Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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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

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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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18 THE GOLDEN-ROD finding none of you knew him by sight, he played a joke on you. It’s just like him too, to.” And Mr. Walters laughed until the boys laughed with him. “Do you think I ought to write?” Andrews said shamefacedly. “I was awfully flip with him.” “My dear boy, no!” Mr. Walters said. “It’s the best joke of the year, and that would spoil it. At any rate you all know Winslow now, and I've no doubt but that he will send you all tickets during the season.” And he did. Ralph Hayden, T9. The New Sport “Where did you get that pin, Bulldog?” Shrimp Bellew asked curiously, meeting Bull- dog Jones on the steps of Rockville Academy. “Which one do you mean?” asked Bulldog Jones, the athletic idol of Rockville, for the lapel of his coat was covered with pins of all varieties. “That red, white and blue one,” answered Shrimp, pointing out a small but pretty pin. “Oh, you have to earn that by doing some- thing great.” Bulldog threw out his chest as if he was the only one who could ever win that sort of pin. “How did you get yours? Can I get one? Who gave it to you?” Shrimp fairly hurled the questions at him. “Go easy, kid. One at a time. You know how the Kaiser gives the Iron Cross to any German that does some brave deed. Well, Prexy gives the pin to anyone who helps Rock- ville defeat Greenfield fairly. Of course, the fellow’s got to be captain or else the best player on the team. I was captain of the first hockey team Rockville ever had that beat Greenfield. As you’re such a little runt there’s not much chance of your winning a pin.” Having delivered this speech. Bulldog walked over to join some of the players of hockey team who had approached, leaving a disconsolate youth behind. Mr. Wesley, an alumnus of Rockville Academy offered a beautiful silver cup every year to the pupil having the best scholarship. George Bellew had won this cup ever since he had come to Rockville, and it was a pretty safe bet that he would win it this year. But Shrimp would gladly exchange all the Wesley cups ever offered for that little red, white and blue pin, that only Bulldog Jones out of the whole school was privileged to wear. At an assembly of the pupils a few days later, Professor Prescott, the principal, an- nounced that a new sport was to be introduced in both Rockville and Greenfield Academies. “Didn’t know there was another new sport,” whispered Bulldog’s neighbor. “However I suppose you will be captain anyway.” “There will be an announcement on the bulletin board. We’ll see what it is later,” re- plied Bulldog, rather grandly. At recess as Bulldog approached the bulle- tin board, he saw an astonished crowd talk- ing loudly. “What’s the trouble?” he asked the first one he came to. “Huh, guess there’s one sport you’re not captain of,” was the not altogether satisfac- tory answer. Bulldog, his curiosity aroused, elbowed his way through the crowd and saw this poster: Debating Rockville vs. Greenfield April 10, 7.30 Candidates for the team report to G. Bcllciv, Capt. “Debating!” remarked a disgusted Bull- dog. “Are they turning this into a young ladies’ seminary ?” Bulldog went to New York with his father, and was gone for two weeks. The first per- son he met when he came back was Shrimp