Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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THE GOLDEN-ROD in the rocking chair. She was trying to keep a tight grip on herself but her nerve was wavering. “I suppose it was right to do,” she faltered, “but it seemed so horrible.” “Also a bit horrible what he did, too, wasn’t it? Sneaked in here and tried to kill you to prevent you from making a new will which left him nothing and then didn’t even have the nerve to find out whether you were dead or not.” “Oh, but can’t you let him go now?” entreated Aunt Kate. A SLIGHT My grandfather is a fish merchant in Denmark, where it is customary for the men to deliver the fish at night, making their presence known by hollering through a speaking tube which extends from the ground to the second floor of the house. I clearly remember the incident which occurred eight years ago when I visited there. One night a man who had never delivered fish to my grandfather before, came and gave the usual signal, but without receiving any response. “Too late, ma’am,” responded the de- tective, “we’ve got to take him.” “I think not,” said the doctor coming forward quickly, “He has left your prov- ince and entered into mine!” He pointed to the crouching figure on the floor. Harvy was playing with the shining bits of broken glass and chuck- ling insanely to himself, “I’ve got rid of her. I’ve got rid of the Third in the House.” —Bradford Ropes, ’21. MISTAKE He shouted several times and so loudly that the policeman came and stood close by. He knew right off what the man wanted and notified my grand- father, who came at once. The man was very impatient and could not understand why my grandfather had paid no attention to his signal. “Well, my dear man,” said my grand- father, “you were hollering through the water spout.” —Esther Jensen, ’22. A SWEET GRASS BASKET “Mother, do you suppose my sweet grass basket will be sold at the fair?” Eunice questioned her mother in anx- ious tones. “Why, yes, dear, of course, it will. Now don’t worry, and try to put your best work into it,” replied her mother, “and leave the rest to be decided later.” Eunice continued her work with sweet grass, while a little frown was seen gathering on her forehead. There was going to be a fair for the benefit of the wounded soldiers who had returned from France. Everyone in the small town of Amason had been asked to give something to be sold at the fair. Eunice Parlow had been greatly worried when she was asked to donate something. Everything must be hand made and (she thought) she couldn’t do anything. Now Mildred Hayes could make the dearest gifts with beads. Helen Osgood was simply wonderful when it came to painting different gifts and Dolly Talbot could surpass anybody in Amason with her perfectly adorable tatting. These things Eunice had dolefully told her mother. But her mother sternly re- proved her. “Eunice, you may be only a beginner at making baskets but you do neat work. Now don’t mope around but pick out a pattern and start working.” Now the basket was almost finished, Eunice had her doubts about it, but her mother eyed the neat work with appro- val.

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s THE GOLDEN-ROD Then came that frightful silken whis- per and the equally terrible clink of silver. It had been Aunt Kate’s habit always to put the silver away. Harvy emptied the decanter and started toward the dining-room. The wine had spurred that despairing courage which is born of sheer terror. He was going to see Who or What was in the dining-room. But again he had to pass the mirror and again he saw something stir there. The sounds in the dining-room ceased. Then she had come in. She was in the room with him. He found himself staring fixedly at the mirror. His own figure confronted him, almost unrecog- nizable. His eyes were wild and blood- shot, his hair clung damply to his fore- head, his face was ghastly with the ghastliness of a man who has looked on worse than death. In his hand he still grasped uncon- sciously the heavy decanter. The smooth silver-like surface of the mirror held him like a magnet. His eyes were stuck to it, they would not stir. He had never heard of auto-hypno- tism, else he might have made even more determined efforts to get away from that terrible, polished morass of glass and quicksilver. As it was, he struggled madly like a trapped bird. But he could not get away. The mon- strous thing was there. He was help- less before it, as a moth before light. He could no longer stand but clung to the backs of the chairs as he stared into that petrified pool in which the last segments of his soul seemed to move— move strangely. The shining surface made him ill and giddy but—for the time being it was the Alpha and Omega of existence. He stared at that dread- ful glittering expanse and fell on one knee. Was it true that anything could move in that? He could no longer see himself. It was something else that he waited to see, something else,—something else. Dimly, as tho from a very great dis- tance, he heard the clock strike twelve. Midnight! The hour at which his aunt had been murdered! Shuddering no longer, but icy cold, he looked steadily into the mirror. Now it would happen. Now he would see. And he saw! She was standing just behind him, the slim old figure with the white hair and the gray silk dress. There was a stain of red down one sleeve and the hair, usually primly neat, was loose. And the eyes! The reproach in the faded old eyes! He had never thought of this, anything but this. He was a weakling even in crime. He had detested the blood, he always detested pain. He had been thankful that she had died quickly. But she had come back. She would not stay quiet in the death he had dealt her. The eyes, the eyes—blind fury assailed him. He would shut those fearful eyes forever this time, he would not be haunted. He would not be tortured like this. The Thing must go for all time—those eyes! Madly he raised the heavy decanter and dashed it with all his strength against the mirror from which the eyes gazed at him. The glass crashed down, down about him in a brilliant, thunder- ous deadly cascade. He was badly cut but he felt no hurt. He laughed and shouted in triumph because he had murdered her phantom as he had mur- dered her. Then he crumpled up in an inert heap among the piles of splintered glass. “Thought it would work,” remarked the detective, bending over him. “He was a prime subject for such an experi- ment. You bore up wonderfully, Miss Dexter!” Kate Dexter, very white, was sitting

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10 THE GOLDEN-ROD “Now,” said her mother in a business like tone, “run down town and buy some materials for making some of your dainty- bon-bons that your brothers think so wonderful. They will give your basket a nice finishing touch.” “Why, you dear schemer, I never thought of that,” and Eunice’s voice brightened to a much higher degree than it had for days. Why, if she made bon-bons they would be hand made and as her basket was the shape of a bon-bon glass basket, it would be quite pretty' after all, she reflected. Fair day, she awoke with a queer feeling, she could almost picture Dolly’s tatting and Mildred’s gifts selling as fast as anything and her basket—a lump rose in her throat—her basket on the counter all alone passed over by people hunting for pretty' things. She dressed in a simple white dress with a tiny Jack rose tucked in her waist, matching the high color in her cheeks. “You look dainty',” her mother said, and Eunice knew that her mother ap- proved her choice of dress. When she arrived at the fair grounds she went over to a stall where her other friends were. They were dressed in silks and laces, and Eunice’s face turned a darker pink as she glanced out of the corner of her eye at her simple white dress. As the hours passed, a great many people came to the fair, among them many' heroes of the war. What was that they were calling? Eunice strained her ears to listen. Auc- tion, what? She hadn’t heard anything about an auction. Moving forward she discovered a row of articles on a high stand in front of the crowd. “With the owners’ permission,” a man was talking loudly, “we will auc- tion off these articles, selected from many. Will the owners please step for- ward and stand with their articles as I call their names?” “Mildred Hay'es,” the man called. “I thought so,” murmured Eunice. “Helen Osgood,” the man repeated. Eunice repeated what she had just said. “Eunice Parlow,” the speaker called in what seemed a louder tone than usual. Eunice, dazed, stood still, until a friend tapped her on the shoulder telling her to go up to the stand. Finally she walked slowly through the crowd. She stood (as she later told her moth- er) very quietly, mechanically holding her basket. Why' should her basket be chosen out of the hundreds of gifts? she asked herself. Only five articles had been chosen. She could hear the auctioning off of the other articles, but she did not fully awaken until she found she was standing on the platform alone. “Eunice Parlow’s basket! Quick! The highest bidder gets it. Bon-bons, deli- cious!” the auctioneer ran on inco- herently'. And as if to prove the fact that the bon-bons were delicious, he chose a small candy and bit off a piece, putting it into his mouth and tossing the rest to the crowd. “Five dollars,” a voice called out. “Ten dollars,” replied another. Eunice could only recall the fact that she was on the platform, and could hear enormous numbers being called out. “Fifty,” sung out a melodious voice, after forty'-eight had been called out. After four minutes waiting, the auc- tioneer said, “Fifty gets it, please come forward.” A young soldier stepped forward. Eunice found her voice and with a bright smile handed her basket to him and said, “Thank y'ou.” After this Eunice fled home to her mother, who was going to the fair in the evening. “Mother, I have done my share,” she exclaimed in an excited voice, and then and there she related the whole affair to her mother.