Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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THE GOLDEN-ROI) 11 Like all mothers, Eunice’s did not give herself any credit, but Eunice knew to whom the credit belonged and told her mother so. “Run along, you foolish child, and her mother gave a little laugh. Attending the fair at night with her mother, Eunice felt a tap upon her shoulder. “May I please speak to you for a few minutes?” a boyish voice inquired. Eunice was face to face with the soldier who had bought her basket. Eunice, looking at her mother, saw ap- proval in the woman’s eyes as she looked into the steely blue eyes of the young soldier. “Certainly,” she heard herself saying, as she followed the young soldier through the crowd, leaving her mother talking to a friendly neighbor. When they reached a bench under some Japanese lanterns, they were out of breath; the crowd had gathered, so one could not make one’s way through the crowd without pushing. “Here at last,” they said, and for one hour they talked as if they had known each other for years. When they started to walk again, many people met Eunice and congratulated her on the success of her sweet grass basket, meanwhile look- ing with raised eyebrows at the boyish looking soldier at her side, almost always with approval. When home at night (a certain person had escorted her home!) she said to her mother, “How I love that sweet grass basket, but I can’t imagine why it sold for such a price.” Her mother smiled wisely as she thought it wasn’t the sweet grass basket that made the people bid so high, but the girl with flushed face, and simple dress, with a Jack rose in her waist. —Winifred C. Barnes, ’22. ON GETTING AN EDUCATION Because Bill Jones wanted to leave school he made up the audience at the following lecture delivered by his father. With a shake of his head and a frown, the troubled old man began. “Now listen to reason, my boy. If a man is really to succeed in life he must sooner or later acquire an education. Therefore a good education, with aver- age intelligence, is the best asset with which you can start life. “Have you ever tried to break into a ticket line at a theater? Yes? Then you know that ninety-nine times out of a hundred you have to go back and take your turn or else go without your ticket. So it is in the line of life. If you at- tempt to break in by going to work young and without an education you will soon sadly realize that you must be at least fairly well educated if you are to succeed at all. Then, unless you are content with being a failure, you will be obliged to go to the end of the line and start right. .Some people say it’s better late than never but in this case it’s better never late, for tardiness may mean the loss of success and happiness. “So, now, my son, think it over and drop the idea that you are going to school because you are compelled to. Just reason with yourself that the battle of life is half won if started right, and that is with an education. Bill had forgotten his worthless argu- ment and could only say, “You are right, Dad.” “Well then,” said his father with final emphasis, “don’t throw away your share of success by refusing to accept an educa- tion.” —John Mitchell, ’21.

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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.

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12 THE GOLDEN-ROD AN UNUSUAL WASH “There now,” said Mrs. Peters, as she set the small white basket down on the back porch steps and tucked the last soft blanket around Jack Jr., “you just go to sleep and don’t let me hear anything more from you for an hour, at least.” Whereupon Mrs. Peters, with a farewell glance at little Jack, returned to the kitchen and her ironing. Jack Jr. was the pride of young Mrs. Peters’ life, and well he might be, for in spite of his very smooth head and some- what doubtful complexion, he was a promising little chap. Even at the un- inspiring age of two and one half months he had developed an unmistakable talent in vocal expression, much to the dis- tress of his neighbors. Mrs. Peters smiled over her ironing and thought of Jack. Dear little Jack. She could scarcely wait until he should reach the dignity of rompers and mocca- sins. In the meantime a very tired laundry man jumped into his team and drove down a street some distance from Mrs. Peters’ home. At last his work was done! But no, there was another number on his route. He glanced at his card and read, “219 Washburn Terrace, call on Thursdays.” “Oh well,” he groaned, “ ’spose I must make the best of it,” and he started off impatiently in the direction of Washburn Terrace. Even a laundry man has his off days once in a while. Why shouldn’t he? Whoa!—the horse stopped before the small white house, No. 219 Washburn Terrace. The laundry man, Mr. Jack Doyle, strode up the walk, and, as his eyes rested on the basket, he looked a little surprised. “Hmm,” he mused, “she must be a newly-wed! Those clothes look rather too clean to be washed. Never mind, here goes!” He tossed the light straw basket into the back of the team and was off. When he had been driving about a quarter of an hour, his reveries were suddenly disturbed by a very peculiar sound. He listened—the sound grew more distinct. He drove into a side street, stopped the horse, and got out. Then the sound increased to a loud wail. “Well, I’ll be jiggered!” he exclaimed, still perplexed, and climbing back into the team, he drove very slowly to the laundry where a man was waiting to help him unload. Back on Washburn Terrace, a very frantic mother was running down the street. Several of her neighbors were trailing after her, all searching in vain for poor, precious, little Jack. Finally, as Doyle took off one of the baskets and found that the sound was issuing from that basket, the truth dawned upon him! He hastily put it into the wagon and drove off, leaving poor Payton, who was helping him, star- ing wonderingly after the cloud of dust. After the worst twenty minutes he had ever experienced, he arrived at Washburn Terrace where he returned Jack Jr. to his distracted mother who resented the fact that her baby, wrapped in his fluffy blankets, had been mistaken for the family washing.—Helen Handy, ’22. NEVER SAY DIE At last the day of the championship right of having the championship banner game dawns clear and crisp. Castlcton on the walls of their assembly hall. At High is to play Fairhaven High for the two o’clock the crowd starts to gather