Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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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,

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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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The Golden- Rod 11 SPRING. The Golden-Rod’s call for a Spring con- tribution Will bring, once again, a swift retribution. For again, I must try, with some doggerel poor, To convince Miss S. Dawes that I’m work- ing for sure. I never succeeded in doing that stunt, For the doggerel never got more than one grunt. The janitor gets some more work from my pen, And Miss Dawes hopes once more that I won’t try again. However, I will try but not guarantee That my energy lasts till it equals mv. While I wade through the slush that hails Spring here in Quincy, I read of the athletes in sunny Miami: How Hammering Hank hit his first long home run, And Fitzy is out to give Evers some fun. It gives me some hope, some assurance that’s real And for April’s oncoming, I root with great zeal. And April gives promise of days still in store When the ocean will beckon us on to its shore. But over it all hangs a beautiful haze; I dream of the future, I walk in a daze. I fear that we all know this sure sign of Spring, My laziness pleads: “It’s Spring-Fever----- this thing.’’ William MacMahox, '15. THE EAST. Written ajler reading, “The West” ix “The Ixdepexdext.” Here’s where the men of the West were made, Here’s where we trained them for their trade, That is the Easterner’s boast. Here’s where the tears of their parting were shed, For the love of the East their brave fore- fathers bled, If it weren’t for the East the great West would be dead, That is the Easterner’s boast. Here’s where the famous men had their start, Here’s where Ambition and Work never part, That is the Easterner’s boast. Here’s where great structures near reach the blue skies, Though their sunshine and breezes the Westerner’s prize, We have artists and wonders that dazzle the eyes, That is the Easterner’s boast. Here’s where you feel the great thrills ofjlife, Here’s where you come for the world’s big strife, That is the Easterner’s boast. Here’s where enjoyments of living are near, For we did young justice and liberty rear, We still are the leaders in freedom’s good cheer, That is the Easterner’s boast. F. E. Tobix.