last game of “ball” for the season, and probably for life. They had beaten their great rivals, Hammond College. His teammates were in the dressing-room, singing, whistling, danc- ing jigs and everything else to express their joy, while “Jack,” the captain, who should be the happiest, was gloomier than the defeated team. Why was he gloomy? It was a reason that only “Jack” and his father knew. This was his senior year and it would not be very long before he would have to go out into the world to earn his living. He dreaded the thought, but he must go and make his name. He thought back and remembered when he was a “Soph”, and had made the varsity team. He remembered the great quartets, trios, duos and solos they used to have after a game that they had won; the towel fights and the “duckings” they had, fully dressed, under the shower for the sake of fun and sport. The hazing of the “Freshies,”— how well he remembered all this. He had written to his father asking him if he could stay for a post graduate course. But his father answered in his letter and how well he remembered those words: “Do you want to be a milksop all your life? If not. go out into the world and make your name.” He finished dressing and left the locker room. In a few days he received his “Sheep- skin” and started out to make his living and NAME. The Golden-Rod Pres. J. K. Sheridan sat at his desk in his private office. He was the head of one of the greatest construction companies in the world. He had risen from the rank of an engineer to the head of the company. He was always faithful to his employer and did not waste a minute. Now, he could afford to waste some time after making his name. He took a letter up from his desk which had familiar writing on it. It was from his son, asking him the same question that he had asked his father thirty years before. His I I son was in his college and was a far better athlete than he had ever been. He thought and thought. Should he let his son enjoy his life while he was young? Or should he make him go out into the world as he had done? Finally he made up his mind. He took a piece of writing paper from his desk and wrote.—That is for you to find out, reader. Which answer did he send his son—the answer he had received from his father, or the simple word, Yes? W. E. Mullen, ’17 WHEN THE ANIMALS ESCAPED. Grandpa Seeley sat on the front porch with his rheumatic feet carefully encased in roomy carpet slippers. William Seeley was hunched on the steps below, busily littering them with pink skins from a pan of new potatoes. It was high noon on a June Saturday and the street was swept clean of all other inhabitants, even boys and dogs. From distant Main Street the rollicking blare of a steam calliope announced the arrival of a mammoth circus, with fifty big acts and forty splitting clowns, as the flaming posters had been announcing for some time. William Seeley went on peeling his potatoes with the desperation of a vivisectionist. Grandpa eyed his efforts with mixed severity and pride. “Keep them skins off the steps, Willum,” he admonished. “I ain't going to flop into the rose-bush again.” The riotous calliope cut off his reminiscence. “Circuses is circuses,” Grandpa Seeley re- sumed, “and always will be circuses—only the lions get mangier and less ferocious and the bareback gals, in spangles, get fatter an’ more human-like as we get older.” Distant sounds of cheering rent the air, and Grandpa Seeley stopped to listen. “You recollect that old lion-skin sleigh- robe, Willum,” he went on determinedly, “and how your pa said I had skunned it off a man-eatin’ feline in Africa?” Grandpa snick- ered. “Well, it wan’t so. I bought it in Oil City, and it came near swallowin’ me once, boots and all. “Your pa was a boy at the time,” Grandpa went on, “and the circus was cornin’ to town, just like to-day, on a special train. The station agent, in the excitement, had forgot to flag the down freight. They met—the freight and the circus special—an’ the freight walked through the circus train, animile cages an’ all. “The first thing Independence knowed a- bout it was a flock of kangaroos, hoppin’ an’ skippin’ up Main Street. They was followed by chatterin’ monkeys, baboons, and lions. “On account of them having thought that I had shot that African lion, they all of them rushed to my house an’ gathered around me. Your grandma and pa had come up to the kitchen, where I was and were trembling with fear. “Pretty soon your pa slipped out, but so quietly we did not notice him. I took your grandma by the arm and we walked to the outside door and flung it open. There, ready to spring, within six feet was the man-eatin’ lion. “I shut the door softly and turned the 12 The Golden-Rod key till it squeaked in the lock. “Up stairs quick!’ I says to your grandma. We crept up the back stairs and got under the bed clothes. The bed began to heave, and slowly a lion crawled forth from under it, but sud- denly his skin got caught in the slats. He wriggled a moment, then there was a wild jump and your pa dashed for the door, leav- ing my old lion skin flattened out on the floor. But we caught him an’—my palm aches to this day from the hidin’ I gave him.” The rumble of the vehicles and the blare of the silver trumpets billowed down from Main Street. “Is your grandma asleep?” asked Grandpa, reaching for his cane. “I reckon I’m an old fool enough to go down to the circus lot with you, Willum.” Marion Gaudf i, T7. THE DEACON’S GIRL. When Deacon Jones’ wife died—due to a train wreck and hailed by the Deacon with no show of sorrow—he swore that he would never look at another woman. His spinster sister came to look after the house and the Deacon tended strictly to the garden and his Sunday sermons. One day he was on his way home from the village when he passed a fence which was completely covered with highly colored posters. They were advertisements of a cabaret show to be given in the village theatre the following three nights. “Such things in this respectable town should be abolished!” stormed the Deacon, as he began to rip the terrible things from the fence. But the pictures were attractive and the Deacon stopped to look at them. “Some gals!” he murmured as his eyes fell upon a group of ballet girls. Their costumes were scant, very much so to the uninitiated eyes of the Deacon, who stared open-mouthed. “Wonder what people would say if I went?” he murmured to himself as he shuffled off down the road, a piece of pink poster peeking from his pocket. II. The first night of the show found the Deacon in a front seat, his hat balanced on his knees and his eyes glued to the fancy painted curtain. At last it rolled hoarsely up- ward and the Deacon nearly swallowed his false teeth, for the posters had not done half justice. A dozen girls, dressed in pieces of pink silk and shoulder straps, came forward, all smiles and rosy checks, and began to sing and dance. The Deacon stared, his eyes nearly popping from their sockets. The girl on the right hand end — she was a pretty girl, too—caught his eye and held it the whole evening. The Deacon walked on air all the way home, his head full of pink tights and the red lips and cheeks of the girl on the right hand end. When he flung open his door, he greeted his sister with a smile and went up- stairs to bed, whistling, with the cat clasped tightly under his left arm. III. The next night found the Deacon in the same seat, a smile of contentment on his face and a red carnation ablaze in his button-hole. When the curtain went down on the last act, the Deacon, with sure aim, tossed the car- nation to the feet of the girl on the right hand end. She picked it up and, turning, smiled most bewitchingly at the Deacon and threw him a kiss. The Deacon went home all smiles and laughter but his joyousness soon died, for his sister met him on the door step. “Hiram Jones! where have you been? To the club?” The Deacon coughed out a “Yes!” and said that they had had a very unusual meet- ing. Then he escaped to bed. The Golden-Rod 13 IV. The Deacon occupied the same place the next night and he was dressed up. Me wore his best suit, his tall black hat, his brown gloves, and his flaring green tie. In his hands was a big bunch of red carnations, so big that the Deacon could hardly see over them. He was to escort the girl to the sta- tion after the performance. When the curtain fell, the Deacon made his way to the stage entrance and waited patient- ly. After a few moments the girl came out but who was that with her? He was tall and wore a big fur coat, and the girl carried a large bunch of nodding American beauties. The Deacon stood stock still and watched them enter an automobile drawn up at the curb. The girl glanced around and saw the Deacon. “Oh, Jimmy!” she cried as she leaned toward the fur-coated man, “look at the rube!” The man laughed and slipping his arm a- bout the girl drew her close and the car slid out of sight around the corner. The Deacon said something, no matter what, Hung the flowers into the gutter, and, swing- ing around on his heel, walked home to his sermons and his garden. Doris Condon, T7. THE QUITTER. Albert Norris was in deep thought; he was thinking of what the doctor had just told him concerning his brother Bob. Bob had been sickly all his life but had grown worse lately and the doctor had now advised A1 to take him west, hoping that the change of climate would make him a new person. Their cousin Frank had a ranch in Arizona and A1 decided to take his brother there. While at school A1 had gone in for sports, but when he thought there was no chance of his getting on the first team he had quit. For this reason he had not made much of a star of himself. When they arrived in Arizona. Frank was glad to see them and made them acquainted with his cowboys. At first A1 was a general favorite but, as cowboys like the fellows who, if up against a hard proposition, stick to it till they conquer, he soon lost their respect and became nicknamed “The Quitter ” This was too much for A1 and he determined to make good. When the round-up came and A1 asked Jake, the foreman, if he might go with him, the latter replied that he wanted only people who could work, not quitters. Frank, how- ever, took Al’s part and arranged for him to go with the outfit .He made many blunders, though he tried his best, and was frequently reprimanded by Jake. One night about twelve o’clock the cook’s helper rushed into the bunk house, yelling that some one had stolen all their horses from the corral. He had thought from the noise that the coyotes were bothering the horsesand had gone out only to find every horse gone. Jakes was furious and immediately dis- patched men back to the ranch to get a posse. In this necessary loss of time A1 saw his chance to make good. He took some water and food and set out at once on the trail made by the horses. In the moonlight the track showed clearly. He ran and walked at intervals all night, but toward morning lay down to rest. As yet he had not been missed from the camp. He slept till noon; then took something to eat and started on again. About four o’clock he heard a horse ap- proaching in the distance. He hid behind some bushes but did not have long to wait, for soon a familiar big bay horse with a vicious looking individual on his back appeared. A1 ordered the rider to put up his hands and dismount; the man, greatly surprised, obeyed in silence. Then A1 took the roj e 14 The Golden - Rod from the saddle and bound him, hand and foot. Leaving the man on the ground. A1 mounted the horse and forced him ahead at a rapid rate, for night was coming on. Just as he came over a knoll, he saw, in the dusk, smoke rising from a house in the woods. Dismounting, he advanced upon the place cautiously and soon discovered that it was the place he was seeking. A sudden peal of boisterous laughter from the cabin told him that the men were drunk. After letting down the bars of the improvised corral, he made hi? way to the other side of it and threw stones at the horses in order to start them through the open gate. This noise brought the men to the door. A1 took careful aim, fired, and as luck would have it, hit one man, and angered the others. This additional noise thoroughly frightened the horses and they broke for the open prairie in a perfect stampede. A1 followed in the darkness, recovered his own animal, and started to round up the others. By morning, just as he had suc- ceeded fairly well, he met the posse com- ing after the thieves. While A1 was still a good way off, he heard a cowboy remark. “Here comes ‘The Quitter’ with our horses. I wonder—But he said no more, for he saw Jake’s face and stopped. That ex- pression was not often seen on the fore- man’s face. “He ain’t no quitter,” Jake announced, “and the next man who calls him that will get the contents of my gun to pick out of his hide.” Russell Sears, ’17. HIS LAST CHANCE. The day for the big meet of the year had arrived and with it came John King’s last chance to win his letter, for on the next day he was to graduate. As he put on his track suit, he recalled how he had come to Eaton College, three years before, a weak, puny freshman, and how he had determined to make his letter at any price. Here was his last chance. His event was the three-mile run, the last contest of the day. The dashes, the shot-put, the jumps, the pole-vault, the half-mile, and the mile went off, and then the three-mile race was called. The Eatonites were frantic, for the score was in favor of Benson University, 55-52, and this final race had to be won to win the meet. As .he runners lined up at the start, a deep roar resounded in the big stadium. Now, for the first time, John learned that Captain Williams, of Eaton, was not in the race, be- cause of a pulled tendon, and he saw Johnson the best distance-man in the state, lined up against him. Then the full meaning of the situation dawned upon him. lie was re- sponsible if the meet were lost, and he would receive the glory if it were won. The voice of his captain rang in his ears, encouraging, imploring, threatening. “On your marks!” ‘‘Get set!” Bang! The race was on. Johnson sprinted for the pole, and got it by a big margin. Now began the long, grinding run. King saw that his only chance of winning was to stay back until the last, letting the other runners keep Johnson at his best, and so he slowed down, dropping into sixth place. At this, groans arose from the cheering section, and shriek- ing voices urged him on. But John knew his business; he was using his head as well as his legs. At the end of the first mile, the run- ners were in two sections, King at the head of the second. At the beginning of the third mile, the race had narrowed down to four runners, King in last place. Now the real fight was on; now came the final test of training. Breathing heavily, John slipped up a place. Johnson, in the lead, looked back and smiled, thinking that King was nearly exhausted, and that the race was already won. Again King drew up a place, The Golden-Rod 15 and now Johnson saw his peril and spurted. Immediately, John closed up. At the be- ginning of the third lap, Johnson spurted again; but King stuck close to his heels. Now the gong was ringing for the last lap. The crowd was yelling like mad, rattles were clattering, horns were blowing, and John, dim-eyed and faint, gritted his teeth and sprinted. How slowly he seemed to be going! Would he ever get there? But now he saw the tape, ahead. With a final effort, he plunged forward, felt the tape break a- cross his chest, and fell, a huddled heap, on the cinder path. He had won the meet. Hugh Nixon, ’17. THE BEAUTY OF CHILDHOOD. After H. B. Wright’s 1 The blue of the clear summer sky is the chosen color of the eyes of childhood. Per- haps some fairy took a piece of the blue sky and put it into childhood’s eyes; perhaps it was luck that it so happened; perhaps it was done by the hands of Providence; whoever it was that did it, it still remains that child- hood’s eyes are as blue as the summer sky. The crimson of the rising and setting sun paints childhood’s cheeks. Perhaps some playful fairy painted them, perhaps luck was called to this duty, perhaps the hands of Providence painted them; whoever did it, the rising and setting sun still paints child- hood’s cheeks a beautiful crimson, 'flic golden sunlight dancing on the ripples of the waters gives childhood the hue of its flowing tresses. Perhaps a fairy gave it, perhaps it was luck, or perhaps Providence gave it Himself; whoever gave it, childhood’s THEIR YESTERDAYS.” tresses still are golden as the sunlight on the ripples. The sunlight striking the dew-drops puts the sparkle into childhood’s eyes. Per- haps some fairy put it there, perhaps luck or Providence; whoever did it, the sparkle of childhood’s eyes is like the sparkle of the dew- drops in the sunshine. The song of the birds, now soft and how, now sweet and strong, gives the note to childhood’s tongue; who- ever did it, this still remains so. The romp- ing, playing, and skipping of the little lamb and kitten have given a playful spirit to child- hood’s heart. The soft gurgle and ripple of a silvery brook is like the laughter of the innocent child. Now the beauty of child- hood is compared with the beauties of nature. This beauty of childhood is given to us to keep pure and holy, but has anyone ever kept it so? Isaac N. Wainionpaa, T7. A HILL-TOP SUNSET. As we reached the summit of the hill the sun had just set in a burst of golden glory. Far below, spread in a cup-like valley, the prosperous little city lay. Church-spires, towers, and grimy smoke-stacks pierced the damp evening mist, making little dark smudges against the smooth sunset-tinted gray of the mist. The sky above us was like a great over- turned bowl, closed down tight over the horizon line. In the west where ‘Old Sol’ had just retired to rest the sky was golden, shading to a rosv-pink, then orange, yellow, and light green. Then up overhead it merged into a great infinite blue, which, in turn, shaded to violet and darkened to purple. This great rainbow sky was reflected faintly in the mist covered valley. Marion Joyce, T7. Seniors were born for great things; Juniors were born for small; But it is not recorded Why Freshmen were born at all. Ex. 16 The Golden- Rod SCHOOL LIFE. DEBATING SOCIETY. A regular meeting of the Debating Society was held on Wednesday evening, March 17. The debate scheduled for this meeting was postponed and in its place, a practice debate, preliminary to that which Quincy is to have with Weymouth, was held. The question was: Resolved that the Filipinos should have their immediate independence. The follow- ing were the disputants: (affirmative) Smith, Foy, McDonald, and MacMahon; (negative) Bowen, Kidder, Brokaw, and Marr. After an exceedingly close and interesting debate, the decision was given to the affirmative, who are to debate against Weymouth on this same question. Mr. Collins, who acted as chairman of the judges, gave the fellows a short talk in which he praised the work of the society and gave much good advice. The nominating committee submitted the name of Arthur Bowen for assistant secretary. Mr. Bowen was unanimously elected to fill that office. On Friday, March 10, the committee chosen to negotiate with the Weymouth High School Debating Society, held a conference with a representative of that society. At this meeting it was decided that the debate between the two schools should take place at Quincy High School on Wednesday evening April 7, at 7.30 It was also decided to invite the pupils of the schools to listen to this debate. THALIA CLUB. A surprise entertainment was given to the girls on the afternoon of March 18 by several members of the club. The affair was intro- duced by twelve girls of the sophomore class, in costume, representing roses, who gave an excellent exhibition of several folk dances. A playlet entitled “Every Girl was next presented. This is a short allegory showing how a thoughtful girl, though temporarily at- tracted by many of life’s pleasing externals has sufficient will power and judgment to reject all such things and accept in their places Love, Work, and Health. The various parts were admirably taken by the follow- ing:— Every girl—C harlot te Ba rstow. Hope—Jennie Gibb. Mirth—Dorothy Stevens. I Vcalth—M arion Si mpson. K n owl edge—Marion Walt her. Beauty—Hester Harkins. Work—Anna Campbell. Health—Margaret Park. Love—Florence Crowell. The committee in charge of the enter- tainment was Mildred Harrison, Margaret Atwood, and Margaret Park. The Club has been obliged to give up its annual dramatics for this year owing to the great demand for the use of the school hall by other organizations of the school. On the afternoon of March 27, the girls went on a hike along Adams. Shore, where they ate their lunches. Those in charge were Emma Kendall and Alice Hogan. SCHOOL. The annual dramatic production of the senior class, to be presented in the school hall on the evening of April 23, is in full progress with daily rehearsals. The play selected this year is a three-act comedy en- titled “Bachelor Hall” and from the reports that we hear, the cast promises to give us three acts full of life and action. It be- hooves everybody who possibly can to “get in” on this treat. The following cast have been selected:— Hon. Geoffrey Myrtleton, Congressman from the 10th District..........Earle Simmons. I Deacons from Rambletown. Elisha Bassett,) Wesley Browne, Lincoln Crosscup. 1 be (golden - Rod 17 Ensign Jack Meredith, acting under sealed orders..............Willard Crcxker. Vere Lee, an amateur actor and author of “The Fatal Shot. .............Sturgis hunt. Pinkerton Case, an amateur detective .... Reginald Gay. Jasper, the butler at Bachelor Hall...... Clarence Carlson. O’Rourke, a policeman .... Robert Davis. Betty Vance, Myrtleton s ward ........... Katiieryx Follet. Polly Reynolds, an amateur actress....... Mildred Burke. Mrs. Van Styne, who has dramatic aspirations Gladys Du Plessis Claire, her daughter who has not......... .............. Dorothy Brown. The pupils of the second and third year German classes have formed a club to be called “Der Deutsche Verein” for the pur- pose of further cultivation of the German language. The club met in a somewhat in- formal manner on the afternoon of March 31 with Miss Zeller for its first meeting. No one, on penalty of paying a forfeit, was per- mitted to speak a word of English. German games and songs were played and sung, everybody having a jolly good time. It is hoped to secure the services of outsiders to speak upon such topics as may be of in- terest to the members. It is with pleasure that we have noted the increased interest shown by the girls in athletics during the year. Much interest was shown in the organization of class basket ball teams, especially among the sophomore girls, who succeeded in turning out a cham- pionship team, winning three out of four games. Plans are being made by the the girls to form a field hockey team under Miss Anderson’s coaching. The sophomore class have selected their class pin, which is designed somewhat after the pin of the class of 191(5. The pin is oval in shape bearing the seal of the city of Quincy finished in gold. At the top “High School” is printed in golden letters upon a dark red field, the class color. At the bottom “Quincy” is printed in golden letters upon a white field. The class numerals 1917 are divided, 19 being placed on one side and 17 on the opposite side. The pin is of a very neat design and no doubt will be extremely pop- ular with the class. An exceedingly interesting and instruc- tive lecture on New England’s perishable food Supply was delivered to the members of the commercial classes during the fifth and sixth periods of March 12, by Mr. Briggs of the Boston Fruit and Produce Exchange. Mr. Briggs spoke on the subjects of eggs, poultry, butter, meats and oranges, giving many in- teresting facts about their production, treat- ment in cold storage, and consumption, which were thoroughly enjoyed by the pupils. The speaker also pointed out the numerous opportunities awaiting future producers. If applause is a sign, we shall have enough men in this business in a few years so that New England may export rather than import these perishable commodities. Miss Amsden promises to give us another entertainment in the form of a concert some- what similar to that given at Christmas. Possibly the pupils will have a chance to do their share toward making it a success. The date has been set at about April 30. The Quincy High School Athletic As- sociation has started a campaign among the men of the city in order to secure funds for the coming base-ball season. The idea is to sell a number of tickets for two dollars or as much more as one wishes, entitling the holder to an honorary membership in the association. In this manner the association hopes to get the much needed support of the business men. Come on, fellows, get your fathers interested and help a mighty good cause. The senior class meeting of March 20 was an excellent illustration of the “rule of a few 18 7 h e Golden-Rod mighty” as far as the class photograph was concerned. At this meeting President Crocker ap- pointed for the annual senior reception committee: Willard Crocker, chairman ; Robert Davis, Lincoln Crosscup, Margaret Park, Marion Wilson, and Louise Churchill. The following have been appointed as the senior banquet committee: Sturgis Hunt, chairman; Thomas Barstow, Hazel Henry, and Dorothy Brown. Twelfth Night, given on March 12, was the fourth of the matinees offered to high school pupils at the Boston Opera House. Owing to the disbanding of the Jewett Company for this season, the fifth and last production, which was to have been selected from the more modern plays, has been cancelled, and the money of ticket holders refunded. It is needless to say that the pupils thoroughly enjoyed the offerings of the players and hope that similar arrangements can be made in the future. The fire drill of March 23 emptied the en- tire building in a little under ninety seconds. This is the shortest time so far this year and speaks well for the co-operation of all. Miss Elinor Furber is taking the place of Miss Ryan in Room 10. The school flag was placed at half mast March 23 out of respect to Charles Francis Adams. Did you know that: And idea in some people’s heads would get awfully lonely? A fool continues to argue when he is con- vinced that he is wrong? Some people’s minds are like sponges— they give forth only what has been soaked into them? Some folks are like rocking chairs—full of motion without progress. It is better to have a boil than a grouch: you can usually cure the boil. Arthur Bowen, News Editor. BACHELOR HALL Senior dramatics QUINCY HIGH SCHOOL April 23, 1915 8 O’clock CAST HON. GEOFFREY MYRTLETON......................... SILAS JERVIS.................................... ELISHA BASSETT.................................. ENSIGN JACK MEREDITH............................ PINKERTON CASE.................................. VERE LEE....................................... JASPER......................................... O’ROURKE........................................ BETTY VANCE.................................... POLLY REYNOLDS.................................. MRS. VAN STYNE................................. CLAIRE, her daughter.......................... COACH—MISS ELIZABETH O’NEILL EARLE SIMMONS LINCOLN CROSSCUP WESTEY BROWNE WILLARD CROCKER REGINALD H. GAY STURGIS H. HUNT .CLARENCE CARLSON ......JAMES SMITH KATHERINE EOLLETT MILDRED BURKE GLADYS DU PLESM ..DOROTHY BROWN- TICKETS 50c and 35c Reserved The Golden-Rod 19 ALUMNI NOTES. The editorial staff of the “Golden-Rod has chosen a new editor for this column as the combined work of this column and the ex- change column seemed to be too great a burden for one person. The Alumni Association has certainly got a good start. They are planning to give a play in charge of Mrs. Willard Shepard (n6e Molly Brown) on May 8th for the benefit of the High School Athletic Associa- tion. On June 3rd there is to be a picnic, featured by a baseball game between the odds and evens. A membership campaign will be held in April. The Association will play the High School base ball team on April 19th and they arc also planning some tennis matches. They are in hope of defeat- ing the school teams and thus make up for the defeat which they received in basketball this winter. Edwin I). McDonald, T3, is working as a shipper, at the G. E. Keith Co., South Boston. Richard Ash, T3, is studying at Tufts College. Ruth Gordon (Jones) T4, who is studying at the Three Arts Club, New York, had a small part in a play entitled “The Rented Earl” at Maxine Elliot’s theatre, New York. Edward L. Newcomb T3, is employed at the Tubular Rivet and Stud Co., Quincy. C. Fuller T3, is taking a course at Mass- achusetts Agricultural College. Mitchel Martin T3, is working for his father. Edward Lyons T4, has a position in Boston. Francis O’Brien T4, and Emery Tobin are employed at the Fore River Shipbuilding Co., Quincy. Frank Townsend T4 is working at the McElwain Shoe Company. The Ohio Journal-Herald, a few weeks ago, spoke of the splendid work of Allison Marsh, Q. H. S. ’09 and Amherst ’13, in the physical department of Wesleyan University as as- sistant to Prof. Dixon. This is his first year at Wesleyan and he is already a great favorite among the students and faculty, and promises to make a great success. Marjorie Snow, Viola Jackson and Priscilla Robinson, all of the class of 1914, were in the Radcliffe freshman play, “Quality Street,” which was presented several weeks ago. Margaret Atwood. Alumni Editor. 6 v.C The Golden-Rod extends a hearty welcome to all the old “Exchanges,” and also to the following new ones;— The Breccia—Portland, Me. The Vermont Pioneer Randolph Center, Ver- mont. The Chro?iicle—Hartford, Conn. The Mirror- Waltham, Mass. The Voice—Concord, Mass. The Recorder—Winchester, Mass. The Wireless—Dedham, Mass. The Green and Gold—Oakland. Cal. The Student—Providence. R. I. The Radiator -Somerville, Mass. The Review—Westboro, Mass. The Rrciew—Newton, Mass. 20 The Golden-Rod The Tattler—Nashua, N. H. The Record—Newbury port, Mass. The Missouri High School—Columbia, Mo. The Stylus—Taunton, Mass. Here’s wishing success to The Wireless from Dedham. Its material looks decidedly promising, and we are sure it will be among the first ranks of the exchanges in a short while. The Recorder from Winchester High con- tains many well-developed columns, but two or three clever cuts would be an improve- ment. A fine quantity of witty jokes brightens the pages of The Mirror from Waltham. The Clarion of West Hartford can afford to develop both its joke and exchange columns. There arc many interesting articles in the Vermont Pioneer. Couldn’t more be made of the Exchange column? We are very glad to welcome The Student from English High, Providence. It iscertainly a fine paper. An exceedingly attractive cover design ap- pears on The Chronicle of Hartford, Conn., for the February number. To The Review of Westboro, Mass., we would suggest that all the advertisements be con- fined to the first and last few pages of the paper. To scatter the “ads,” among the literary departments of a paper detracts from its appearance very much. The Tattler of Nashua has a fine literary de- partment. The Newburyport High School Record has a very pretty cover design. We were very much amused and enter- tained by the jokes in the Stylus of Taunton, Mass. It is certainly a fine paper. This edition of Salmagundi is even more in- teresting than the first one. The cover is certainly very attractive. How we stand with other schools: The Quincy Golden-Rod has a fine cartoon- ist, to say nothing of its many other fine features—School Life, Melrose. The Golden-Rod from Quincy High School deserves praise, for all the departments are well worked out—Reflector, Gloucester, Mass. The Golden-Rod is a bright and witty paper from cover to cover. It also has a good supply of advertisements. —Salmagundi Presque Isle, Maine. Louise Churchill. Exchange Editor. The basket ball team finished third place in the Interscholastic League, being defeated for second position by Winthrop. During the season the team rolled up a total of 324 points against the 242 points gained by their opponents; they won nine and lost six games. The team lost both its games with Wellesley, champions of the League, split with Winthrop and Revere, and took two from Reading. In games with teams which were not in the league, they beat Weymouth twice, Mans- field, Woburn, and the Alumni once, and were beaten twice by Brockton. Hamlin was the high scorer in the team, having netted 30 points up to the time illness forced him out of the game. Davis The Golden - Rod 21 came second with 28 points, 16 of them from free tries. Beaton from the backfield caged 18 points, all baskets. Captain Crocker had 18 points, 10 from the floor, when he was in- jured. Browne contributed 16 points, all from the floor, and Welsford got 16 points, 8 from fouls. The team faced a hard-luck season, for there was hardly a game when every Quincy man was well enough to play the whole game. This was the immediate cause of the irregular- ity of the team’s playing ability. The second team finished tied for first in the Junior Interscholastic League, being tied with Wellesley. During the season the sec- ond team netted 228 points against the 131 of their opponents. The juniors lost but two of the fifteen games played. They won from Revere, Winthrop, Reading, and Brock- ton twice; Holbrook 1st once; and split with Weymouth and Wellesley. The splended success of the second team is not due to any one player alone but to the entire team, for every man on that team showed a spirit of fight and enthusiasm every moment of play. The players who did such good work are Capt. Morrison, Favreau, Desmond, Gilliat, Rasmussen, and Baker. Each of these men was rewarded with a second team “Q” for his efforts. The following were awarded first team letters for their work during the basket-ball season: Capt. Crocker, Hamlin. Welsford, Browne, Crosscup, Davis, Beaton, Prout, and Manager Roache. Lawrence Beaton, the gritty back, was elected Captain of basket ball for the season of 1916. Townsend Hingston has been chosen manager. The stocky sophomore class team defeated the seniors in a close and exciting game for the class championship. As a result the following sophomores will receive their numer- als: Captain Jenkins, Mullen, De Senso, At- kins, Le Cain, Mecagni, and Rheinhalter. The baseball candidates are practising daily at the park. Coaches Mansur and French have a hard job on their hands to get together a well trained team, as many of last year’s team have either graduated or left school. Bates, last year’s third baseman, has gone to Thayer Academy; Creedon, Dolan, and Sawyer have left school, while Stedman, Jenkins, and .Martin have graduated. Hamlin, who turned from catcher to pitcher last year, will probably be in the box. O’- Connor threw out his arm last year and may not be able to pitch much this year, but if he docs come back. Quincy is sure of two good pitchers. Anderson and Smith may show good form but they are in need of more experience. De Senso and O’Donnell are the leading candidates for the back-stop, both having had a little experience last year. A hard struggle for first is predicted; Arthur, Desmond, Jepson, and Catler are after this sack. Captain Larkin will cover short, his work being quite creditable in this position. At third, Ford is the most likely looking man,although there are several promising men against him who may develop into fast players. In the outfield, Browne and Reardon are the reg- ulars. It is hoped that the team this year will make a better showing than the team of last year, but this is up to the fellows. The pupils in this school lack the spirit of the athletics of the school. When the coaches call for candidates for the different teams a mere handful report. At least one hundred boys should report when a call for candidates is given. Class baseball has been suggested as a means of interesting more of the fellows and of giving the coaches a better line on the material in the lower classes. Robert Foy, Athletic Editor. O.v.C. Mr. Paulson:—What is the unit of power, Browne? “Wet” (starting):—Wot? Mr. Paulson:—That’s correct. Sample “Freshie” Recitation. 1918:—His brother died because he was killed. Miss Perry (to Rosie Du Temple at board):—Change your form, Miss Du Temple —Larson doesn’t like it. Think This Over. Mr. Roache:—What is the principal plank of the Democratic Party? “Jimmie” O’Connor:—Pine! Hunt, the “Brite Boy”:—That’s the name of the big “movie” that’s here today. “Things that Never Happen.” 1916:—C’mon to the movies. I gotta coupla free tickets. 1915:—Aw, Gee, no! I gotta do my French. A Drama in One Scene. Curtain rises on Room 25, Q. H. S. Various pupils busy studying (?). Miss Perry at desk. Enter Leo, who passes to seat and sits down with emphasis. Business of screech and a quick rise. Thumb-tack is discovered. Miss Perry:-—Bring it here, Catler. Is the point gone? (Quick Curtain.) Hunt:—Say, Wet, are you “Bassett” in the play? Browne:—No, boob, I’m rotten—on the level. McDonald (in Debating Club):—The girls’ club had only one absent member at the last meeting. Voice from the Rear:—Were you there? More Truth Than Poetry in This. The one who thinks these jokes are poor, Would quickly change his views Could he compare the ones we print With those we do not use. Slow But Sure. From a “Soph” book report:—“One day Sir Maxwell proposed to Virginia, and a week later they were both engaged to each other.” Miss Perry:—What does “infatuation mean ? McCormack:—It’s something to do with love—I don’t know much about it. Mr. Paulson:—If anything should go wrong in this experiment, we and the labora- tory might be blown sky high. Come closer, class, so you will be able to follow me. At Kincaide’s. “What does that word “asbestos” on the curtain mean? Don: I don’t think I would like to marry any girl unless I knew she was self-sacrific- ing. Nettie:—But wouldn’t that prove it? The Menagerie. Miss Holt (in French):—1st sentence: “Where are the monkeys?” 2nd sentence (as she points to seniors in the rear of the room): “There they are.” Room 8:—Give me a title for comparison. 1918:—“A Ford and an Automobile.” The Golden- Rod 23 Room 34:—You can’t all have drinks. Why are you so dry this morning. ’17:—We’ve just had English. Wight:—What does it mean to “mum- ble?” Teacher:—Listen to yourself sometime and you will know. Weak Voice:—He doesn’t mumble—he raves. “Mother, I don’t feel well.” “That’s too bad, dear. Where do you feel the worst?” “In school, mother.” R. H. Gay, Joke Editor. PiERci on srpArfiKK,$ DAY ' Those tele- ‘ PHONES ARE A NO i 5ANC E WHAT hAPPEHE 0 TO THE COT WATER, MR FoLL.£RfO)0 THE PA20R -SLIP? WE NO TICE THAT ' MOST 0FTH6 FRESH MEN 8uvnilK AT vic HC LTi(t TAKfS AU HJ -UNCM the sixth period every OAT 2, RECESS WHY NOT SUPPLY THE Ml WITH THE PROPER MtRNSOT J OpiNKiNO T SalTED PEANUTSv its A pretty hard JOB TO COT TOAST WITH WOOLP'NT A PA A OF SCISSORS 6E I0F6REAT HELP EViOEMTtY ES Some op us t HAVE SPRlN6 FEVER. mote THE SHH-E. W TH THE PERMISSION |0P MissurAviTr WE PuBLlSHIN THIS ISSUE -A PICTURE OF HER PET LADy BOP , TO WHICH SHE IJ VERY MUCH ATTACHED. All THOSE .WASHING To SEE’ THE LATTEA RPLY TO MR A5CHEN04CH who Acrs AS its KttPER. size- aOopt n 3.£ FLORENCE C POWELU AMU5E5 HEfi- SELf OuR'NE- HISTORY BY SHOOT in 0ASKET5. . ( rnis o A PicT Rt I SF THAT MYST£t?(0uS V -'ttle ftvepe Found IN ROOM 29. rjfV r0R FURTHER [CROCKEfi MRTICULARS SEE DID IT EVER HAPPEN TO YOU ? Paul larkin vJriAT's tm£ i DtA RvSS7 PRIVATE DETECTIVE, VALET Oft JUST PLAIN Pt'AR G0AtU ? THE JWStt I FOR LURCH AT RECESS- EASTER NOVELTIES For Young Men and Women All the new Fabric Tops, and Rubber Soled Specialties An Immense Stock Women La Fiance Men He Shoes GRANITE SHOE STORE™ o HOqE nAcRyKET YOUNG ws FASHION CLOTHES SOCIETY CLOTHES HART, SCHAFFNER MARX Good Clothes Correct dress for Young Men. Quincy Representative W. A. Carey 3 Continental Washington Boylston Streets, Boston, Mass. Show some Spirit Patronize our Advertisers MACULLAR PARKER COMPANY Give Special Attention to Clothing Boys and Young Men for School and College. Garments in Latest Styles and Fabrics. Made in Workshops on the premises. Full Line of Furnishing Goods. STETSON HATS 400 Washington Street Boston, Mass. Compliments of H. G. CROCKER, Mason and General Contractor, 17 Park Lane, QUINCY, MASS. SHUR-ON SHUR-ON EYEGLASS High School Pupils Need Strong Eyes Consult Williams EXPERIENCED OPTOMETRIST 1473 Hancock Street - Quincy Tel. 987-W Res. 1122-W Mention THE GOLDEN-ROD when patronizing our advertisers C. E. WOOD Whatever you are looking for in the way of groceries, canned goods, preserves, and anything else that a first class grocery always carries, can be found in large assortment at our stores. Our uniform courtesy, quick service, low prices and high grade goods have made the casual buyer a steady customer. Try us once, and your future order will be ours. Quality and efficiency are our watchwords. Mams Madet FOY'S Watei St. City Square TWO STORES Cor Quincy Phone 1980 Phone 117 MAGIC INK ERASER Every Student should Have One. Confectionery, Soda Ice Cream also Erases Blots, Type- writing and all pen- work . Home Baked Beans, Bread, Cake Pies. PRICE 25 CENTS No. 103 Newbury Ave. Atlantic. F. B. Gould 899 Hancock St., Wollaston City Flower Store Carl Johnson, Prop., Cut Flowers and Plants Decorating, etc., Telephone 275-W 1361 Hancock St. City Square Quincy, Mass. Quincy Savings Bank QUINCY, MASS. Incorporated 1845. JOHN Q. A. FIELD, Pres. RICHARD D. CHASE, Vice Pres. CLARENCE BLRGIN, Treas. BANK HOURS 8:30 A. M. to 3 P. M. SATURDAYS 8:30 A. M. to 12 M. KINCA1DE THEATRE MATINEE DAILY AT 2.30 P M. Same Program as in the Evening. Changed Mon. Thur. 2 HOUR SHOW FOR 10c Evenings at 7.45 10, 15, 25c REGULAR ORCHESTRA Mention THE GOLDEN-ROD when patronizing our advertisers THF QUINCY DEPARTMENT STORE Complete line of Student’s and Teacher’s Furnishings 1435-1437 HANCOCK STREET QUINCY - - MASS Compliments of BROWN CROWELL QUINCY ADAMS Quincy Pianoforte School CLAUDE HACKLETON, Director Greenleaf Block, 1419 Hancock Street, Quincy Patrons of our school can depend upon EXCELLENCE and REFINEMENT in every particular. Pupils in all grades received at any time. Class or private lessons. RECITAL IN JUNE. HARVARD DENTAL SCHOOL A Department of Harvard University Graduates of secondary schools admitted with- out examination provided they have taken re- quired subjects. Modern buildings and equipment. Large clinics give each student unusual opportunities for practical work. Degree of D. M. D. Catalog. EUGENE H. SMITH, D. M. D., Dean, Boston, Mass. Our Trade Mark Shoes DOROTHY DODD, SOROSIS, RALSTON, EMERSON Just around the cor. 1 GRANITE ST. QUINCY CHARLES C. HEARN We carry the largest line of high grade candies in the city. Try us and see. QUINCY SQUARE. Have your shoes repaired at A. E. PAINTEN 337 Newport Ave., Wollaston First class work Mention THE GOLDEN-ROD when patronizing our advertiser Angel Guardian Press 90-100 Ruggles St Boston, Mass.