Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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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

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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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THE GOLDEN-ROD 17 to where Mr. Walters is, and see if you can make a goal for these new men. We’re go- ing to line up in a few minutes.” Then he rushed off again, leaving the boys to find their own places. Meanwhile the “new boy” had sauntered on and reached tlie pond also. He went leisurely to the edge, and surveyed the crowd with in- terest. Perkins soon caught sight of him, and ques- tioned Andrews. “Has that fellow tried for anything yet?” “What fellow?” “That good-looking one on the ice.” “No. Who is he?” “Don’t know—some new boy.” Just then the puck went bounding out of the pond. The new-comer jumped up, chased the puck, picked it up and gave it back to the captain. “Thank you!” called several voices, directed toward the “new boy.” The captain next came running up and stood beside the “new boy.” “Look here,” he be- gan awkwardly, “want to try for the team?” The “new boy” regarded him a moment, and then answered with a smile: “Of course I wouldn’t mind trying.” “All right; come on. Got any togs here ?” “I have some back at the school.” “Can’t you find some here?” Andrews rushed into the nearby building and returned in a moment, with several suits in his arms. “Get into one of these, as quick as you can,” he said. “Hold on er—er—what’s your name ?” “My name?—oh, er—Williams.” Andrews hurried off and told the tale to some of the boys, and then, with the help of Mr. Walters, lined up the teams. By the time all was arranged, Williams came on the ice. All eyes were fixed on him, and no one noticed Mr. Walters’ start of surprise, nor did they understand the glance Williams directed at him. “Come on, Williams,” called Andrews. “Get down here on the pond. Now boys, get ready. Play hard and fast, and lets see what the first game of the season will show! Mr. Walters, you’ll umpire, please.” The game began, with Williams playing on Andrews’ team. The other team had the puck. They gained five yards on the first two shots, and Andrews exclaimed, “This won’t do! Come, get together! Williams, play up more, you don’t get into the inter- ference.” One more strike, and an opposing player knocked the puck toward Williams. Andrews yelled, “Nail it, nail it! Get down more!” Williams waited calmly, and then reached down and stopped the puck. He then started slowly to the right, and then suddenly to the left. Here, an opposing player shot out and grabbed the puck. There was quite a struggle until the opposing player slipped and fell. Wil- liams suddenly grabbed the puck, and in a minute went tearing down the ice and never stopped until a goal was made. The play lasted only two ten minute halves, and during the next half Williams played his best. Immediately after the game, Williams rushed into his dressing room, and that was the last seen of him. When the other boys had dressed, Mr. Walters approached them, laughing. “Whom arc you waiting for, boys?” he asked. “Williams,” Andrews answered. “Well, I wouldn’t waste time doing that, He’s gone. “Gone where?” “He has gone back to Quincy. Who do you think that fellow was? ‘Mutt’ Winslow, the Quincy High School captain!” “Winslow ?” exclaimed Andrews. “Why, Mr. Walters, you’re joking. He’s Williams, a new boy.” “I beg your pardon. That was ‘Mutt’ Winslow, whom I know very well. Of course he wasn’t going to let you suspect by his name; but I knew what he was up to. He has just brought his little brother up here, and