Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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12 THE GOLDEN-ROD TOLD BY THE CAMP-FIRE The wind sighed gently through the pine grove; shadows cast by the fire danced hither and yon, like grotesque forms; above a silvery crescent threw wan, pale beams to earth, and a few stars dotted the cool blue bowl of the sky. In the near-by pine an owl hooted; little woodland animals peered from trees and underbrush, trying to fathom this trespassing. Still no one spoke. So I was back again in my native state! It was in September of 1945 after twenty-five busy, happy, yet slightly home-sick years, and I was once more in Maine, the Pine Tree State. Finding my little home town so changed, I had taken a party of friends and, with an old native as guide, found a place still unchanged,—the northern shore of the Penobscot river. For three happy, blessed days I had forgotten all affairs of business and with my girlhood pals dwelt once more in blissful Arcady. To-night no one seemed conversation- ally inclined. I sat between the two girls with whom I had shared my girlish joys and sorrows. Ah! was it twenty- five years since last we met? In my eyes they were still girls. A sudden, persistent hoot from that owl awakened our guide with a start. He glanced through his bushy eyebrows, then settling comfortably on his blanket said, “I’ve jest been thinkin’ ’bout old times. Us here together has kinder turned back my mind. Ye know, I kin remember when you gals was little tow- headed tods.” Here he stopped with a far-away look in his faded old eyes. “Oh, Mr. Perkins, do tell us something to cheer us up,” I pleaded, for I felt sorely in need of some cheering in- fluence. “Well, what I was thinkin’ of was way back in 1919 when hobble skirts, flivvers, and that wiggly jazz stuff was pop’lar.” The firelight played on his aged face, revealing a jovial smile. “I begun to think o’ getting a second wife an’ o’ course I didn’t want no old hen; in fact, I wanted a chicken. They was planty of ’em in the village so I starts plannin’ a conquest. I gets my eye on a young grass widder, a real chicken, with hair which became blond on very short notice, hobble skirts, three inch heels, an’ a drug store complexion. She shore knew how to mix paints, did that un. Oh, I nigh forgot to mention the crittur’s eyes. They was big an’ innercent, jest the color o’ this here sky to-night,—and oh, how she could wobble ’em.” A gale of laughter now rose from the group about the fire. “A real baby vamp,” came from some one. “We used to have those things back in T9.” “The first fool thing I does is to get one o’ them things invented by Henry Ford for the destruction o’ the human race,” continued old Perkins. “I’d hern say if anything could get a fella a gal, it was a flivver. You know the sayin’, ‘There’s no fool like an old fool.’ Well, that was me all over. Here I was most forty-five, crazy over a widder which was considered young, an’ doin’ every fool thing possible. But as I was sayin’, I bought the Ford. I had rode consid- erable with a fella in his’n an’ I jest knew I could drive without no trouble. “Well, in due time the thing arrived, steered by a man so fat he looked like a elephant in a baby carriage. He got his money and waddled off leavin’ me feelin’ the animal over to see if she is spavined. “Dreamin’ of a sweet pink an’ white face, I cranked the blamed thing, which ain’t no job atall if you know how, which I didn’t. Howsomever, I got it hummin’ an’ still thinkin’ o’ Delicia I jumped to

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THE GOLDEN-ROD 11 Silver was able to think over his past. The good days when he made voyages with England and Capt. Flint, and his last and most exciting adventure when he sailed under the command of Capt. Smalley. Indeed he could never forget faithful Jim, the cabin boy, who listened to his stories with wide eyes, and fought like a man when Silver and his men started a mutiny. And oh! the hunt for Flint’s money when they reached Treasure Island! His disappointment on finding no money played an impor- tant part also in the thoughts of Silver. “Well,” he chuckled, “when Dr. Livesy and the rest found the money and they all got their share, there was no reason why I could not get mine.” He chuck- led again and slapped his knee in full satisfaction. And the cause of it all was a sack of gold beside him. Two weeks before, when Silver was on the ship with Dr. Livesy, Jim and Ben Gunn, the doctor suggested a short tour through the next stopping place. When all were supposed to be off, Silver sneaked back, and knowing just where the gold lay, he went quickly to it and with a heavy sack over his shoulder, he left the ship. “And the missus,” he went on, “won’t she be happy when she learns she is to be ri—ow!” A nut on one of the wheels of the coach had come off and the wheel was follow- ing suit. The result was that Silver found himself on his back, swearing as only the Prince of Pirates could sweai. By some instinct he held the bag of gold in his grip. Muttering oaths under his breath, he hopped out of the stage. The Driver explained that he would have to lead the horses back to the nearest stable and leave the coach to be repaired in the morning. Meantime the wind howled and shrieked. It was snowing and hailing, and the hail hit Silver in the face, half blinding him. It seemed as though he never would reach home if he didn’t mutter and swear, for he did so from the minute the accident occurred until he reached his own door. Nevertheless, his oaths did not seem to improve the weather. As he fought his way home against the blinding storm, he suddenly stumbled and fell over a lifeless heap, landing with his face deep in the snow. His feet struck against something that made a jingling sound like that of money. The only word that would describe the emo- tion of Silver’s heart would be that it jingled also. Without any hesitation he picked up the bags and the night be- ing too dark for him to see whose body it was, he started on his way. This time his mumbled oaths were mingled with evil chuckles of satisfaction. Many months have passed and sum- mer in all its glory is here. It is quiet and peaceful in Cornwall. In a com- fortable armchair on the porch of an old fashioned cottage, on a clifT overlooking the sea, sits Silver, with a contented, dreamy expression on his weatherworn face. As he gazes out on the deep, green waters he sees, gliding along, an old ship which brings back to him pleasant mem- ories of his pirate days. Silver is not alone in this picture, for perched up in a cage, extended from the porch ceiling, sits his blinking parrot. .Silver looks up at the parrot and says, “Ah, Flint, old boy, my pirate days are over but I shall have you to remind me of my former years, and, old scout, your days to come will be happy ones, so dream away, lazy one.” And from the parrot, “Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!” Rosabell Paris, 1923.

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THE GOLDEN-ROD 13 the wheel. It’s nothin’ atall to get one o’ these here locomobiles goin’ if you know what brakes to step on, but as much as I knew about horses 1 couldn’t make the thing move. After some hot words an’ decided actions, my heart jumps wildly as I feel it start.” There was a pause now. The man, after twenty-five years, still found humor in his foolish experience. We waited, almost breathless. ‘‘As Ma’s flower patch was direct in front o’ my beast o’ burden there was nothin’ to do but letter go, which I did. You kin imagine what was left o’ Ma’s sweet peas and nasturtiums! In my heart there was jest one thought,—how do I stop the thing? Over a broad meadow and into a corn field went my flivver, me hatless and coatless tryin’ to stop her. For some unheard of reason, the pesky Ford took to the high- way. Mis’ Black’s white hens was in the road o’ course, an’ ye oughter seen ’em scatter. In every winder o’ every house was at least one person; men in the hay fields stopped work to look. Jes’ the same they had to hand it to me for speed. “By this time things were gettin’ serious. I’d gotter run up against some- THE After Major Prescott passed from this world to the next, there was little for which his young son could be happy. In fact, all the father left was a few hun- dred thousand dollars and the Prescott “Mansion.” No wonder Edmund’s childhood was an unhappy one. He en- vied the other little boys (with whom he was not allowed to play) and vowed that some day he would run away and do just as he pleased. When Edmund was in the early twenties, he entered a New York col- thin’ soon. At this instant I sees a form at the bottom o’ the hill. It was fat an’ roun’ an’ ploddin’. Instant I recognizes it as the man who brung me that offspring of Henry Ford. ‘Ef I kin grab him he may stop this ding- busted varmint’, thinks I. So as I speeds along, I jest grabs him by the collar only to loose hold an’ drop him again, face downward. Leavin’ the man, or rather fat piece o’ humanity, to shift fer hisself my machine goes on. “Who was the poet who said, ‘And here is another turn in the road’ and so forth? Well anyway I comes to one at this time. My car wasn’t simply fol- lerin’ the road; it was goin’ in a straight line, come what might. It happened that by the road was a stone wall and there stopped the prodigal Ford. “Exhausted, I fell into the seat moppin’ my face. Suddenly I hears a auto approachin’. Up the dusty road comes a big grey roadster. As she draws nearer I sees the objec’ o’ my dreams settin’ with a army lieutenant. Heaven was just when it made them look at each other instead o’ at me. “After that I left Fords an’ grass widders be.” —Therese Dunbar, ’20. SCAR lege. Here he made the acquaintance of an honest, upright young man, name- ly, Allan Richards. There was a great deal of difference between the two young men. Richards was not strong and, therefore, could not participate in the outdoor sports in which the wild nature of his chum delighted. Nevertheless, their love for each other was sincere and earnest; and the influence which Allan had over Edmund was remarkable. Indeed, it was this friendship and in- fluence that kept the latter from getting