Reading Memorial High School - Pioneer Yearbook (Reading, MA)

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THE PIONEER PAGE SEVEN glaring, spectacular incident, choose a different type, the least spectacular, but the most interesting, to illustrate its worth. This series of incidents occurred one night;—as flashlight episodes usually do,—a beautiful cold May evening, be¬ side a certain lake in the wilds of old New Hampshire. My two companions and I had journeyed there from the metropolis to paint a certain canoe. Since we arrived late and were influ¬ enced also by the beauties of a neigh¬ boring town, we decided to stay there and spend the night in the car. This decision was caused by our money, conspicuous only for its absence. So— Eleven o’clock came, the bedtime of all good children. Of course we went,— but not to bed. We went to a spot near the lake beside an old barn where our canoe rested, and settled in our bed,—or better, excuse for a bed—for a peaceful slumber. Thus far Mr. Flashlight has not had his rightful place in the narrative but now all is dark, not a light for miles around and wild animals are creeping from their dens and holes to enjoy their unearthly nocturnal play. About ten minutes after we became quiet,— that was for us, about five shifts from one sore stiff side to another, for an automobile as a bed is none too good,— we heard pat, pat; pat, pat; pat, pat; at, pat. Some animal was coming down to the lake to enjoy a cooling draught of lake water. Mr. Flashlight and his two twin brothers appear. Three doors silently open. Three shadows slip out, up into the woods toward the sound. At a clearing they stop. Upon a sign from a self-appointed leader three flash¬ lights open their bright, unblinking eyes. In the center of that clearing was a beautiful, big, fat black and white skunk. Score one for Mr. Flashlight. Three shadows disperse. Three lights blink out. All is quiet. (Episode two, one hour later) Gr-unk, —grunk,—grunk— some wild animal was trying to devour the old barn in which our precious canoe was resting. Grunk—grunk—grunk, grinding stac¬ cato notes of a wild animal orchestra’s bass drum. Three shadows slip out once more. Hands grasp for rocks, bricks, or stones. They approach said barn stealthily. Lights flash. Bricks fly. Said porky scurries away as fast as such a fat fellow could into the woods. Again three shadows return to bed. Mr. Porky, however, is persis¬ tent. He returns. So do the three shadows. Porky exits. This scene re¬ peats itself just three times, then porky gives it up for a bad job. We three again doze off. Next scene, domestic comedy. One hour later, two awake, one asleep,— snoring. The latter beside me. Fun was in the air. The sleeper was pinched, little response. The sleeper’s nose was held; only partial relief. Ah ! Mr. Flashlight enters. Up he rises be¬ fore the sleeper’s eyes. Blink once, blink twice, blink thrice. Snoring slows down.—stops. A sure cure for snoring. This makes three points scored for Mr. Flashlight. Next episode, one half hour later. All awake. A slight yelping and barking is heard in the distance. More ' (explorations of animal life for the shadows. Out they go into the woods to aforementioned clearing. Three shadows pause. Three lights blink on. Before our eyes was the most beautiful scene one could imagine. A whole family of silver foxes, two big and two little ones, were playing there; the little ones yelping and squealing in their puppy-like fashion. When the lights flashed on, the beautiful family looked up startled and blinked their shining eyes. For a whole minute, they stood staring at this strange wild ani¬ mal with three bright shining eyes. Then papa said, “Let’s go,” and off they went to find a more secure place to play. “Another score, Mr. Flashlight. Off to torture in that infernal car, once again. Next episode, just before dawn, the darkest part of the night. One on stage, I alone, just awakening from back-breaking slumber. Main ques¬ tion to be solved. “Where am I?

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PAGE SIX THE PIONEER him, a drunken taxi-driver, who was toying with the steering wheel of his car and paying little attention to the course his perambulator was taking. Brother Bear gave a yell of astonish¬ ment and fright, and made for the curb at full speed. The taxi-driver heard the yell, looked up and said, “Well, Helen of Troy, exert your¬ self.” Helen of Troy, alias the taxi, did exert herself, with a most devastating result. She bore down upon Brother Bear and when the dust cleared away, he sat there in the midst of his bundles, —without a tail. J. R. M. ’29. MY DEATH AS PLANNED WHEN I HAD BEEN MISUSED Mildred Freemont was searching in her attic for souvenirs of her girlhood. Down in the very bottom of a large trunk, she chanced upon her diary. With an exclamation of surprise mingled with delight, she reached eagerly for it. Turning the pages slowly, stopping at intervals to read with amusement the confidences of her childhood, she paused as she came to a page written with inevitable haste. It read : August 4, 1911. Today I’ve found that I mean nothing to my family; they no longer respect my timely personage. I was sent away from the table without my ice cream just because I gave big sister’s boy friend some worthy advice. I warned him that he shouldn’t have three serv¬ ings because he wouldn’t have room for dessert. At this my parents rose in revolt, but their reaction was slight in comparison with my sister’s red cheeks and flashing eyes. She ordered me from the table and mother lugged me by the arm out of the room. As I brushed by father, I could hear him suppress a chuckle. I have decided to end it all at twelve-thirty to-night. I choose this hour because it is the usual hour that heroines in books choose to drown themselves. They, however, are always rescued. I’m not going to take a chance of drowning, but shall sneak out to-night, climb our tallest pine tree, and jump off. I can imagine the hollow feeling mother will have when she finds me out of bed in the morning. She’ll rush down stairs to father exclaiming. “I can’t find Mildred! Her clothes are in her room, but she isn’t there.” My father will probably tell her to look again; that’s what he usually says when she can’t find anything. When he is convinced that I’m not in the house he’ll feel nervous and go outside. There, under¬ neath the pine tree, he will find my broken body which will be all that is left of a once active child. They’ll call sister, and she’ll run out in one of those pretty kimonas she always wears, and try to wake me up. They’ll moan and sob when they see a note pinned on my nightgown saying, ‘‘You’ll never have another chance to send me from the table wfithout des¬ sert.” With a chuckle Mildred turned the page, and there written in large letters was, August 5, 1911. I overslept last night and didn’t wake up until one o’c lock so it was too late. Besides father brought me into the spa today and bought me a nice dish of ice-cream, because he said that sister’s boy friend ate my share. E. H. ’28. WHEN MY FLASHLIGHT PROVED ITS WORTH When I pause to consider the times my little flashlight has proved its worth, my heart palpitates, my head whirls, at their very number. I have to marvel at this little instrument, the small boy’s delight, the lover’s scourge, the ordinary human’s humble com¬ panion. With a perfect peace in my heart, a delightful calm over my soul, I, now, instead of picking the most

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PAGE EIGHT THE PIONEER Where are the others?” Out comes Mr. Flashlight, his one eye unblinkingly opened. One shadow slipped out. Also, one heart thumped violently. Up into the woods, around the barn to the doors it went. Ah! Mr. Flashlight takes grand slam, for there in the shadow of a bright freshly painted canoe, lighted by fast dim¬ ming flashlights, were my two missing shadows spattered with red paint and lying on some old carpets in deep slumber. “Ah, Mr. Flashlight, what would we do without you?” Arthur Moyer ’28. RBSB ►lAlU 1 What Others Think of Us “Blue Flame” Hopedale High The paper is attractive. The edi¬ torial department and the athletic department are very interesting. What We Think of Others “Tomahawk” Ferndale Union High, Cal. A fine cover. There are many inter¬ esting pictures. Your poem and news departments are great. Where are your stories? “Records” Winchester High Your stories are interesting and you have a lot of them.. “On Sunday Night Suppers” was especially good. The jokes gave many good laughs. The headings of your departments are very clever. “Blue and White” Methuen High There are many good jokes. Your essays are clever and well written. However, you need some poems and stories. “The Broadcaster” Junior High, Nashua, N. H. An interesting paper throughout. The clever cartoons and illustrations inter¬ ested me more than the other articles. I think it far better than many High School papers. Exchanges Acknowledged “The Blue Owl” Attleboro High School. “The Jabberwork” Girls Latin School, Boston, Mass. “The Aegis” Beverly High. “The Red and Black” Rogers High, Newport, R. I. “Lawrence High Bulletin” Lawrence High. “Burdett Lion” Burdett College. “High School Breeze” Somerset High. WHO CAN COMPLETE IT? From the “Reflector” Weymouth High School comes this modernized version of an old friend: Mrs. Davis—If I gave fourteen lines of Macbeth, would that be a sonnet? Halligan—It would be a miracle.