Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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THE GOLDEN-ROD 15 My Breakfast “I just must have some breakfast, I’m hun- gry enought to eat brass! I’ll HAVE to go out through the fire-place, and see whether there is anything to cat in the waste-basket or not!” I cried to my wife. “If there isn’t any danger and is some food in there, I will come back and tell you.” We never went out into the sitting-room except as a last resort of getting something to keep us from starvation. I had often sug- gested changing our home to some nearby house, but my wife had always said she would- n’t go through moving again unless it was ab- solutely necessary. I hated to go out into that room as the cat was generally sleeping, with one eye open, watching for my wife and me. That waste-basket rarely had anything very palatable in it anyway. I crept up the passage and came to the fire- place. Peering around 1 saw that the cat wasn’t there. This certainly was luck ! I stole cautiously outside and started to run swiftly to the basket. About half-way across, there was a terrible BOOM! I almost stopped still. Again, BOOM! I ran as fast as I could to the basket and hid behind it, wait- ing, anxiously, until four more booms were over. Then I decided that it was the clock, stricking six. I crawled up the side of the closely-woven basket, and balancing on the top, smelt a delicious smell. Jumping inside I carefully made my way towards it. It proved to be a piece of cheese, but—it was in a trap. I knew what they were be- cause I had fully examined the one my brother was killed in, so I kept at a safe distance away. This was discouraging. But what was that? Couldn’t I smell shredded wheat? This was unusual in a sitting-room waste-basket. There might be some small pieces left in it though. I turned around. SNAP! “Ouch !” I shouted, “oh my beautiful tail!” “Pulling, I found that the trap had cut off about one-sixth of it. I was free again, nevertheless. I hastened to the box, knowing that soon the family would be up, and would hear me. Oh! that delicious wheat! I must hasten back home and tell wifey. My! How my tail ached! What was that? Surely no one was up yet. Yes. Someone was. They were com- ing nearer. I felt them reach in and care- fully take out the trap. “Oh! He isn’t in here! But I certainly heard something move. Gladys! bring down the cat! There’s a mouse in the waste-basket.” I was terribly frightened. What could I do? I had no way of getting out except by taking the chance of crawling out, and run- ning across to the fire-place. I heard steps. I must cither act quickly or die. Working to the top, I found they had placed a heavy news- paper oved the basket. Now, I must await death! I heard the cat. He was smelling around the basket. I wondered how long it would be before he caught me. The basket tipped. The cat was looking in. I couldn’t see him, but I knew what he was doing. “Oh, Kitty!” Gladys exclaimed, “You are too slow. Come, I will take the basket into the enclosed piazza, and see if you can catch him when I turn it upside down!” She carried the basket out there, and closing the door securely, she stood in a chair and turning the basket up a little began shaking it gently. What was to await me except death by this loudly purring cat? I tried to be calm. Soon she tipped the basket more until it was nearly upside down, and shook harder. I felt myself slipping. Out I went! Papers with me! I darted to a nearby corner. Did the cat see me? No! He was covered with papers. But Gladys did! I ran along the edge of the room to the next corner. He didn’t see me now! Swiftly I went to the next corner which was very near, formed by a support of the piazza. Gladys stood looking at me and shouting to the cat. What was going

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J4 THE GOLDEN-ROD burden, and as he did so, the dead man’s head, striking a beam, was shoved horrifyingly close to Mace's. Upon arriving in the open air he took a closer look at the body. But the setting sun afforded a poor light and the face of the dead man was blackened and contorted beyond rec- ognition. As Mace had no time to waste, he staggered down to the river and unceremoni- ously heaved the body in. Mace tossed on his bed, and. as he lay there all alone in that great, silent house, which had, a few hours before, contained a suicide, he recalled Wallace's words— Remember, you'll gain nothing by this accursed trick.” What did the man mean? What had he to fear from a dead man. anyway? He laughed nervously. He was not superstitous, but, nev- ertheless he felt decidedly ill at ease. The night was cloudy. A storm seemed near at hand. And the silence was broken only by the muttering of distant thunder. The hollow sound of an innocent clock, striking twelve, made Mace jump pitifully. Then as the last stroke died away, the room became faintly lighted by a burning object near the door. Mace raised his head and stared in that direc- tion. Zounds! There stood Wallace, whose dead body he had thrown in the river a short time before! His face and hair glowed with a wondrous yellow light and around his neck was a rope, the end of which he held in his flaming hands! His clothes clung to his body and the drops which fell from them told Mace they were wet. Wallace pointed at Mace. His yellow lips moved, “Mace, this house does not belong to you!” He raised his hand above his head and stepped forward. All this time Mace had been staring fixedly at the spectre. However, this last move proved too much and the terrified Holbrook dashed head over heels down the road to town. A few minutes later he arrived at the inn, where he put up for the night, attired in night cap and gown. Xow to make a long story short, I will sim- ply say that Mace’s adventure had cured him of all desire to dwell in his new abode. Long and earnestly he tried to sell his property, but each one of his prospective buyers, after spend- ing a night at the house, gave one reason or another for not buying it. Thus matters stood upon my arrival at the village. Mace had gone to Europe, leaving his property in charge of the innkeeper, with or- ders to sell whenever possible. The only new- comer to the village was an old man much too poor to buy the mansion. The innkeeper’s luck was consequently poor. And thus ran the colonel's story. What do you think of it? Supernatural? (To be continued.) Norman L. Dodge, T2. Reflections on the Rear End of the School Car We wait in the “Chinks” in the morning. We wait ’til he hollers “Car come!” Then we go walking out yawning And stretching, and saying, “Hi hum.” We think of the school teachers’ faces, When they say, “1.15,” then we groan. We try to forget them, but gracious, If we do there is trouble at home. At 1.15 we’re as happy as crickets, We hop on the fender so gay. But when the conductor says, “Tickets,” The happiness turns to dismay. There’s always a kid in the middle. With everyone crowded around, When they “sap” him it’s just like a riddle, For the culprit cannot be found. We’re glad when we reach “Dog Corner,” For then we have nearly reached home. We don’t stop to think of the dishonor, Of “skipping” without being known. Edward O'Meara, 1919.

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16 THE GOLDEN-ROD to happen to me ? But wait—was that a hole ? Yes! I crept up to it, and looked out through. A cold wind came in. This must lead to out- doors. It was bitterly cold and I hated to go out. I looked once more at the cat, and he was coming. He must have discovered that I wasn’t in the papers. I gave a great jump, and was outside. I hurried along the edge, and scrambled down the side of the piazza, safe! I had forgotten that I was hungry! After being lost several times. I succeeded in finding my way home. When I arrived, there was my wife waiting for me, with a fine cracker dinner which she herself had found, without any mishaps, in the next house. Thus she was convinced that the next house was better. So after bandaging my poor tail, and ravenously eating our dinner, we began to get ready to move. In our new home we have plenty to cat, and there are no cats to annoy us. Helen Alden, T9. The New Boy It was a typical boy’s school, with boys of all types and from all parts of the country, and was located at a distance from the city just where it should be, where there was plenty of skating, football, baseball, toboggan- ing, and rowing. It had just reopened after the Christmas Holidays, and the boys were just beginning to swarm back. There were groups of them about the grounds and in the buildings, and a general commotion prevailed. A few new boys had entered, and wandered helplessly about, not knowing what to do with themselves, and they eyed with envy the “old boys,” who rushed back and fourth, call- ing to one another in a jolly, intimate way, and seeming so entirely at home. A few of them made friends with one another, but most of the fellows were too busy. And then be- sides, the hockey-captain had ordered all can- didates down to the pond, so that all the athletic crowd had disappeared. A knot of such were all hurrying along in their togs, and all talking at once. They were big fellows, some of them veterans of the previous year. They had nearly reached the pond when they saw, sauntering along ahead of them, in a unconcerned manner, one of the “new boys.” He wore a brown golf suit, and a cap on the back of his head. With his hands thrust into his pockets, he walked slowly along, swinging one foot in front of the other. “Who’s this?” asked one of the veterans, noticing him. “New boy, good figure, hasn’t he?” said an- other. “Yes. Wonder if he intends to play in that suit of clothes?” “They’re new,—he got them to come up here in.” A general snicker followed this shot, and they all turned a little to look at the target as they passed him. He glanced up also, and they saw a handsome face with a pair of dark eyes looking out curiously at them from under a lock of dark brown hair. He scanned them with a good-humored stare. The crowd hurried past him, and no one spoke until they were some distance ahead. Finally Jones, (one of the players,) said, “I wonder how old that fellow is?” “Seventeen, or so, I guess,” returned Perkins. “Good-looking, wasn’t he?” put in Dean, who was handsome himself. No answer was made to this, as they had reached the pond, where Andrews, the cap- tain, was tearing round from man to man, en- deavoring to put some method into the con- fusion that reigned. One of the masters was there also, with the old players, who were flying round on the ice. “Here you are at last,” he panted, stopping before the arrivals. “You, Jones, go down