Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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THE GOLDEN-ROD 17 Just as dawn was breaking the young man went Home. The sorrow-stricken old father was puzzled by the new light that brightened his wife’s careworn face. She answered his look of inquiry by handing him a crumpled letter. He read: “Dear Father and Mother:— When you receive this letter I will be in Heaven. I went astray but He has forgiven me and is taking me Home. I came to France with the other boys, and God knows how hard I fought to make up for the wasted years of my life. I am going quickly but I will meet you in Heaven. With love, Your son, John. P. S. Capt. John Lane, my pal, is bringing you this letter and also my medals. John.’’ —Margaret Johnson, ’20. It’s the little things that count. Let us cleanse them for you. Satin and Kid Slippers Gloves Boudoir Caps Spats Fancy Collars Ties Furs Scarfs Feather Boas Ostrich Feathers Shawls Fancy Pillow Tops “IN FACT—MOST EVERYTHING” WARS HAW’S CLEANSERS AND DYERS Founded 1892 QUINCY MILTON 1503 HANCOCK ST. PIERCE SQUARE E. MILTON PLANT AND OFFICE PROJECTA ROAD Call Quincy 2873-We’ll Call Teacher: (To a 1923 who has just come in late) “Where do you come from?” 1923: “From Scotland, sir.” Mr. Nickerson: (to a freshman in Ancient History) “Why were the Spartan youths trained for a military life?” Ignorant Freshman: “So that when they went into the front line trenches they would be good soldiers.” Parris: (conducting an English recitation and discussing the use of the dash in Washington’s Farewell Address). “Has any one seen this punctuation used before? No one has. I haven’t.” (From the steam pipes, you know) Bang! Crash! Biff! Slam! Besse: “Mr. Hart is practising for the High School orchestra.” Mr. Roache: “When was New York settled?” A low voice from the rear of class: “July first.” Mr. Thomas: (speaking of solutions) “I can see ‘French’ through this solu- tion.” Mr. Blanchard: “Tomorrow is always the next day.” Why, so it is.

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16 THE GOLDEN ROD THE PRODIGAL SON Heedless of the fierce storm that raged without, the aged couple gazed into the fire before them. They were dreaming of one who, since his departure a few years previous, had been the subject of many an earnest and heart-felt prayer. In fact, since John Harvey’s birth, his parents had prayed constantly for his welfare. Tonight, as they sat there, each wondered if God would answer their prayers; and each wondered if their prayers were too late. The sweet-faced old lady broke the silence. “Father,” she murmured feebly, “somehow or other I feel that John is very near me tonight. I—I really think he is on his way home.” “Tut-tut!” replied the old man assum- ing a very harsh tone of voice. “He seems near to you because it was just such a night as this when be bade us good-bye. Then he continued bitterly, “We ought to be proud of our grateful boy. Think of the way he treated us after the many years we skimped and saved in order that he might go to college. Most likely he’s serving a time in jail and therefore is ashamed to write us.” “Father!” cried his wife, and she stared at him with tearful eyes. The expression of pain that passed over her countenance caused the old man to repent his rash statements. “Father,” she repeated, “you don’t mean what you say. Deep down in your heart you know there is still a chance for our boy to make good in the world. You know that some day he will come home to us, and—” Unable to continue she broke into sobs. “Mother, my dear, brave comrade! I wouldn’t be able to bear the loss of our boy if it wasn’t for you.” “Let’s continue to hope and pray,” she whispered. “John did what most country boys do when they reach the crowded, pleasure-loving city.” For the first time during the evening the two realized what a bitter, stormy night it was. Terrific storms were com- mon in the north-central part of Maine, but tonight the wind seemed unusually fierce as it howled and whistled through the evergreens, now covered with snow. “Father, what was that noise?” sud- denly gasped the old lady. “Why, Mother, I do believe you’re hearing things. It’s nothing but the wind.” “I was just thinking how awful it would be if John should attempt to come home in this storm. No one could ever come through it alive.—We are getting old, Father. We have but a short space of this life left and oh!—I could not die without seeing my boy, or at least without the assurance that I was to meet him later.” “There’s no use, my dear, if he is spending his time gambling and drinking as Farmer Nathan’s son said he was doing two years ago.” “Listen! There! I knew I heard something at the door. Hurry! I know it’s John.” The old farmer opened the door and a young man covered with snow tumbled into the kitchen. The two bent forms welcomed the stranger. Their eyes dim with age did not recognize him. “John, is it you?” cried the mother eagerly. “Ye-es,” stammered the young man and he fell prostrate to the floor. Two pairs of hands worked over the boy, but alas!—he did not regain con- sciousness. In the middle of the night the tired old man fell asleep, but the faithful, gray-haired mother watched the sleeping form through the long, quiet hours. While her husband slept John Harvey’s mother made a discovery! A burden was lifted from her heart, and the tears she shed were tears of joy.

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IS THE GOLDEN-ROD JUST ONE NIGHT The phone shrilled insistently, as Bob, dusty and by no means good humored, crawled from beneath the chiffonier where he was searching for a refractory- collar button, and grabbed the receiver. Hello, Bob.” came the voice of his author friend, Ralph Lee. “Say, I’m awfully sorry, old man, but I’ve got to leave for Washington on the 5:30, so of course—” “Ye Gods, man,” groaned Bob, “what about that darned house partyr?” Sorry-, but it’ll be impossible, Bob. Well, so long, old chap. I’ve got just half an hour to pack and make my train. Good Luck!” “Good Luck! Holy Smoke, I’m in a nice fix. Here I’ve been bragging about Ralph for the last month (wonderful fellow, do anything for me, etc.) and Mother has this reception to introduce him to her friends, and Sis especially.” Suddenly', a brilliant idea struck the frenzied Bob. Why not get someone to impersonate Ralph? Neither his moth- er, sister or guests, had ever seen the young author. Ralph was in town only- on business as he was a resident of old Virginia. But now came the question, whom should he get? Bob paced the room several times and then halted before one of the windows and stood staring moodily at the line of waiting taxis. Suddenly, across the street, a large red car drew up to the curb and a fur-coated young man leaped out and entered the store hurriedly . Bob seized his coat and dashed madly' down the stairs and across the street. The man was just emerging from the store and jumped nervously as Bob laid a de- taining hand on his arm. Say,” he said to the chauffeur, what’s y'our time worth for tonight?” “I’ve got no time to------” the other began gruffly, but Bob interrupted breathlessly. Listen, I’ll give you fifty dollars if you’ll help me out of a scrape. Fifty dollars,” he added coaxingly, “just for one night.” The other regarded him intently for a moment, and then, “I’m on, boss,” came the crafty reply'. For the next two hours Bob drilled the chauffeur in the art of intelligent con- versation and endeavored to teach him some of Ralph’s characteristics. The lights of Larchmont, Bob’s Long Island home, were gleaming, as the red car sped up the drive and came to a sharp stop under the porte-cochere. The chauffeur for some reason had in- sisted on using the red car for the journey-. Although Bob’s heart was in his mouth the evening passed without a mishap. His mother and guests were delighted with the false author, but his sister, Catherine, was silent and preoccupied during the evening, and about eleven o’clock she pleaded a headache and re- tired. The next morning, Bob, pacing the library waiting for breakfast, happened to pick up a paper of the evening before. There above the words Auto Thief!” was the picture of his chauffeur! Then followed a description of the red car. At the same instant, Bob’s mother rushed into the room. “Oh, Bob,” she wailed, read this.” Bob took the slip of notepaper and finally' his dazed brain made out the words: Dear Mother and Bob— When y'ou get this, Ralph and I will be happily' married. Wish us luck. Catherine.” Heavens! She—she’s married a thief!” “A—a what?” gasped his mother. Do you mean to tell me, Bob Daley', that he wasn’t Ral—”