Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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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

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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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THE GOLDEN-ROD 19 Bellew. “Hello Shrimp, who won the debat- ing match?” Then suddenly catching sight of a pin on Shrimp’s lapel similar to his own, he exclaimed, “Where did you get that pin?” “Oh, this one you mean,” answered Shrimp, imitating Bulldog’s manner exactly, “I was captain of the first debating team that ever defeated Greenfield.” Then “the little runt” walked off. As Bulldog slowly followed him, his face broke into a broad grin, and he said to his chum, “Can you beat it?” “No I can’t,” answered his chum, “but such is life.” Roland Forsyth, T9. Snow-Bound Great excitement reigned among the mem- bers of Troop 2, Boy Scouts, as there was a photograph contest on, and about fifteen Scouts were entrants. That either Ted Wil- liams or Jack Knight, who were exceptionally fine photographers and Patrol Leaders of rival Patrols, would be the winner was the general opinion. Scout Master Wilson had offered a gold-plated cup as a prize for the winner, to be selected on Saturday, February 10, after six-thirty P. M.. All photographs were to come under the title, “Snow-bound.” Jack sent his specimen in on Friday and it certainly was a fine one, containing a story in itself. There was an old, dilapidated farm- house entirely coated with snow and ice, with a sagging roof and a crooked chimney from which rose a thin column of smoke. No paths had been shoveled and the surface of the two feet of snow lay undisturbed. From one of the large, front windows peered two small faces. Ted, evidently had not been as fortunate as Jack, for nothing had been heard of him at the club and several wondered what had hap- pened, but they knew that he would surely get his photo in before closing time. He went into the woods Saturday morning, however, and got his picture, but he was rather worried for fear it had been over-exposed, as he was cing thc sun when he snapped it. Hurrying half on Buff Enlarging paper. It was a beau- tiful scene of a small cave under a boulder, and near the opening lay a nest made of hay, leaves, twigs, and pebbles, held together with mud and clay. Curled up in it were three baby chipmunks which came out in their nat- ural brownish color on the Buff paper. On the outside, the snow had drifted up so that it resembled a small hut with the cave as an opening. Ted started out for the club-room with the photograph rolled up in the pocket of his over- coat. He was hurrying along whistling and was near the door when he heard a loud cheer and looking up saw his fellow Scouts in the window awaiting him. When he got inside he looked at the clock and saw to his surprise that it was six-twenty-five. After giving his picture to Mr. Wilson he walked over to the couch and lay down with as much indifference as he could fake. The fellows watched with interest the Scout Master as he eliminated photograph after photograph. By nine o’clock there were but two prints to choose from, Ted’s chipmunks and Jack’s farm-house. He studied them for fully forty minutes but he could not make his choice, so he decided to send them to a friend who was an expert photographer. The expert’s answer came with Thursday’s mail and he stated that were he the judge, he