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

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(L CHRISTMAS 19 3 9 large low windows on the opposite side of the room. A noise so slight that it would have been scarcely audible to the sharpest of ears, ears far keener than those of Lord Merrivale, preceded the appearance of a wild¬ eyed figure who was quietly struggling to find some means of entering the library without causing alarm. It could easily be perceived, even in that dim light, that he was near the point of exhaustion. It was in¬ credible, even though the ancient castle defences had long since been abandoned, that any human being could have scaled that rocky hill. Such an act would have been an almost superhuman task, capable of being per¬ formed by only a few men, a feat that indeed would have been worthy of a man of the stamina and perser- verance of—. But now the figure, after several more deft motions at the window, had leaped into the room. Why, it seemed as though—but no, it couldn’t be! “Rothscrewge!” shrieked the terror-stricken Merri¬ vale as he suddenly became aware of the presence of someone in the library. He had been thinking of him after all. He now rose and faced the person who, he was certain without having looked, was his enemy. “Yes, your lordship; Rothscrewge!” calmly answer¬ ed the intrduer, and one noted a trace of irony in his voice. The two rivals stood contemplating each other for several moments. Merrivale noted the grotesque picture which Rothscrewge presented as he stood staring at his oppressor. His ragged clothes were covered with blood, and his skin was torn in many places. Twenty years in Pengann Prison had turned his jet black hair to white, but his features were still the same unmistakable, mis¬ erable, sneering features of his greatest years. “I see that the years have treated you as kindly ac they have treated me badly,” he sneered sarcastically. “I see further you anticipated my return. Has my face haunted you greatly these twenty years?” Disregarding his query completely, the bewildered Merrivale questioned, “But how did you get here ? “Tonight, your lordship, my dreams at last came to fulfillment. After all these years of trying desperate¬ ly to accomplish my revenge, I finally made my escape from that ugly four-walled cell where you put me and ran the gamut of guards quite successfully until the las one shot me in the arm. But that didn’t slop me! Nor did the rigors of the journey stop me! I have come to kill you—and nothing can stop me! Rothscrewge had lost his remarkable composure and now his half-mad tones were becoming even mor shrill. He was rapidly growing more incensed. II continued, shaking with a certain uncontrollable mad delight, and snatched a dagger from his shirt. No Merrivale, nothing can stop me! Prepare to die! H ' yelled the last at the top of his voice and lunged for¬ ward, knife in hand. But Rothscrewge was wrong. Death could sto] him. Even his remarkable endurance had failed, and the miserable wretch fell onto the marble floor in a pool of his own blood. Midnight and the twentieth century were here! The great clock of Merrivale castle was striking! The pro¬ phecy was wrong. But wait! The excitement and near tragedy had been too much for Merrivale. His heart had failed. As the mighty master of British finances slumped into his chair, the words of his ancestor rang in his ears. And before midnight had finished striking, Lord Merrivale was dead. Stanley Stembridge OOPS, CLEMENTINA! Oops! One more slip like that and I’m a goner! Oh dear, my life is fading fast away, or rather slipping away by the feeling. Who ever would have thought that I, Clementina Stinger, prettiest mosquito in all Buzz- ville, would end my existence by drowning in a pool of milk? It’s really quite disgusting. If I have to drown, why couldn’t 1 have picked something besides milk; I ' ve never tasted such nauseating stuff in my life. And what a color—white milk. Ghastly, isn’t it? White looks terrible on me! It makes me seem so pale—as if I were going to a funeral. (Oh dear, I keep forgetting; I really am going to one, my own!) I’m so sad and lonely here in this pool of milk. What a sad finale for such a noble life. I don’t remember me when I was an egg, but all my aunts and uncles say I was the cutest little girl egg in the whole swamp of Buzzville. Course I’m not conceited, you know, but by the looks of me now I certainly must have been beautiful. (A lot of good that’s doing me now! One more beakful of this awful stuff and 1 11 be liquid myself!) Then I was a larva. If you’ve never been a larva, you really ought to try being one some day. It’s perfectly fascinating. All you do is eat and eat and then when you ' re so full that your abdomen feels as if it would pop any minute, you curl up (now a pupa) and take a nice long nap. This is fun, too, only not so exciting as being a larva, for you don’t re¬ member anything about it—at least I didn ' t. But when you wake up, you’re a full grown adult and, if you ' re lucky, a beautiful mosquito like me. 1 can still remember the first day I was an adult. 1 daintily climbed out from underneath the pool of water where I had been sleeping and flew up to a green leaf near by. I picked this special leaf because the color went so well with my wings, and, this being my first pub¬ lic appearance as a full grown mosquito, I naturally wanted to look as attractive as possible. That green leaf must have done the trick, for pretty soon all the other mosquitoes nearby started giving me the once over. The female mosquitoes all looked as jealous as could be, for none of them had the strong beak I had. 1 glanced sh l at the males, who were regarding me with pride. None of them appealed to me, however; that is, none except one. There he was—my dream male! His name was Willie Swat. Isn’t that divine? He was so hand¬ some that I just couldn ' t help falling in love with him. You know, the athletic type. What a build! What poise! Why, I bet he could out-buzz or out-fly an) Nine

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THE PIONEER it,” and the cobbler smiled. “Well, anyway, if Hans does come back, he will find a new father, one that will be kind to him and understand him. You see, I am no longer Cobbler Barren, for my life is no longer barren, but beautiful, full of peace and joy. The people call me ‘The Singing Cobbler’ now because doing things for others has made me so happy that I have to sing while l work. I just can t help it.” “Maybe Hans will come,” echoed the gnome. Then looking around at the gay curtains at the windows and around the bedstead, at the new closet drapery, at the large, colored print on the wall, which represented a Salzbury court scene, and at potted geraniums in the window, he exclaimed, “Why, how cosily you have fixed your room. The warm fire and the cheeriness have made me feel quite frisky. Do have a chase!” “Why, I believe I will,” replied the cobbler, and forthwith the gnome scrambled over the chairs and under the bed while the cobbler did his best to catch him. Round and round they went. Finally the cobbler stopped and sank into a chair. “I give up; you win. You’re a lively, little fellow, I’ll say that much for ye.” The gnome flopped himself down at the cobbler’s feet. “Well, well, so you’ve come to visit me again, “and the cobbler chuckled. “Aren’t you a bit hungry, my little man? I am.” The gnome admitted he was, and when the cobbler had set something on the table, they sat down to eat. Now a very strange thing happened. After the gnome had eaten a little, he began to grow. As he grew bigger and bigger, he lost his hunchback, queer legs, and big ears. Yes, you’ve guessed it. The gnome turned into the lost Hans right before the eyes of the astonished cobbler. The overjoyed old man just couldn’t restrain himself but gathered the boy into his arms, and, hug¬ ging him tight, let the tears roll down his happy face without trying to wipe them away. Father and son thus reunited, the boy told of his adventures, of how he had been imprisoned by a wood dryad in the Magic Forest and of how, after he had pleaded for a long time, he had been allowed to go free in the form of a gnome for a few days near Christmas time. He had not been able to be his own self again until his father offered the gnome, of his own accord, something to eat; which, of course, the cobbler supposedly would never think of doing, being a miserly, selfish old grouch. The cobbler, who had gotten much more happiness in giving than the others in the village had in receiving, now received the greatest gift that could possibly be given him and was, indeed, very joyful and thankful. So they lived happily ever after, “The Singing Cobbler” and the boy Hans. Jean Marstaller AN ASTONISHING VENGEANCE Midnight and the end of the nineteenth century were swiftly approaching Merrivale Castle, the ancestral abode of the rich and powerful house whose name the castle bears. In the magnificent, but lonely, library of the mansion, long recognized as one of England’s land¬ marks, sat one of the most proud figures in the history of Cornwall, Sir Cedric Merrivale, the present master of the menage, his eyes intently fixed upon the dying embers of the crackling fire. The interior of Merrivale Castle was, and still is, one of the most surpassingly brilliant in its adornments. Coffered ceilings inlaid with superbly carved wood and ivory were further em¬ bellished by gold and silver. Indeed, in such surround¬ ings Lord Merrivale could well afford such a complacent manner on this New Year’s Eve. Lord Cedric himself was the typical elegant country gentleman of the period, presenting an appearance which was at all times a dignified one. On this particu¬ lar evening his lordship presented a most striking pic¬ ture, his stately figure surmounted by a crown of pure white. At intervals he puffed slowly on his pipe, and, except for this action, his movements were not percep¬ tible. Obviously some weighty problem must have been monopolizing his thoughts, or probably he was merely meditating on past events, for the end of a century al¬ ways gives rise to memories. Certainly he could not have been recalling the prophecy which one of the most illustrious of his ancestors had made so many years be- lore. Even though he was the last surviving Merrivale and even though this evening was the eve of the twen¬ tieth century, the dawn of which, according to the pre¬ diction, no member of his house would ever see, Lord Cedric was certainly not one to reflect upon a fantastic notion. More likely, he was reviewing the sixty-seven years of the past century which he had lived. Maybe he recollected with pride his meteoric rise to power, which subsequently had carried him to the exalted position of Chancellor of the Exchequer. He was reliving, per¬ haps, the moments of anguish when his ascent was ter¬ minated by his bitter political rival, the Right Honor¬ able Percival Rothscrewge, M. P., and the coveted pre¬ miership was forever denied him. Possibly Lord Cedric may have smiled as he recalled the sweetest triumph of his career, his exposure of Rothscrewge as a traitor to his country. Despite the fact that even following this political coup he never was permitted to attain the port¬ folio of prime minister, the thoughts of his enemy’s dis¬ grace and twenty years’ imprisonment would have been ample to suffice. He must have felt that his work had been well done, and at last the bitterness had passed from his heart. But now Lord Merrivale had concluded his reveries He rose from his large comfortable chair to put another log or two on the fire. The warmth and glow of the rejuvenated flames veritably seemed to send joy and happiness back into the cold and empty loneliness of the castle and to cast out the thoughts of the dismal Percival Rothscrewge. As Sir Cedric seated himself once again to await 1 new year and a new century, our attention, had we been present, would have been drawn towards one of the Eight

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THE PIONEER »• mosquito in Buzzville. And to top it all off, he had a red and orange striped bow tied around his thorax, ft was so becoming to him. It just made me feel weak all over. But he didn’t even notice me. Well, right there and then I made up my mind that Miss Clementina Stinger had a job on her tarsi, and I vowed that before I finished with Willie Swat, I’d make him notice me. However, I suddenly realized that all the Willie Swats in Buzzville couldn’t take away the hungry ache in my abdomen. I flitted away from the green leaf and started forth to seek nourishment in the great world beyond. 1 was just in the midst of thinking hard as to what my supper would be when my antennae picked up the most won¬ derful odor. I flew in the direction of the smell, and as it grew stronger and stronger, I realized that a great treat was in store for me. I never realized, though, just how great it would be. The smell was coming from an enormous, moving creature called a human being. What a funny thing it was! I nearly split my bazal segment laughing at it. Still, it was ferocious looking. But I was brave, and besides, it smelled delicious. I cautiously lighted upon it. What a surprise I got! It was just like wading through a forest; I could hardly keep my balance. But a Stinger always gets her man! At last I struggled through the obstruction on the out¬ side of the human being and started on my supper. The reward I received more than repayed me. Did it taste good! It was so nice to plunge my beak into this crea¬ ture and draw forth a nice red oozy substance. I’d never tasted anything like it before. (Milk—ugh!) But do you know that selfish creature, instead of letting me have a nice supper, picked up part of himself and threw it at me. Whew! It was a good thing I saw it coming or I wouldn’t be here now. (Oh dear, I wish I weren’t!) That red substance tasted so good that I followed the creature in hopes of getting a bigger meal. That was my mistake! I’ll curse that human being as long as l live. (Only I’m afraid that won’t be long.) The strangest thing had happened—-the air had suddenly become very different. I began to get wor¬ ried and said to myself, “Human being or no human being, Clementina, you’re getting back to Buzzville fast. I was crazy to think it was that easy, though, for I flew awhile and then ran smack into a hard wall. I flew in all directions but I couldn’t escape. I was caught! That old human being had done this to me just because I was looking for a decent meal. Well, I showed him! I flew at him with all the vim and vigor of a true Stinger and dug my beak into him as hard as 1 could. But it didn ' t seem to do any good this time. He just ignored me as Willie Swat had done. He didn’t even try to fight back. Maybe he knew it wouldn’t do any good anyway. By this time I was all in from my attack, so I flew to an object and lit there in order to get rested up a bit. It wasn’t by any means as nice a resting place as the green leaf, this was hard and slip¬ pery. Then, too, there wasn’t any Willie Swat buzzing around that I could make eyes at. However, it served its appointed purpose, and I did feel better after I had rested for awhile. This being the first time I’d really stopped to rest, it was the first chance I’d had to do some thinking. I was thinking about what an exciting life I was leading, and that it really was much more fun being an adult than it had been being a larva or a pupa. I was think¬ ing about the delightful meal I had had from that human being. Then I decided that when I escaped (if I ever did), I’d go right back to Buzzville and tell everyone about my adventures. I was just thinking that that would be the way I’d make Willie Swat notice me when, all of a sudden, I lost my balance and fell right fer- plunk into this pool of milk. And all the flying I can do will never get me out. It’s such a shame, for I’m so beautiful, and—glug! Evelyn Comey A QUIET CHRISTMAS EVE Wooo! Wooo! Wooo! The round house whistle echoed through the hills around Macy, a division point on the Vermont Midland Railroad, shattering the peace of the calm Christmas Eve. As the last reverberations died away into the distance, the vicinity of the railroad yards about the wrecking train became electrified with activity. It was as if some one had suddenly thrown a master switch. People rushed hither and thither, shout¬ ing commands, answering questions, and making a gen¬ eral hullabaloo. “700 piled up at Northfield; bad mess!’’ was on everyone’s lips. “And on Christmas Eve, for Pete’s sake, and us with the night off,” cried one worker to the world in general. Gradually, how¬ ever, out of the hustle and bustle men began to work systematically, and, recovering from surprise and drowsiness, to bring order out of chaos. At last all preparations were somehow completed; the powerful locomotive was coupled to the wrecker, and its train and the men, with the exception of a small group beside the engine, were on board. This group consisted of the yardmaster, the wrecking boss, the en¬ gineer, Bill Jenkins, and one of the work gang, Eddie Somers, a light haired young fellow clad in worn hut serviceable denims. As the knot of men broke up, the latter nervously cleared his throat and asked a question of Bill, to which the engineer replied, “We-ell, we’re not supposed to let anyone ride in the cab, but since you’re working on this road, I don’t see why I shouldn’t let you this once. Climb up there and hurry up! There’s the highball.” Almost before he fully realized the fact, Eddie was perched on the fireman’s box, cau¬ tioned to sit still and keep out of the way. Slowly the engine eased out onto the main line, rolling through clattering switches and gaining momen¬ tum with every turn of the drivers. Louder and louder the exhaust barked, pounding, pounding, pounding un¬ til the sheer rhythm of it seemed to make Eddie’s pulse heat in time. Jolting, jarring, slamming, the cab swayed back and forth with the rolling of the engine until it seemed impossible for the fireman to stand on the pitch- Ten