Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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6 The G o I d e n - Ro d BOB’S RETURN. (A Monologue of a Bird.) As I was going to tell you before, 1 arrived here last week and it surely does seem good to get back, although I had a very fine vacation. The first place I visited was my birthplace at 65 Mapletree Avenue, a large three decker. It brought back to me sweet memories of past years. Yesterday I visited an old friend of mine whose name is Old Cy Peters. He lives up in the east end and has a very beautiful estate. I had a very delightful time talking to the different animals on the place and Old Cy Peter’s son, Henry. Henry was very glad to see me and called the attention of his folks to the fact that I had made a visit to them. My very devoted wife died during the vaca- tion. Yes, at a banquet given by Dame Nat- ure about a month ago at which we had a most enjoyable time, she ate something or other that she was not supposed to eat, and therefore died a few hours afterward. It is just like the women-folks doing something that they ought not to. Now 1 am looking for another wife. Fritter Jay introduced me to a pretty thing down on Orchard Place this morning. I passed the blue birds home this morning and I see that the stork had visited them, and had left a boy and three girls. They are going to call him Little Boy Blue, but I don’t see anything blue about him. From the way that he was sumptuously eating some worms, I could easily see most of the workings of his internal machinery. He didn’t have a feather on his body, yet they are going to call him Little Boy Blue. I had quite a hard time getting material for my nest. Although I could easily get mud, the hens were not in their yards, so I could not get feathers very easily. Oh! I forgot to tell you that we held the first rehearsal for the Grand Opera which we are planning to hold around the first of May, at four this morning. We are to hold it in Billy Crow’s Hall. I am to take one of the most important parts. Of course all the singers have not returned yet, but we expect them very soon. We should like to make this opera a grand success, and all are most cordially invited to attend. It will be worth your hearing. Russell L. Williams, T7. SPRING HOUSE-CLEANING. In the first place Mr. Jordan was absent- minded. If he hadn’t been, things would probably have happened quite otherwise than they did. As it was, he entirely forgot that his daughter had told him not to come home to dinner, as spring house-cleaning was in progress. Therefore, he not only came home himself, but had the remarkable fore- sight to bring a young business friend along with him. They almost missed the train, (wasn’t it a pity they didn’t?) and at the very time the train pulled forth the little house was in the very height of house-cleaning. Large pails of half-dirty water ornamented the parlor, and the furniture was piled high in one corner. The younger daughter, in the process of dusting the books, had scattered most of them around the floor at her feet. The elder, Marjorie (I have to give her a name because she is the heroine of the story,) was perched on an uncertain step-ladder, and, hanging onto a pan of dirty water with one hand, was diligently scrubbing the top shelf with the other. Absorbed in this she never noticed a sweet little kitten that was con- templating the fluttering end of her apron string. (Did you ever see a cat that wouldn’t

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The Go I d e n - Ro d 5 MYSTERY. McFaque Killed! Constable Higgins in search with large posse. Jan. 36, 2001. Graeme McFague our worthy clam peddler, was mysteriously murdered about two o’clock this morning, while passing through the woods of Hough’s Neck, on his way home from die house of his fiancee, Miss Miranda Hepzibah Taylor, who is known to be an excellent hand at throwing rolling-pins and brandishing brooms. Mr. Harold Ewertz, his notable rival, who is known to be one of the most distinguished liars (lawyers) of the court, when passing through this lone road discovered the body of McFague and reported at once to Constable Higgins, who had the body taken to the shop of undertaker Fox, and then the constable called out the people with the help of lieuten- ants Johnson and Sear and sergeants Carlson and Richmond to form a posse. This posse was divided into three parts, one of which was headed by the constable, another by Lieut. Johnson, and the last by Lieut. Sears. The posse is searching for the assassin on a mysterious clue. This clue is a footprint, and the constable is having a hard task in deciding whether the footprint belongs to a human being or to Rex Ruggles. Mr. Ewertz seems quite elated over the death of his rival, but it is very doubtful if he marries Miss Taylor before a year has passed, as she is in great grief. The body of McFague is resting comfort- ably at the rooms of Mr. Fox, and we all hope that it will not grow worse but improve. The medical examiners report that he must have died of heart disease, a very natural thing. As he was on his way home from Miss Taylor’s house, it is supposed she re- fused him and made his heart disease turn for the worse. Therefore it looks as though Miss Taylor should be arrested for the murder of McFague. The reason of Miss Taylor’s aforesaid grief is now fully explained, for it is not so much grief for his death as grief over the possibility of being arrested for his murder. Mr. McFague leaves the world, his house, his hen coop, his chickens, his pigs, his cat and its family, his dog, his clammy clam cart, several unpaid bills and a few distant re- latives, who will not come to take charge of his estate as they do not wish to settle his accounts. Therefore an auctioneer namely, Mr. Rasmussen, who is known to be a “doer,” will auction off the property at some future date. Heber Bailey. Stranger:—“Do you know a gent around here with a wooden leg named Jones?” Fresh:—“What’s the other leg’s name?” —Ex. Miss Perry:—Are there any words on the first line that you think we might need special practice on? Le Cain:—Love. Miss Perry:—I think that is very easy:; don’t you find it so? LeCain:—Sometimes I don’t. Who is she Jimmie? His Mistake. “Wait a moment, lady; wait until the car stops.” “Will you please not address me as lady, sir?” she said sharply. “I beg your pardon, madam,” said the conductor. “The best of us are apt to make mistakes.” —Ex. In describing a “ragman,” a bright tenth grade pupil stated, “The ragman habitually wore a pair of old trousers in several places.” —Ex.

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7 The Golden-Rod fall for an apron string?) When the kitten sprang, Marjorie was naturally surprised, and lost her grip on the pan of water. Need I bother to mention the splashes and clashes and shrieks? Of course the hero entered at this burst of music and, after the first shock, proved to be a very good sport. He ate the sadly de- ficient lunch with a gusto. But who minds greasy bacon, when he is noticing that the eyes of the girl across from him are exactly the color of the sky? They started house-cleaning again after lunch and the hero proved very helpful to Marjorie. He lugged pails of water back and forth, and groaned inwardly as he slopped it on his Sunday go-to-meeting suit. He tacked carpets and incidentally banged his thumb, and carried furniture around with such speed that several vases nearly met their doom. But Marjorie smiled, and he was happy. After supper they sat on the cool piazza and talked. I thought I saw him tuck in one of Marjorie’s fly-away locks, but please don’t forget that I am near-sighted, and besides, being very considerate of othei people’s feelings, didn’t dare stare too hard. But I am positive of one thing—that he caught the last train home, and had to run to catch it at that. Esther V. Bagg, 17. SPRING-VACATION. School was ended for a time; The Spring-vacation had begun, And from each doorway rushed the crowd Of boys and girls in quest of fun. Ahead of all dashed out our hero, Jimmy Jeremiah Brown, With a joyful, piercing war-hoop, That was heard all over town. Little dreamed the gleeful Jimmy Of the work so close at hand, But his head was filled with thoughts Of all the pleasures he had planned. But alas! through all the week, His heartless parents plans had laid For the cleaning of the household And the garden to be made. The whole “vacation,” Jimmy labored, Now with duster, now with mop. He polished chairs, and used the broom-stick From the cellar to the top. He pumped the vacuum-cleaner Till his arms well-nigh dropped off, And when he beat the mats and rugs, His friends came ’round to scoff. While his chums played ball in the field nearby, Jimmy sullenly plied the hoe. When they asked him to come on a fishing-trip, His reply was a wistful “No.” For the first time in all his life, Jim was glad when Sunday came, And his prayer of thanks for deliverance Would have brought a parson fame. In all this world, I am sure, No boy ever felt more happy and gay Than Jimmy felt, as he trudged to school, Bright and early, the next day. When our vacation-time in May Brings us the rest long-sought, We all do hope to ’scape the fate That fell to Jimmy’s lot. Hugh Nixon, 1917.