Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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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.

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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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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