Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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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

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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.

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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.