Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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Quincy High Schoo Bradford Library THE GOLDEN-ROD 11 upon Mr. Carvel, she approached, and attached herself to him, to his ill-concealed chagrin, and the amusement of the by-standers. “It has grown so plebian here, since all these magazines started up,” I heard the aristocratic Aramis say, while on the other side, Porthas was grumbling because he had cream instead of lemon. Athos and D’Artagnan were ar- guing about the respective merits of Mary Pickford and Marguerite Clark. “So, Medea,” called Dr. Jckyll, just returned from a ramble as Mr. Hyde. A stunning young woman, sheltering her charms by a pink parasol, appeared. She car- ried a bag which looked rather lumpy, and I couldn’t help wondering if she carried her la- mented brother’s bones in it. As she walked towards us, I noticed that she limped a little. “What’s the matter with your foot, little one?” inquired Lord Leicester, jocularly. “That clumsy Ivanhoe wore his best suit of mail to the last Assembly, and while I was dancing with him, he tramped on my foot as hard as he could and lamed me for a week,” she answered pettishly. “Where’s Becky Sharper” asked John Ridd. “Oh, Guy Mannering came to call, and brought that new man, ‘K,’ they call him. So Becky had to stay home and entertain them. She was awfully bored.” Suddenly, Lady Rowcna pushed through the crowd. “Ah, ha! So you arc that mortal,” she said, dramatically, “You—” Siezing my shoulder, she began to shake me, and— I opened my eyes to find my sister bending over me. telling me to hurry, or we should miss the train. Marian Carter, T9. A Quincy Lilliput I did not know there was a colony of those little people, the Lilliputians, until, arriving at Quincy High School one March morning about eight-thirty I rang the bell and was ad- mitted by a small boy about two feet, six inches, in height. He toddled away from the door with a very bashful air and I followed him into a room on the left. It was full of them—infants like the one who answered the door. The tops of their heads were just barely visible above the covers of their desks while their legs dangled help- lessly in the air about a foot from the floor. A recitation was going on. The teacher called on one of the little dears to recite but he was so timid that she had to have him come up and whisper in her ear. Before the final bell rang I went down to the other end of the corridor where I ob- served a very tall man doubled up like a jack- knife trying to hear what one of those cute little children was saying. He straightened up suddenly and motioned some one to get down. I turned to see one of the extremely small infants boosting another up so that he could get a drink at the fountain. The classes were now changing for the next period, and the tall man disappeared in the crowd. A dignified sophomore as he ascended the stairs rested his books on the head of a sweet little girl with pig-tails down her back. At the very end of the long procession I noticed a freshman go running up and down stairs twice. Asking him what the trouble was I learned that he was unable to carry all his books at once and so he was obliged to make two trips. In room twenty-seven the teacher asked if one of the members of the class was absent but this was emphatically denied as the lit- tle fellow stood up in his seat in order to make himself seen. At lunch-time I heard a small freshman ask if he couldn’t have some bread and milk for his lunch. One of them spilled his milk and thereupon began to cry while a deluge

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10 THE GOLDEN-ROD “Don’t you remember? I came out in the ‘Cosmopolitan’ ”. My face must have shone my astonishment, for she began to laugh. “Why, I thought you knew. The last after- noon of every August, the Story Book People' are allowed to have a mortal to tea. We had almost despaired of having a guest this time, as our country is not frequented a great deal, when I caught the glimmer of your white dress and came over to ask you.” “Oh, what fun!” I cried, “I’ve always want- ed to see my favorite characters in real life. Do hurry.” We soon entered the grove of trees, which had, in some mysterious way, grown a great deal larger, and there before us stood a little white bungalow, its veranda, and the strip of lawn in front of it, dotted with tables. Philippa approached the girls and men seat- ed on the steps. “We are the entertainment committee,” she explained, “These are Miss Trilby, Miss Mag- gie Tulliver, Mr. Quced, and Mr. Wilkins Mi- cawber,” and, turning to them, “this is our mortal, who has come to tea.” They rose and greeted me enthusiastically. “My dear young lady,” quoth Mr. Micaw- ber, putting his hand in his waiscoat, “I as- sure you we shall endeavor to express our thanks for this visit, in some slight way. In fact,” he went on, in a burst of confidence, “we are glad to see you.” Mr. Queed, a studious, timid looking little man, bowed, and without speaking, shook my hand, while both the ladies courtesied. “The others will arrive soon,” said Mr. Micawber, “at present we are the only ones here.” “As you may have observed,” put in Mr. Quced, his eyes twinkling. Trilby turned to Philippa, and burst forth, “My dear, have you heard that My Lady—” “Which one?” I rudely interrupted. “The one written up in ‘The Three Muske- teers,’ of course. As I was saying, have you heard that My Lady is giving a big dance at which that nice little Lorna Doone is to make her debut? It is two weeks from tomorrow. You’re invited. I—Oh, heavens, here comes that awful Robinson Crusoe. I wish he would remove that motheaten sheepskin. It looks so hot. I never could see what Guinevere saw in him. “Sir Lancelot’s Guinevere?” I ventured to ask. “Oh. that affair was broken off long ago. Robinson Crusoe and Guinevere are quite de- voted now.” “Here come some people,” Philippa broke in. “Ring for some hot water, somebody.” Mr. Queed rang the bell, and in answer to it, who should appear but my old friend, Un- cle Remus, dressed in a uniform covered al- most, with brass buttons. I turned to sec a group evidently coming from the tennis courts. As I don’t read “The Red Book,” or “Snappy Stories,” I failed to recognize many of them. Then three men strode around the corner, and I saw they were Sherlock Holmes, Jean Yal Jean, and John Ridd. The newcomers placed themselves about the tables, and fell to consuming sandwiches in quantities. “Hey, Dick,” called a dapper young man, who looked like the hero of “Seventeen.” “I heard somebody inquiring for you.” “ ‘Dick,’ is Richard Carvel. You've heard of him?” Mr. Queed murmured in my car. Dick turned red, and muttering something under his breath, looked angrily at the young man. The group burst into laughter D’Ar- tagnan turned to me. “Poor Dick,” he said. “One of the heroines of a ‘Ladies’ Home Journal’ novel follows him everywhere. I forgot what they call her, the ‘Gernanium Lady,’ I think. He has been teased about her so much, he almost hides when she comes around. S’blood! Here she is now!” Sure enough, rather a pretty girl rounded the corner, looking eagerly about, as if search- ing for some one. The minute her eye fell

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12 THE GOLDEN-ROD of soup descended on the head of another to the accompaniment of saddening wails. I was a bit bewildered by all the strange sights I had seen. I thought I was visiting a High School. I withdrew to the office to question the principal, where 1 found a lit- tle fellow weeping copiously against the door-frame. After school hours 1 saw the strangest sight of all. A little boy about three years old was standing by the post at the bottom of the stairs on the first floor, howling with all his might. The Charge of “Not so fast, not so fast, Not so fast,” thundered Teachers to freshmen For the lunch counter running. Faster up stairs they go, Freshmen are never slow, Especially when time to go, To the lunch counter. Upward they quickly climb, Only to fall in line. “Stop pushing, take your time,” Some one is saying. With noise of lots of feet. Forward they go to eat, Then they sound quick retreat, Hurrying to get a seat. Silently struggling. “What’s the matter, my little man?” I asked. “I want my muvver,” he wailed. This was certainly the last word in juvenile productions. I stood there completely puz- zled until I saw a woman, evidently his mother coming down the stairs. She had been attending the adult sewing classes and her little son had followed her to school. He was not, I was relieved to learn, a mem- ber of the freshmen class. I could not help feeling as I departed that he would probably be admitted in September—to Lilliput. Florence M. Hoagland, T9. the Freshmen Students to right of them, Students to left of them, Students in back of them Pushing and crowding. Kicked at with well aimed feet, They never sound retreat, For they must find a seat, Or they must face defeat. Forward, brave freshmen. Finally they reach the wall, ’Gainst it they heavily fall. The noise sounds through the hall. Then they start eating So fast you can hear them. They fall to with great delight, Gurgling their soups with might. It is a glorious sight. Well done, bold freshmen. Martin Battis, T9. The March Wind The March Wind is a strange fellow. He roves about all streets and corners, and plays pranks on everyone that he meets. At one time he will blow so hard as to cause many an old gentleman to run after his hat. The next minute he will brush roughly against the cart of a fruit vender, and cause that individ- ual to scramble hither and thither in pursuit of his apples and oranges, which roll in all directions. He continues on through the crowded streets of the city, and raises such dust, that it almost blinds the people. He scatters paper which frightens the horses, and causes such confusion, that everyone wishes that he may never have an opportunity to meet this mischievous person again. Morris Mirkin, T9.