Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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16 THE GOLDEN-ROD The Dancer The curtain rose, slowly, majestically, and in a blaze of light the audience saw Narice, the dancer. She stood in the center of the stage, swaying to the gentle rhythm of the music. Her slender body was robed in shimmering gold; trailing wisps of golden gossamer hung from her beautiful arms; her little feet were en- cased in golden slippers, and on her hair was a coronet of pearls. She was like a sunbean—almost too dazzling for the eye to follow; like a fairy—so slim, so dainty, so gracefully lovely. Her face was so exquisite as to be almost ethereal. A pale, oval face it was, with dark luminous eyes, and red lips parted in a bewitching smile. The audience broke into tumultu- ous applause. Suddenly she bent forward, poised on her toes, and flitted across the stage, whirling in a mad ecstasy of dance. The spectators watched her with bated breath. She was like the flashing of morning sun- light upon the water. Now she darted swiftly; she twirled round and round on her toes; and the spotlight, playing upon her, made her gown seem now lavender, now pale green, now blue, like a summer sea. When she had swirled and swirled, finally falling gracefully to the floor, the audience' clapped enthusiastically in trib- ute to Xarice, the dancer. Betty Wells, F. ’28. Inmates of a Dictionary “Hello, Mr. The. How are you faring in your old age?” “Well, now, Miss Gossip, for an old man who is used to the world, I’m not so bad, because, you see, those who use me, use me well. Here comes Mr. Like.” “Poor Mr. Like! So many people abuse him,” sympathized Miss Gossip. “Have you met Miss Camouflage, Mr. Like?” “Why, yes, I have heard something about her, Miss Gossip. She is one of our new tenants, isn’t she?” “Yes, she is, she began to live here dur- ing the war,” answered Miss Gossip knowingly. “I wonder how Miss Their and Mr. There are today? They are for- ever quarreling with one another. But come, we must congratulate Mrs. and Mr. Should-Would on the birth of their twins, Shall and Will. They are so much alike that many people get them confused. They put Shall in Will’s place, and Will in Shall’s place. Oh, and have you heard that Mr. Wary and Miss Shy have an- nounced their engagement? They are really a good match, because they are so much alike. They have so many things in common. They don’t seem a bit like Miss Irritate and Mr. Annoy, do they? Oh, yes! I almost forgot to tell you that Mr. Roisterer has been sentenced to the House of Correction again. I wonder if he will ever learn to behave. His brother, Mr. Polite, is so different from him, too. It does seem such a shame. But, of course, there must be one black sheep in the family. As I have begun to tell you some news, Mr. Like, I may as well tell you all I have heard. Do you remember Miss Better, who used to live with us? Well, that hussy is now an actress. She calls herself Miss Best now. She thinks that she has reached the highest summit in film fame that any person has ever attained. She always was conceited, any- way. I abhor talking about anyone, but don’t you think that Mr. Quite is getting rather weak? His relatives, Mr. Wholly and Mrs. Entirely, treat him so badly. He gets so confused that he doesn’t know where he belongs at times. But we mustn’t

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THE GOLDEN-ROD 15 The Maniac The Pierce family were sitting by the fireside in their old farm house on a very rainy night in April. This family con- sisted of the father and the mother and two sons. Looking at them one would get the impression that, although they were poor, they were happy. Addie, the oldest and biggest boy, was a very pitiful creature, as he had been feeble minded ever since early boyhood. Now he was sitting near the fire mutter- ing to himself. No one noticed him; the mother and father continued their reading and discussion of the daily news. Mrs. Pierce read aloud for her husband about the escape of a crazed man from a nearby asylum who had been at large two weeks. All attempts at finding him were futile; what was most peculiar, he always wore a large red cloth on his head representing a turban. He never discarded this, so it would aid in identifying him. The sheriff was so eager to capture him he had of- fered $2,000 for him, dead or alive. As the evening wore away Addie rose from his seat and went out into the dark night. This was his usual custom, and no one would dare to interfere with his plans. There was no cause to worry about him, as he was a harmless crea- ture and would not wander far. After walking for five minutes Addie ap- proached a large pond and sat down by its edge. Soon he began to dig furiously, for in his imagination he believed a great treasure hidden there. As he was thus engaged he heard footsteps approaching him, but he did not look up, as he thought it was his brother coming to take him in from the rain. Suddenly he was seized by the shoulders and instantly there came to his feeble mind the thought that some one was going to rob him of his treasure. The man whom he confronted was dressed most peculiarly with a large red turban on his head. As he struck, Addie jumped up and grabbed him by the throat. Then they fell to the ground and struggled for a long time. Addie, using all his strength, seized the maniac by the throat and hurled him into the pond. Then, cover- ing up the hole where his supposed treas- ure was hidden, he ran for home. That night he was restless and talked inces- santly of killing a man. After that eventful night Addie seemed to remember everything that happened, and at times his mother believed him to be cured of his brain trouble. Whenever he mentioned to the village folk the kill- ing of the maniac, they only shook their heads and said, “Poor Addie is getting worse.” Laura Daggett, F. ’28. MY FRIEND THE CALL OF THE NORTH WIND In all my life I’ve never met, Just such a friend as yoi£p j Who could be very true anakind, And understand me, too. I wonder if you realize IIow much it means to me. Although our lives may drift apart, My Friend—you’ll always be. When you arc blue or very sad— Docs anyone care for you? When you laugh and when you cry? I do, pal! I’ll say I do! Myrtle Richards. The north wind calls and her children reply, And down to the ground they everyone fly— Leaves of red, of orange, and gold. Whispering news that the wind has told. O’er the ground they dance, Back and forth they prance, Forming a rainbow of delight, Making a glad and brilliant sight. They bid farewell to the dear old tree. Then off they prance with mirth and glee; Murmuring news of the snowy bed Soon prepared for each brilliant head. Evanceling Zixck, F. '29

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THE GOLDEN-ROD 17 stand here talking all day. I will see you again when I have more news to impart.” Then Miss Gossip sighed and left Mr. Like, with a feeling that she had done her duty. “Oh, that woman! She is just like her spinster sister, Miss Trouble. Forever gabbing away. Well, I guess we all have to stand it. But I must hurry now or they will give Mr. As my seat at the dinner table. They forget that I exist once in a while.” Hazel Daiilberg, F. ’28. JOHN DORE’S DECISION Vacation lime had come at last, “So,” said John Dorc, 'i'll away To the sweet quiet country, mid green fields and farms To rest me and also to play.” So packing his bag he gaily set forth 'Till he came to a farmer called Booth. “Say, Silas,’’ he called, “Pray what may I do, To partake of a long needed rest ’ncath your roof?” “Wai my boy.” quoth the farmer, “Your work will be light. You rise when I call you At dawn's first faint sight! You go to the cow barns And milk sixteen bossies, Then haste to the stables With oats for the hossiesT “And then, by crackic, when breakfast is done, Down to the meadows to help mow the hay. You then feed the chickens, you gather the eggs, And again after dinner—I say “ When you finish the mowing, There’s the garden to weed, And cut the asparagus A’forc it can seed! ' ”’ Your day's work then is over, The whole evening is yours. You must get to bed early. As each day brings its chores! “You’ll always sleep soundly On our best corn-cob bed And if the skects bother, Just cover your head.” “Well, thinking it over I feel.’’ said John Dorc “Instead of the country I’ll go to the shore.” M. MacBurnie, F. ’27. FOURTH PERIOD My mind is in a state of worry, As into 213 1 hurry; For there I’m greeted with a look That makes me hide behind a book. That teacher’s voice gives me a scare, And makes me long to grab the air. I never know what she’ll say next, So hurriedly I scan my text. But if I gave a theorem right— T’would make Miss Wilson’s hair turn white. And what a dreadful thing t’would be To have that mishap blamed on me. I never fail to come to grief, But in the bell I find relief. The worst is yet to come I say And it surely does the very next day. E. E. A, June, ’28. AFTERNOON SESSION My mind fn till a daze, As I wonder in a haze, What ever shall I do, Before the clock strikes two, To answer that bothersome question, How to skip afternoon session? It is so dreadfully unfair, To think of keeping me there. I wonder if she’d let me zcl If I but told her so As I can make up no false confession, Here goes for afternoon session. Catherine Smyth, F. ’29 THOMAS’ LOVE POEM I hate to think of the dark, old world This earth was every day Before I found your glowing love To chase the gloom away. Though thousands sought you too, dear, Your soul aflame and bright, God left you there for me, dear, The first electric light. Elvira L. Harlow, J ’27.