Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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14 THE GOLDEN-ROD and saw, rushing down upon him two veritable giants in the red and white colors of Georgetown. He was horrified! He forgot all about “Red!” He was not chasing! He was being chased! He once again quickened his pace. He was fairly flying. Everyone was hollering and shouting. They were glad that he was being chased. He knew that all hated him anyway. He was re- minded he had done before, or maybe it was something he had heard—yes, that was it. The crowd—a race—he recalled. Suddenly across his path he saw a tape stretched. Were they trying to trip him: He could not stop! It was too late to turn! He rushed headlong into the tape, and beyond that into the crowd. Then he collapsed! The crowd closed in around him. Eeryone was shaking his hand. He stood up. Someone was pumping his hand viciously. He turned. It was “Red!” Reginald drew back his other hand to strike him, but it was grasped by some- one else! Turning again he found himself looking into the faces of old Mr. Howes, Dr. Hills, and his father. “Great work, my boy!” Mr. Howes was saying. “You’ve won your race and the meet. We’re all proud of you.” “Talk about your ‘dark horses!’” put in Dr. Hills. “Oh—er—say, Mr. Howes—I wanted —er to ask you. Who was that man you were telling about at the rallv yester- day?” “Oh! Why—didn’t you know: Why that was your father, and the other man was Doctor Hills, here. 5. Reginald Theobald Portenheimer strode briskly down the street. Under his arm he carried his track suit, his dearly beloved track suit. On one side of him walked his father; on the other. Dr. Hills. What would this world amount to, if there was no school like Queensborough to run for; no fellow like dad for a pal; or no “Red” Kelly for a team-mate: Donald Gilman, J. ’28. iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiuiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii A PLEA TO MARCH O March, month we always look forward to with dread. When we think of your winds and your snow— What’s happened to you? Seems that winter has fled. And the light winds of summer now blow. Where are your north winds, your cold, cruel blasts? Where is your ice and your snow? Why do you fail us? While this weather lasts. We meet in a June sun’s warm glow. Such warm days as these make us lazy and slack: We don't do our work as we should. Spring Fever? I'll say! The bad penny’s back— And we all say it isn't so good. So, March, won’t you hear us and answer our plea ? Be yourself! Let your mad breezes blow. Just free us from this heat, and you'll surely see That we’ll ne'er again beg you to go. Betty Wells. SPRING-TIME Dainty Miss Spring has at last appeared Mailed with joy. and gladly cheered: Jack Frost has gone, and with him the snow. And so today, this much we know Spring is here! The clouds are soft, the sky is blue. Kach morning we wake, we find the dew: The trees are budding, the birds are singing. And well we know the message they’re bringing. Spring is here! Why do we dream all the day long: Why do we feel so full of song! Why do we always laugh and smile: Why are we happy all the while? Spring is here! Spring must come, and Spring must go. So while she’s here let's banish woe. Let’s not be sad. but let's be gay. And make the most of every day. Spring is here! Carolyn Cherrington.

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THE GOLDEN-ROD 13 library and study until about three and then put on his suit and go to the track. After the meet was over he would run his daily half mile. The afternoon was rather too warm for a track meet. It was one of those warm, drowsy days, and as Reginald went diligently through his lesson on differen- tial calculus, he slowly slipped down in his seat. Scon he was asleep. He awoke, with a start, as the town clock slowly struck three. He hoped no cnc had seen him, for he considered it very thoughtless of himself to fall asleep in such a place. He walked briskly over to the school, and carefully put on his track suit. He had just finished lacing his shoes, when, the door slammed, and in rushed a young man. He grabbed Reginald by the arm and shouted. “Hurry up! They’re all waiting for you. You must be crazy, the meet’s nearly over. Ye may be too late as it is.” He was panting, evidently in quite a rush. Reginald had never seen the man before, but he was so bewildered that he did not ask questions. He was pushed into a flivver, waiting at the curb, and ihcy shot off. 4. Fhe meet started promptly at two. In the “hundred”, Georgetown had won first and third, Queensborough’s man placing second. The mile had come out just the opposite, the blue and white man winning easily. The field events were evenly divided and as the time approached for the last event, the half mile, the score was found once more to be tied. The half-milers gathered the coach for a few last minute words. “Red” Kelly would set the pace. And Brooks would follow directly— Brooks! Brooks! Where was her The field was searched for Brooks, but he was not to be found. Then somebody remem- bered. He had been called away and would be late getting to the meet Probably at the locker room, now. So a fellow was found who had a “flivver” to go and get him. But he didn’t know him. “Tall, thin fellow, he’ll be the only one there, anyway. Hurry up!” A few minutes later the flivver rattled up, and “Red” rushed over to give Brooks the instructions, when out of the car jumped Reginald. “Red” was “flab- bergasted !” “Where’s Brooks!” he cried. “Brooks.1 Who Brooks? Brooks Who:” slowly asked Reginald. “Oh you poor saphead!” shouted Red, pushing him violently aside. So violently, in fact, that he sat down, none too easily. “Where’s the guy we sent you for:” he fired at the driver. “Isn’t that him: He was in the locker room, so I brought him along.” Meanwhile Reginald, thoroughly an- gered at the meaningless proceedings, picked himself up, and “yanked” Red around. Reginald was not accustomed to being knocked around, and he had de- cided to let Red understand it, then and there. A whistle blew! With one look at Reginald, “Red” turned and ran for the track. Reginald was angered. Trying to run away from him, was he: The coward! This en- couraged Reginald, and with his fighting spirit up, he dashed madly through the crowd to the track. There was Red crouching down with other fellows in track suits. Trying to hide on him! He always knew that Red was a coward. A gun went off! Reginald jumped, and turned to see Red running wildly down the track in front of the other runners. With grim determination Reginald sped after him. He would give Red the beating of his life. The time had surely come. Slowly and surely he crept up on that group of runners. He passed the strag- glers! He was even with the “bunch!” He passed the bunch and was second only to “Red,” who had taken the lead from the start. One lap had been covered! He put every ounce of energy into his legs. When they had gone another half-lap Reginald saw a waver in “Red’s” previ- ously steady pace. He was “cracking.” Xo coward could stand that pace. He was slowing down! Reginald slowed down! He reached out to grab him, but he heard a shout. He turned his head,

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THE GOLDEN-ROD 15 The Doctor’s Dilemma Ina Walls, J’28 That hot July day had been a hard one. Business had not been good and the in- spection of bills payable and bills receiv- able is very taxing, especially with the thermometer at 90 degrees. That night Dr. Frederick T. Johnson slept very lightly. His bedroom was directly off the dining-room, where, as was his custom, he kept a light burning, a single low- power bulb. Careless, as he always was in the ab- sence of his wife, he had strewn his clothing all over the furniture, and, upon the table in the center of the room, had left his leather billfold containing be- tween twenty-five and thirty dollars. He had slept for nearly an hour and a half when something awakened him. Fie hardly had time to open his eyes when there broke upon the stillness a series of violent sneezes from the adjoining room, accompanied by a clang of metal striking cn the hardwood floor. The now thoroughly awakened doctor leaped from the bed and scrambled for the gun which evidently had slipped out of the man’s hand. The intruder stood there, helpless in a paroxysm of sneezing. Keeping a tight grip on the captured weapon. Dr. Johnson ran around to the other side of the oblong table, thus put- ting himself between the burglar and an open unscreened window. His caller was a thin, nervous-looking man and did not have the appearance of a hardened, desperate criminal. All at once, doubtless to the burglar’s astonishment, Dr. Johnson began to laugh heartily. He had caught a glimpse of the figures reflected in the buffet mirror—a fat, pudgy doctor in striped pajamas pointing an unsteady pistol at a burglar just about to sneeze. Finally, remembering the seriousness of the situation, the doctor stopped laughing and asked soberly: “How long have you been at this risky sort of business, my good man.5” The doctor’s laugh had cleared the at- mosphere and there was no trace of nervousness in the man’s voice as he re- plied : “Not very long. Fact is, this is the first flat I ever tried to rob. Maybe you don’t believe me, but it’s so.” “I suppose you got out of work, were up against it and became desperate.” “You betcha I was up against it.” The doctor glanced at his billfold and scrutinized the other thoughtfully. “Now that I’ve caught you, what the deuce shall I do with you?” For the easy going, good natured and kind hearted doctor, this was a problem. As a law abiding citizen it was his duty to raise some sort of an alarm that would bring the police upon the scene. The fellow had broken into his apartment with intent to rob. He was silent for what, to the other, must have seemed an endless period of time, with his free hand drumming reflect- ively upon the surface of the table. There was the other side to this per- plexing business—the human side. After all, no real harm had been done. A police record is a handicap for a man. Fie had no doubt that this was the fellow’s first attempt and, perhaps he had learned his lesson. Dr. Frederick T. Johnson was a sympathetic man. Somewhere a clock struck one. “Guess I’d better be going.” The doctor looked relieved. Oddly enough he had not thought of that solu- tion. Fie came to a decision. “I don’t believe you’re really such a bad sort. I guess you were hard up to do it. It’s mighty hard not to have money. Wait here a minute.” Taking the billfold with him, likewise pocketing the revolver Dr. Johnson went back into the bedroom. He had no trouble in finding what he sought; he returned in an instant. In the hand he extended to the burglar was a