Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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9 The Golden-Rod “We oughter compromise,” rejoined Fatty. “YVhad yer do when yer compromise?” “Why, yer settle a scrap by each side a- greein to give in on sumthin’,” replied Fatty with satisfaction, as he noticed his superiority in diplomacy. “Wal, I ain’t givin’ in to nobody,” was the rejoinder. “Now, I’m not askin’ yer to, but let’s do this. Each one of us agree to ask Lenore which one she likes best. Then, if she says you, I’ll drop out, but if she says me, you gotta fall off.” “That’s fair enuff. When will we ask her?” “Tomorrow after school,” said Fatty as he turned away and started homeward. “I wonder if Fat’s got sumthin’ up his sleeve or not,” mused Sharky, watching. Fatty disappeared around the bend. As was agreed, the next day Fatty and Sharky accompanied Lenore home. “Lenore,” began Fatty, “which one of us do you like best?” “Why, I don’t know,” she answered pensively “I-I like you both.” “Aw, I don’t see what there’s in that fat boob to like,” interrupted Sharky, scowling darkly. “Now, that’s not nice of you at all,” admonished Lenore, giving him a reproachful look. “Me an’ Sharky there have agreed to com- promise,” hinted Fatty again. “Compromise? About what?” she asked, innocently. “Wal, it’s this way,” Fatty replied, “we can’t both be your beau, so one of us has gotta fall off. I promised to stay away if you picked him, an’ he promised the same if you picked me.” Lenore remained silent for some moments. She was thinking of some way to delay her answer. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” she exclaimed, a sudden bright idea occurring to her, “I’ll wait until 1 know which of you is the braver. The one that proves himself the most cour- ageous will be my choice.” Having uttered these words, she fled from them, her black curls waving in the wind and her ringing laughter reaching their ears. “Wal, what are we goin’ to do now?” demanded Sharky. “Wait, I guess,” was Fatty’s answer. Thus a week passed, most unsatisfactory to them both. One night, as Fatty was returning home from the village store, he decided to take a short-cut around the orchard which be- longed to Lenore’s father. Fatty never did any unnecessary walking. This short-cut led him directly along the stone-wall which enclosed the orchard. As Fatty looked up, he saw the large, heavily laden apple trees standing just within the wall. Temptation, in alliance with his ravenous stomach, seized .him He yielded to his cannibalistic tendencies and clambered over the wall. After a gieat deal of laborious exertion, he gained a perch on the lower limbs of a tree where he was quite hidden by foliage. He paused to regain his wind. Suddenly he heard the stealthy footsteps of some one approaching, but he could see no one. He remained glued to the branch, scarcely daring to breathe. He watched motionlessly, while a dusky figure sprang over the wall with a bag in his hand. Fatty almost lost his hold when the person made straight for the tree in which he was concealed. The unknown paused directly beneath him. He knelt down and began to grope about in the darkness. It was then that a misfortune happened to Fatty. The branch, unable to withstand the strain of Fatty’s superfluous weight, cracked and hurled him plumpathwart the second villain. Simultaneous with this excitement, Mr. Miles came running from the house and collared both of the bewildered thieves. “Ah! caught in the act,” he exclaimed, savagely, “What have you got to say for yourselves?” Fatty’s supposed accomplice, who proved to be Eli W hitcomb’s negro gardener, threw himself at his captor’s feet, protesting in a

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8 The Go Ide n- Ro d FATTY’S SPRING FEVER. How beautiful she was! Never had Fatty’s heart so nearly jumped out of his mouth, never had his eyes so narrowly escaped popping out of his head as when he had his fust glimpse of her. He pushed back his history book and fastened a hungry gaze upon the idol of his thoughts. She was a girl of quality and refinement. Her black hair fell in long glossy curls upon her graceful shoulders. Dark eye-brows spanned a smooth high brow, a slightly curved nose and a well-set mouth surmounted the oval of her chin. But the eyes were the most attractive of her whole countenance, sparkling pools of hazel color, that flashed superiority. Lenore Miles was her name. Her father, having been successful in business, had purchased Ben Harrison’s farm, to which he had retired with intentions of carrying out his former ambition—to run a farm. Lenore, much to her chagrin, had been compelled to enter the village school. At first, she had scornfully rejected any attempts at friend- ship, but soon she relaxed and became a treasure abounding in frolic and gaiety. She had especially aroused the hidden sentiments of Fatty and Sharky who became bitter rivals for her favors. Sharky had eliminated all other candidates by threatening “to knock the stuffin’s outer ’em.” Fatty had to be dealt with in another manner, since Sharky’s ability to include Fatty in his threat was doubtful. Fatty, having analized her fascinating appearance for the hundredth time, allowed his imagination to carry him still further and he began his chief diversion, building castles in the air. He pictured himself outdis- tancing all rivals for her affection except one, the lanky, contemptible Sharky. And when the fatal day came, she decided in Sharky’s favor and he left the village, leaving dire threats of suicide behind him. About this time his country was invaded by a foreign power and he responded to the call to arms. He rose in rank from a private to a com- mander through valiant and hazardous ser- vice. What a brilliant scene that last terrible battle made, in which he rode a spirited horse, leading his men into the thick of the battle! Sharky was killed while fleeing from his ranks. The enemy were finally driven out of the country, and he experienced his triumphant return to the village amid waving flags and cheering people. Then Lenore came, humbly asking forgiveness which he granted after a great deal of deliberation. Having become so popular, he was elected president with the divine Lenore as his wife. Now occured the last sad event. He fell sick and was attended by a dozen gray- whiskered doctors who gravely shook their heads. Lenore was constantly at his bed- side, soothing him with brave words or stroking his feverish brow. But as his chances of living grew slimmer, she did nothing but sob and whisper his name. Nevertheless he died, leaving Lenore with a broken heart and the nation mourning his expiration. Large tears ran down Fatty’s cheeks and splashed upon his desk. Suddenly his dreams violently exploded. The teacher was standing over him aiming rapid blows with a ruler on his knuckles. The whole class were tittering. “Samuel,” she exclaimed angrily, “you may stay after school and recite your history. Sleepy head!” Fatty reopened his neglected book and buried his burning face in the pages. So Fatty and Sharky were rivals, and Lenore seemed to enjoy their attentions and anxieties. But Fatty, not content with matters as they stood, resolved to have them decided. One day after school he approached Sharky and said, “We ain’t doin’ things right.” “Wal?” answered Sharky, quizzically.

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10 The Golden- Rod frightened voice, “I didn’t mean nuthin’ sah, I didn’t mean nuthin.’ I was only takin’ a couple of apples sah, when he caught me, sah.” The negro pointed a shaky finger at Fatty who was still in Mr. Miles’ clutch. Fatty, suddenly realizing the situation, calmly returned the puzzled look of Mr. Miles. “Just as the nigger says, Mister Miles. I was cuttin’ across your field when I saw him in your orchard. So I sneaked upon him and got him right there. An then you came out.” Mr. Miles allowed the negro to go after threatening to have him hanged. He then patted Fatty on the back, saying, “My boy, you’re a brave young fellow to tackle such a character.” Fatty pushed his chest into greater ex- pansion. “Come into the house,” continued Mr. Miles, “while I tell my wife and daughter what a brave act you just did.” The next day Lenore gave her premature decision. R. C. Johnson, T7. THE PAINTING FAMILY. Father paints; you bet he paints The house, the barn, the fence; And daubs up our old furniture And makes it look immense. Pa’s handy with the paints! Mother paints; you bet she paints; Cupids, vines, and bugs, And fancy flower things on silk, And on our cups and mugs. Ma certainly can paint! Brother paints; you bet he paints; Big pictures, six by eight! With houses, rocks and animals, And burning sunsets. Great! Yes, brother sure can paint. Sister paints; you bet she paints; What? Say, leave that to Grace! She paints her eyes, her lips, her cheeks, And kalsomines her face. Yes, sister, sure can paint! And how ’bout me? Oh, I just paint The old town one bright red, When our home team runs up the score, And leaves the Red Sox dead! Gee! That’s when I splash paint. Gunnar Carlson, T7. SPRING. After the chill winds of winter, After the ice and the snow, When the day lingers now a bit longer, And the sun has a rosier glow— Mother Earth awakes from her slumbers, Clad in her loveliest green, Cheering all hearts with her presence— Joyous, peaceful, serene. Violets wake in the meadows, Birds from the tree-tops sing. Brooks babble sweet in the woodlands, To chant the fair message of Spring. Mildred B. Harrison, TO,