Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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25 THE GOLDEN-ROD Poor Excuse Miss Thompson—Berman, you were late this morning. Where’s your excuse? Berman—Yes’m. We’ve got a new baby at our house. Miss Thompson—Well, don’t let it happen again. Mr. Collins—Where were you born? Maiden—Maine. Mr. Collins—What part? Maiden—All of me, of course. Miss Freeman—Don’t argue with me. Everything you say is going in one ear and coming out the other. Mac—That’s because there’s nothing in between to stop it. Teacher {who, after collecting the test papers, finds one with no name)—Whose paper is this? Pupil—'The name is on the paper. Teacher—It’s obliterated. Pupil—I beg your pardon; it’s Murphy. T.—Why don’t you talk louder when you recite? P.—A soft answer turneth away wrath. A parallel is two lines which never meet unless they are bent. (From Gould's paper.) Freshie—What do you have the first thing in the morning? Senior—Breakfast, little one. What are the rates at your hotel? Two dollars up to twelve. How much up to half-past nine? Miss Jones—This makes four times I’ve had to make you stay this week for being late. What have you to say to that, John? John—I’m glad it’s Friday. “Not Far Off At That” Miss Johnson—The Ku Klux Klan marks a new error (era) in the national government. Real Industrious Saylor—Who are you working for, Ber- man? Berman—My father. Saylor—What’s he do? Berman—Nothing. The First Football Game Wend. (translating Latin)—Then the anchor secured the ship by its fluke. Olson—They were lucky to get to land. . .—Why? Olson—Why, they got there only by a fluke. J. J.—Or perhaps two flukes. Mr. J.—Can you decline hug, Miss Boshan? Emily—No, I never decline it. On stude’s test paper: “Please write more legibly.” The next day stude went to Mr. Webb and asked: “Mr. Webb, what is that you wrote on the back of my paper?” Gems from Exams. Architecture in the beginning was heavy pillows. The school board repairs schools, ob- tains teachers, and sees that they are heated. Ford—Did you hear about the fellow at our garage who threw benzine into the fire? Flagg—No. What happened? Ford—Well, lie’s never ben zine since. Miss Giles—If you want to make a hit you must strike out for yourself. Thompson—Just a minute, Miss Giles. You’re mixed up in your baseball talk. If you strike out you can’t make a hit. Young—What’s the home work in F rench ? Al—Nothing. Young—Well, I’ve done it for once. “Did you give up anything during Lent, Sid? Sid—“Sure, hopes of graduation.”

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