Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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THE GOLDEN-ROD 5 REGENERATION As Duane sat there before the open hearth with the firelight playing on his long, lithe body, his eyes were strangely softened. Duane’s eyes in the presence of others were steely grey, hard, and metallic. But now, they were softened as though he was dreaming of other and happier days. To his superiors, Duane was simply an expert engineer who solved the hardest problems with an easy disregard of their difficulty. It was as though he disdained any or all problems, as though his was a brain that could solve any problem with little effort. To his men, Duane was a driver who worked himself harder than he worked them, a driver who compelled their ad- miration and respect. To the people with whom he was ac- quainted, Duane was a mystery. He seemed to have no friends and to make none. The only companion he had was an Indian servant. Duane also seemed to have a strange fear of women. He would have nothing to do with them, and as far as it was in his power, no woman was allowed on the construction on which he was at work. It was very noticeable, that the men he chose as his assistants were all unmarried men of mature years. The men tried to make up a past for him, but he would never talk and he never dropped any hint as to his past. All that the men of the company knew was this: Four years before, Harold Duane had appeared at the office of the North Amer- can Construction Company and asked for a position as engineer,—and got it. (It was noticeable that what Duane went after he got.) Duane was sent to Argentina to help on a large reservoir which the company was building there. By his brains and hard work Duane advanced until finally he became assis- tant to the engineer in charge. When the head engineer was taken ill and ordered north, Duane was given com- plete charge of the construction and finished the work months ahead of the contract time, thereby making money for his company. When he reached the States, he was sent to a dam that the Company was constructing in the Red Valley. Here he was to have entire charge, the engi- neer who had been in charge returning to New York. Here Duane is found. As he sat there before the fire, he looked strangely like a boy who, after a hard day of playing, had eaten his sup- per and now was resting and dreaming before the open hearth. A knock came at the door, and Duane’s expression changed. Over his face came a cold, grey mask, and his eyes grew hard. “Come in,” his voice was cold as though it was ice. “All right, Mr. Duane,” answered the man. “I just brought up a couple of letters; they have been down to the office a week, and you didn’t call for them, so I brought them up.” “Thanks,” laconically replied Duane, “but I wasn’t expecting any mail from the company for another week.” “These aren’t company letters; they aren’t in company envelopes anyway.” “All right, thanks.” “Good night, Mr. Duane.” “Good night.” And after the man had left, “Who could have written me? I have no friends, and surely none of my old ones know where I am. Well, there is only one way to find out.” He opened one of the letters. It was an invitation from the wife of the President of the company for a ball to be held on Christmas Eve and to which all the engineers in the employ- ment of the company were invited and at which the directors and the engineers

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4 THE GOLDEN-ROD A shadow has been cast over our school by the untimely deaths of our beloved teachers. Miss Seymour and Mr. Roache. We feel that we have lost two splendid friends. And we wonder, as we think back, if we always treated them as our friends; if we always reciprocated their efforts in our behalf. The saying “You never miss the water till the well runs dry,” is indeed a grim one as here applied. So, let us realize now that our teachers—and we may add, our parents—are our best friends and should be so regarded; let us realize that to try to teach us is our teachers’ life work: to try to learn is our duty;—the first is vain without the second. This does not mean that we all should become book-worms—far from that. It does mean, however, that we all should show a whole-hearted effort and willing- ness to learn. That is indeed the least we can do. As this is our best opportunity we wish to commend the school, especially the September Freshmen, for its financial support of the first issue. The Septem- ber Freshmen averaged more copies than any other class except the Seniors. In fact, the financial support was so good that there wasn’t a single copy left over, and more could have been sold. We hope that all who wanted copies of this issue, may have got them, and we advise, for your own sake that you order your next number so you may be sure of hav- ing it. SENIORS! Where is your good be- havior? Don’t you know enough, when there is no teacher in the room, to work if you have any to do? Or if, perchance, you have no work, or no inclination to work, at least don’t make so much noise that the teacher in the next room can hear you. Do you know you are committing an offense, legally called “Disturbing the Peace”? In the death of Mr. Roache, we mourn the loss of a kindly, warm-hearted man. whose influence will long be felt in the school where he taught and in the com- munity where he lived. A man of sterling worth, his life was characterized by a modesty and dignity of bearing, by extreme uprightness and integrity, and by a steadfast devotion to duty. His generous and sympathetic nature, his thoughtful courtesy, and the gentle- ness and nobility of his character com- manded the respect of all who were brought in contact with him. Life had failed to embitter him; in- stead he had gained, thro’ life’s vicissi- tudes, a calmness and serenity of mind which the aggressive man rarely finds. We who were privileged to count our- selves among his friends, found his friend- ship a warm, living actuality. An in- teresting and delightful companion, a man whom we could implicit) trust, his many lovable qualities were impressed upon us more and more deeply with the passing of time. “Such was our friend. Formed on the good old plan, A true and brave and downright honest man! His daily prayer, far better understood In acts than words, was simply doing good. So calm, so constant was his rectitude, That by his loss alone we know its worth, And feel how true a man has walked with us on earth.” —Clara E. Thompson.

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G THE GOLDEN-ROD were to meet. The other was a letter from the President notifying him of a directors’ meeting to be held on the first Monday of the new year and asking him to be present. Questions piled thick and fast on his mind. Should he attend the ball? Who was going to be there? Would anyone recognize him? Why was he notified of the directors’ meeting, and why was he asked to be present? Then he looked at the calendar,—ten days to get to New York and buy some decent clothes. He wrote his acceptance of the invitations, and the next day left for New York. At the ball. Duane appeared as a tall, good-looking man of between twenty-five and thirty years of age who desired to keep himself and spend most of his time in the smoking room with the men. Duane kept himself absolutely away from the ladies, and when his host chided him with being afraid of women, he answered, “I can’t dance, and I am not much of a talker, so I would be a bore to any of them; and I guess they are just as well satisfied with my keeping away.” But Duane had been noticed more than he thought, and he had caused many a pretty head there to wonder why his eyes were so hard. Some laughed and jokingly said he was a woman-hater. Not until he was back in his room at the hotel without anyone’s recognizing him did Duane breathe an easy breath. At the directors’ meeting, he was in- formed that he had been called there because the plans that he had drawn of a bridge, that was to be built across the Colorado river at a point near Yuma, Arizona, had been judged the best and that he was to be given charge of the construction. Duane asked that his assistant should be the one to meet any visitors or in- spectors that might come; that to the people around Yuma this assistant should be the one in charge; and that the fact of Harold Duane's being there should not be known. Though these requests seemed strange, they were granted and in the light of later events it was shown that Duane couldn’t be blamed. At the bridge he showed an extraor- dinary knowledge of the surrounding country that could not be gained in any way except that of daily contact for years. But he gave no explanation, and the others knew better than to ask him, though in the cabin at night when Duane was away, they often talked it over. Duane shunned all visitors and never went into town, but often when the work was going well he would saddle his horse and ride off into the desert, the other side of the river. The work went on rapidly because Duane had foreseen all hitches and had prepared for them. One afternoon, while directing some men where to put in extra braces, Duane heard a call and, turning around, he saw standing on a knoll about a hundred yards distant a vision of loveli- ness—Spring, Youth, and Love incar- nate, all incorporated in the slender body of a young lady of uncertain age. Suffice to say, she was under thirty and over sixteen. As she stood there on the knoll, the descending rays of the western sun outlined her body so that to Duane she appeared a goddess or a wood nymph or the queen of the fairies, before whom he should fall down and worship in the manner of the ancients. Then she started down the knoll toward him, and he stood and watched her come, forgetting that he did not want to be seen, forgetting that it was a woman who four years before had caused that grey mask to grow on his face, had caused the hard look in his eyes, had