Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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THE GOLDEN-ROD 21 Ann, glancing up, saw the eyes of many passers-by upon them. “Oh, please, please! People will see! Wait—where is that taxi?” Richard came to with a start and glanced about him. “Why, we have walked a whole block beyond it.” And they both laughed, a little unstead- ily, but happy at the something which they saw in each other’s eyes. Florence Rauch, June, ’26. Dulce The sun was slowly setting, shedding its wonderful glory over the dear old gen- tleman so soon to walk the western path. Many a time we had sat thus, watching the dying day, while he related talcs of his youth, so marvelous, mysterious, al- most superhuman. The mystery of the sea and all the Orient lurked in the atmosphere about him, as he began in his kindly way: “Well, my dear, we set sail from Eng- land in the ‘S. S.----’ just at the Christ- mas season, and hearts were heavy at leaving our dear ones. Our destination was India, where we arrived in good time, unloaded passengers, mail and cargo, filled up for the return trip, said our fare- wells, and set out once again for ‘Home, Sweet Home.’ The balmy Indian air was exhilarating. It stole into our very souls as day after day we rode through the different seas. When we left Calcutta, our route lay through the Bay of Bengal into the Indian Ocean, thence to the Arabian Sea, the Gulf of Aden, through the Strait of Bab- e!-Mandeb, and into the Red Sea, for we were returning by way of the Mediter- ranean. “We had been out some days and were making for the Gulf of Aden. The cap- tain, a very dear, intimate friend of mine, after the passengers had retired for the night, had a habit of walking the deck in his bare feet, for he liked to feel the heavy dew that falls in those regions. I, the chief engineer, would ascend to the hatch- way of the upper deck, resting on the casing, enjoying the wonderful Indian nights, as I dreamt of those to whom every revolution of the engines was bringing me closer and closer. As the captain passed, we would exchange desultory talk; so closely knit in soul were we, silence itself was company. “Patter, patter, patter, went the bare feet, fore and aft, for almost an hour. Then, passing me, the captain, looking skyward, said: ‘It’s a dirty night, Mac; it’s a dirty night.’ “Lazily I looked up, agreeing silently, and thinking how bright the moon had been a while previously. Again I was lulled with the swish of the ocean against the ship’s sides, the salt breeze, the purr of my engines, so human to me, and I for- got the ‘dirty night!’ “Patter, patter came the captain again, muttering to himself. By this time I had come fully on deck and, standing at the rail, began examining weather conditions, feeling premonitions. “The captain, coming up to where I stood, began sniffing the air, saying: ‘Dulce, dulce!’ in a questioning way; then, after a pause, ‘I smell dulce, Mac, I smell dulce!’ “Dulce is a seaweed which grows only near shores, and is eaten in some coun- tries as a vegetable. “‘Dulce!’ Shall I ever forget the sniff I took? Just at that moment the moon in all her splendor shone through a break in two high peaks. “‘Great God!’ I cried, ‘we are on the rocks!’ “No need for bells—no need for sig- nals ! How I reached the engines I never knew, but before even the captain put foot on the bridge, I had her full speed astern,—back, back from that terrible death! Away, away from the black Cape of Guardafui! “We had been running full speed ahead into the rocks on the northeastern coast of Africa, where only man-eating savages live, and if once we had been wrecked there, none would have survived to tell the tale.

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20 THE GOLDEN-ROD fitted for no responsible position. . And Ann herself: When the third day had come and gone, and with it no signs of work for her father, she began to think seriously. She knew that she could not do secretarial work. She might be able to become a clerk, but where: The next morning Ann slipped out of the house after breakfast. She had be- come very grave in these last few days. Life seemed to have shown that work was to be done everywhere; there was no time to be fooled away. But where: Again that discouraging word. It is doubtful if the elderly female population of Hillsdale would have recognized, at first glance, the pale, sober, little lady who walked quickly down the busy street that morning. From one employment office to another she wandered for the greater part of the day. But nowhere did she meet with success. Late in the afternoon, Ann wended her way back disconsolately. If she could not obtain work and her father was equally unsuccessful, what were they to do: She turned a corner and was jostled roughly by a stout woman. Looking up, she dis- covered that she was standing before a theatre. And above the ticket office her startled gaze fell upon a sign: “Girl Wanted” Her heart jumped, and then she began to consider. Her pride would not allow her to take that sort of job. What if some of her former associates should see her sitting in this little box, like so many of the painted girls she had seen, dealing out tickets to a pleasure-seeking crowd: Her thoughts suddenly turned to Richard Bar- net. She could almost see the amused expression which she fancied would come over his face if he saw her here and com- pared her with the girl she had been when he saw her in Hillsdale. She wanted to move on, but something compelled her to enter the building. As if in a dream, she found herself in the manager’s office, an- swering questions and finally being told to report for work the following morning. Both Mr. and Mrs. Eveanson greeted the announcement of Ann’s decision to work with unbounded astonishment, and not a little gladness. Surely this revealed a new and formerly undiscovered trait in their daughter’s character. One evening Ann, tearing off tickets and making change as rapidly as her tired fingers would permit, heard a low ex- clamation of amazement from outside the booth. She looked up, to see a woman turning away. In a few days the inevitable happened. As Ann was walking through the brightly- lighted street after leaving the office for the evening, a low, strangely familiar voice sounded in her ear. Turning quick- ly, she looked up into the eyes of Richard Barnet. A flood of color rushed into her cheeks, and a sudden desire to run away surged through her. But the young man, boldly drawing her hand through his arm, led her, dumbfounded, into the street. “I left a taxi waiting at the next cor- ner,” he said. This awakened her. “Where are you taking me?” she demanded. “Why, home. I promised your mother—” “My mother! You have visited my mother: But—why—how did you find—” “Oh, easily enough! One of your for- mer friends in Hillsdale happened to see you here working at the theatre, and kind- ly spread it all over town. Dotty wrote to me, telling me all,—your father’s fail- ure and—everything. So you have awak- ened at last, Ann?” “Awakened?” repeated Ann blankly. “Awakened? Why, for the last week or two I have felt as if I were in a strange dream. If you thought me dull and mon- otonous back in Hillsdale, how can you think me otherwise now, of all times?” One of Richard’s big hands closed over the small one resting on his arm. “Dull and monotonous? Why, I thought you were a little too ‘fast’ for me, and determined to forget you. You see, I didn’t think this earnestness was in you. I—Oh, the dickens! What am I raving this way for, when there is really only one thing to say? I saw your parents tonight and received permission to tell you— something—and—and—ask you some- thing, Ann!” Ann’s heart was thumping madly. A wild sense of delicious joy ran like quick- silver through her veins. “Ann!” Richard was looking anxiously into her face.

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22 THE GOLDEN-ROD “Next morning, as we took our seats a breakfast, our eyes met with an under- standing none but we two could ever know. The passengers babbled on, little Caesar’s L, Bang! Crash! Blinkcty-blank, bam! “Caesar was hurled to the floor with such a terrific blow that it brought Mother hurrying in to see if Pd fallen and broken my precious neck. When she saw me sitting apparently in good health, but glaring down with a fero- cious countenance at “Caesar’s Gallic Wars,” her anxiety was relieved, and ex- asperation immediately took its place. “Migs!” she demanded rather sternly, “did you deliberately throw that book on the floor:” “Yes, I did!” I burst out, giving vent to my emotions. “An’ the darn thing’s goin’ to stay there! ’Magine that poor fool takin’ two whole pages to tell how he crossed a blamed ol’ river. All the con- founded bug could do, anyway, ’cept shoot off hot air!” Having relieved myself of this much of my indignation, I sat back and glared disgustedly down at the book. Mother surveyed the wreck on the floor—the book had landed so the pages were crumpled and tossed—and then me, deliberating probably on what course was the wisest .to follow. “Migs!” she commanded, “pick that book up at once, and finish your lesson.” “No, I won’t!” I retorted. “I ain’t ever goin’ to have any more to do with that lunatic! Why in the devil did he have to write an account of his fool wars anyhow, —poor ham! Oh! I hate him, and all the darn rivers he ever crossed!” Mother was plainly shocked—not only at the outburst and terrible language I had used, but also at the idea of her darling and only child deliberately sauc- ing and disobeying her. and, having de- scended from good old Puritan stock, at the idea of anyone actually expressing hate. In my present state I was beyond reas- oning with,—and she knew it from ex- perience. She left the room quickly. After she had gone mv better nature knowing their narrow escape, while he and I silently thanked God for His mer- cies.” Jean Hepburn, June, ’24. ast Battle prompted me to pick up the book and set it with some reluctance upon my untidy desk. Then I started to cry—force of habit, I guess; it was not the first time “Caesar” had reduced me to tears. I usually felt better afterwards. 'Phis time, however, I began to sympathize with my- self, and was finally convinced that I was being treated very inconsiderately when I was made to take Latin in my college course; then I began to denounce whoever had invented the college board require- ments. If I had elected Latin I should probably have thought it lovely, or at least I wouldn’t have given in that I didn’t; the unfortunate part of it was, though. I had been made to take it. That’s what I resented most, for I was never made to do anything I didn’t want to until I entered High School,—and then it was rather late to begin my much-needed training. Then there were so many other subjects I should much rather take, and so many other things I should much rather do, for instance,—at that moment I would much rather have been dancing, skiing or read- ing some delightful book of Dickens’, in- stead of helping Caesar across another Gallic river. This proved too much for me, and again “Caesar” landed crashing on the floor. “Oh! please don’t do that again,” a feeble voice protested. “It—it m-most knocks the little breath I’ve got left out of me.” I jumped! Turning around, I beheld “Ciesar” struggling to get up. “Great Caesar’s ghost!” I muttered. “It’s pretty bad when one begins to see things.” “Ooh!” wailed Caesar, “there I’m being called a ‘thing’ again; they all do it!” “Who?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me. “Oh, my dear,” he said. “Why, all the High School pupils that see me say, ‘think I’d study that thing!’ And those who