Scituate High School - Chimes Yearbook (Scituate, MA)

Text from Pages 1 - 76 of the 1926 volume:

THE ISSUEp 1926 -I u SCITUATE TOWN LIBRARY 3 1644 00269 8403 THE CHIMES Vol. 3. January, 1926 No. 1, Member of or MASSACHU3CTTQ Published by the Students of the Scituate High School, Scituate, Massachusetts. EDITORIAL STAFF Editor-in-Chief Hazel G. Eaton Assistant Editor Edward Driscoll r Richard Wherity Advertising Managers Karl Haartz Ljean Lawson Literary Editors T Helen L. Wilson Ruth LaVange Athletic Editors f Catherine Murphy t John Stewart Alumni Editor Rose Hernan Dramatic Editor Eleanor Cole Art Editor Gertrude Wherity Joke Editors T Edgar Hyland L Anna Conant Exchange Editor , Margaret Torrey Finance Manager Dorothy Hammond The Editorial Staff wish to express their sincere apprecia- tion of the voluntary support of the pupils who have submitted material for the Chimes. We sincerely hope to have a more varied list of contributors. To produce the best possible re- sults, we need the support of the whole school. Show your co- operation by writing something for the school paper. We wish to thank the Alumni for their interest in our maga- zine. We also wish to thank the advertisers for their contin- ued financial aid of our school paper. 2 THE CHIMES THE GOOD ATHLETE The real athlete is not always the flashy star who per- forms the brilliant catches or the sensational runs. He is the man who plays steadily and plods day by day to master the , ame which he is playing. ''Stars are usually made in a thrilling moment. In football a player intercepts a forward pass and makes a brilliant run of seventy-five yards for a touchdown and wins the game. He is a hero, and, if he is popular, is assured of his position on the team. If he makee- errors in future games, it is said that he had an off df y and he is excused at once. This is not my idea of what a real athlete should be. He should be a good, clean fighter, who . can accept defeat with good grace, and can be victorious with- out being overbearing. Jn the big college games and in t e 'World Series this type of r)layer usually comes through with the play that wins. He plays steadily, but does not attract much attention. Then he suddenly performs a brilliant play and it is said that he is a natural baseball or football player. • This is not always the case. Most of his success is due to keeping himself in good physical condition and practicing steadily and faithfully. The spirit of an athlete usually determines his success or failure. He should have a fighting spirit, but not a quarrel- some one. To play a e-ame most successfully a man should be cool and collected. If a r)itcher loses his temper in a game- he also loses his control of the ball ; and the game is usually lost. On the other hand if a pitcher is cool and unruffled, he steadies the other members of the team and often snatches victory from defeat. A player who has these Qualities is a good athlete whether he is a ''star or just an ordinary plaver. Edgar Hyland, '26. THE CHIMES 3 A FRIEND What is a friend? First of all a friend must be some one whom you admire and respect ; for a person you look down upon can never be your friend. A friend is one who will stand by you through thick and thin. He is as true in the darkest hour as when fortune smiles on you. When others condemn you for some misdeed, he will stand by you. He will not say you did right, but he will help you to redeem yourself. He is not one to whom you need tell everything. He will trust in you when you cannot give a reason for your actions. He has faith in you when another would demand an explana- tion. But when you do confide in him, he respects your confi- dence. A friend does not proclaim your praises in a loud voice sim- ply to win your favor, but neither will he stand by and hear your name dishonored. He is as loyal when your back is turned as to your face. A friend does not express his sym- pathy for your sorrow in a torrent of well-meaning words, but by soothing hand and kindly eye, comforts you more than mere words can ever do. He does for you the many little things that no one but a friend would ever think of doing, he Knows your good and bad points and does not feel hurt or offended at your sudden outburst of temper or changing moods. He is willing to help you though it means a sacrifice on his part. A friend is one to whom you can go in sorrow or discouragement and find solace and comfort. Nor does his friendship end with death. He is the one who years afterwards sheds a tear on your grave when all others have forgotten you. A real friend is one of the most priceless things in the world, but to have a friend you must be a friend. Helen Healy, '26. A BRIEF HISTORY OF OLD IRONSIDES The frigate Comtitution, affectionately known as Old Iron- sides, is the most famous ship in American history. She was a 44-gun frigate, built in 1794 and launched September 20, 1797. Her record is one of victory from beginning to end. In every battle she was victorious and her fame still lives. As the flag-ship of Commodore Preble, the Constitut'on took part in the bombardment of Tripoli. She became really famous in the War of 1812. Her most famous battle was with the English ship, Gueri- ere. Dacres, commander of the Gueriere, had issued a chal- lenge stating that he would take on any American ship, and was convinced that he could beat and capture it. 4 THE CHIMES Accordingly, on August 19, 1812, the Constitution, under the command of Captain Isaac Hull, sighted the Gueriere. Both ships were anxious to fight and immediately began shift- ing about for an advantageous position. The battle lasted one-half hour and in that time the Gueriere was thoroughly beaten and her men made prisoners. The American loss was only fourteen men while the British was seventy-four. On December 29, about four months later, the Constitution, with Bainbridge in command, encountered the Java off the coast of Brazil. After a desperate struggle of two hours' en- durance, the Java was entirely destroyed, and the Constitu- tion was once more victorious. In 1814 four more prizes were conquered by the Constitution, and in 1815 the Cyane and the Levant were conquered. In September 1830 Oliver Wendell Holmes, then a young man, read an article in his newspaper which commented on the proposal of the Navy Department to dismantle the old frigate which had done such herioc work in the war of 1812. His patriotism was aroused, and he at once dashed off a pro- test in form of a poem which he sent to the Boston Daily Ad- vertiser. The poem was named Old Ironsides and it was copied everywhere. It created such a feeling that the old ship was saved. The Constitution was rebuilt and gave good service for twenty-five years more. She made her last trip across the ocean in 1878. Not long ago a movement was started by the Grand Army of the Repubh'c to raise a fund, which was to be used to repair the ConstHution. The movement was nation-wide, and every scholar in the schools of the United States was asked to con- tribute one penny. The week of October 11 to 17 was called ''Old Ironsides Week' and during that time contributions were made. Since 1878 the Constitution has lain in the Boston Navy Yard as a barrack ship, where it may still be seen. Ruth La Vange, '27. DAWN  Amid colors indescribable, which no artist can hope to re- produce, the sun, a brilliant red ball of fire, forces its w ay through multi-colored clouds and drives the last shadow of night far into the other side of the world. Men travel miles to view the Ba ' tine- of master artists, but millions sleep as a picture excelling all the art of man is painted on a canvas all can see and enjoy. This great scene so easy for all of us to delight in is viewed by few and their only comment is, ''Another hard day's work at hand. John Prouty, '26. THE CHIMES 5 A STUDENT As the word ''student is applied, it usually means a person who attends a school, a college, or a higher institution of learning. The younger person, perhaps, is the greatest student. A child from the time he begins to walk is learning something. Each day he finds out the name of some new thing, or ac- complishes some new task. The older person has learned all these things which the child is just learning. But, he has many things to learn and accomplish also. His ideas are connected more with the philosophical questions of life, and the further development of science, now that he has learned the technicalities. For instance, the chemist experiments with acids and gases to find out their effects on certain things. In experimenting he learns not only what he is trying to find out, but something perhaps that he has never before thought of. Through every walk of life, people are finding out some- thing that will aid them in what they are doing — whether it be a new device, or a new method for doing their work. So, why should we confine the word ''student to a person who attends school? Aren't we all attending, the greater, more wonderful, and broader school of experience? Aren't we all students in this school? Bessie Monahan, '26. OPPORTUNITY To the window of thy heart Comes a wanderer peering in, Calling, with a merry shout, Opportunity waits without; Dreamer wake and let me in, Sleeping now is deadly sin ; Only once I pass thy way, Just today we two are kin. Regret shall call, with setting sun, Follow 'till life's span is run. If my help you scoffing shun, True Endeavor is my squire, He will tend thy house and fire; Quickly come, then let me in, I can help life's race to win. See how the fallen line the way, Yet on each I called one day ; Now they cumber up the earth, Useless bulk and wasted birth. Take my hand and strive to win, Dream no more, but let me in, I'll slay the dragon Might-Have-Been. Hazel G. Eaton, '26. 6 THE CHIMES aLunwi NOT Marion Damon, '25, is working in a Boston office. Eulaila Pinkham, '25, works in a bank in Boston. Edward McCarthy, '25, is employed as a plumber by Wil- liam Harney of Scituate Harbor, Mass. Mary Ford, '25, is taking a normal course at Boston Uni- versity. Grace Towle, '25, and Winifred Ward, '25, are attending Fitchburg Normal School. Mary Flaherty, '24, works in a Boston office. Martha Lincoln, '24, is employed in the office at the Keith Shoe Factory at East Weymouth, Mass. Helen Jellows, '24, is a clerk at the Scituate Grocery Store, Scituate, Mass. Priscilla Fish, '24, is working in the office of the George F. Welch Company. Barbara O'Connor, '23, is employed as bookkeeper in the office of the Otis Market, Scituate. James Dwyer, '24, is assistant electrician at the Electric Shop in Scituate. George Murphy, '24, works for the Massachusetts Bond In- surance Company in the Metropolitan Department in Boston. Velma Pelrine, '23, is now Mrs. Keith Huntley. Winifred Elliot, '25, is attending Gordon College in Boston. Margaret Cole, '25, is taking a librarian's training course in the Springfield Library. John Ford, '25, is employed by the Boston Albany R. R. Company in Allston as stenographer. Louise Murphy, '21, works at the G. Dana Yeaton Insurance office as stenographer. Dorothy Cole, '20, is teaching at Hingham, Mass. Franklin Sharpe, '24, is employed at the Atlantic National Bank as bank messenger. Hilda Stenbeck, '22, is taking a normal course at the Perry Kindergarten School in Boston. Evelyn Bonney, '24, is working in a doctor's office in New York. Thomas Barry, '22, is employed by the Edison Electric Com- pany in North Cohasset. Mildred Driscoll, '22, is a senior at Boston University. Mildred Webster, '22, is Mrs. Kenneth Briggs. Marion Topman, '20, is a nurse in a Boston hospital. Eleanor Dwyer, '24, is working in a steamship office in Bos- ton. Rose Hernan, '26. THE CHIMES 7 THE ANTIQUE CHAIR ''Ranny, I want you to go up in the attic and bring down that chair that belonged to Great-grandmother Curtin's grandmother. The Silvin-smiths have some chairs that they say are genuine antiques which belonged to some great aunt of George Washington. If my chair is glued and wired to- gether it will be fine to put in the parlor. Fil warrant we can invent as good a history about it as the Silvin-smiths did of theirs. Ranny obediently started for the attic stairs. The attic ■ was always an interesting place to Ranny, the more so because he was not allowed to go into it very often. It was a large attic and in it were innumerable trunks, bags, old satchels, barrels, the clothes of past generations, boxes, mice, a lot of old furniture, a pair of ancient crutches, an ancient and moth- eaten rocking horse, and last winter's woolen garments. You can easily understand how such an attic would be interesting. Some one had recently made a hurried search for Aunt Eliza's wedding dress as a costume for a masquerade. Everything was left topsy-turvy. A clothes basket with several bouquets of artificial flowers in it reposed on a battered highboy. The rocking horse was gently rocked in a rickety cradle by the unruly mice. When Ranny reached the head of the attice stairs, the old chair was nowhere to be seen. Ranny was glad of this be- cause it meant that he could have a chance to clamber over the trunks and other paraphernalia that littered the place. This would give him an opportunity to examine anything that he found while in search of the chair. Se' irg a bed with a mahogany china-closet piled on it, he decided this was the place to bee'in his hunt. Climbing on the bed, he heard a series of hair-rf i ing and blood-curdling squeals coming from the direction of the mattress. Oh h— h! Ranny cried in fright, but he calmed down very soon when he remembered how he had teased Allie, his sifter because she was afraid of mice. 'Tshaw, it's only mice. Fm not frightened anyway. They did sound awful though. I didn't know they made noises like that. No wonder A.Mce is scared of 'em. Oh D haw, I don't rare. he thought. Then he decided that the antique could not be in that corner of the attic. Of course he wasn't afraid of those little mice, but — oh pshaw ! He turned to a pile of trunks, on the top of which was a pile of boxes. The chair might be behind that. Placing his feet firmly in a crevice he started to climb, clutch- ing the lock of the third trunk. He didn't know what hap- pened next, only that the skyscraper of trunks (luckily they 8 THE CHIMES were empty) reeled dizzily and crashed to the floor. Ranny saw whole constellations of stars and what seemed to be all the wealth of the Pharaohs of Egypt falling down on him with all its regal splendor. When he came to, he found himself upside down, his feet occupying a packing box while his head rested in his mother's ostrich-plumed Gainsborough hat. In his undignified descent he had plunged thru Aunt Emma's horse hair sofa. His shoulders were now wedged in it in an uncomfortable position. All around lay the treasures of the Magi which he had seen going down. When Ranney had extricated himself, he found these to be Christmas tree trim- mings, tinsel, gaily colored balls, beads, miniature Santa Clauses, cotton snow, all smashed into pieces. 'Charles Rannon! Whatever are you doing so long and what is all this unearthly noise? Nothing, I just fell down. Be down in a minute, reTDlied the battered boy, hastily sweeping the debris into a tool chest. ' I see the old chair now, as he spied it under the shelter of a wide-spreading hoop skirt. Ranny wiped the perspiration from his face and started down stairs with the antique chair, where he found the furniture all covered with a fine white dust, the plaster wh 'ch had descended in a cloud when the earthquake occurred. Son, I should think that you could find a chair without making all that noise. I thought the roof was falling in, scolded Mrs. Rannon. Anyway, I suppose I must forgive you for spoiling my furniture and ceilings as long as you brought my chair down whole. Boys are such blunder-busses. Oh' mamma, it wasn't anything at all, nothin' at all, Ranny innocently replied, rubbing a black and blue spot. Barbara Colman, '29. SUNSET A sunset ne'er did I behold As this one with its specks of gb d, Its dashing reds, its orange bright, Its blues, and lavenders, and white, The sky made rosy with its light Foretells, with beauty, a perfect night. Eleanor Cole. '26. OCTOBER When the nights are long and frosty When the days are cold and clear, When the golden woods are calling. Then we know October's here. THE CHIMES 9 When the cold wind shakes the tree-tops, When the blue sky is o'ercast, When the golden woods are dying, Then we know October's past. Anna Healy, '28. THE THREE JULIAS A hot August sun poured down on a sea of bluest sapphire dotted with tiny white sails. The waves rolled in upon burn- ing sands, whose colorless expanse was dyed with the bright hues of countless sunshades and beach apparel. The gay throngs basked in the sun or frolicked about on the shore and in the water. Among these carefree crowds Kent Stewart tramped moodily, gazing at the far horizon with unseeing eyes. The faint sea breeze ruffled his hair and the sun glinted in his curls, as though they loved to nestle there. His ath- letic form, his bronzed skin, the powerful muscles, the car- riage and the beauty of him, likened to him to a young god of Olympus. Thus thought Julia Faxton as she watched him swing across the sand. A thin treble startled him from his revery. Instantly he recognized that voice and half turned, his first impulse to run. He wanted to be alone — to tnink the thing out. He turned back again and slowly approached the spot where, un- der the gaudiest umbrella on the beach, a plump, good-na- tured looking girl with weak, blue eyes and wispy yellow hair, reclined against a pile of red cushions. Nearby lay a box of chocolates and a novel, while cuddled in the girl's arms was a shaggy, white poodle. ''Oh, Mr. Stewart, she murmured, ''isn't it hot? The crushed ruffles of her organdy, the red cushions, the woolly poodle and her avoirdupois confirmed the statement. Do sit down, she rambled on, and, as he started to make a trivial excuse, added, Sit down. I want to talk to you. Kent spread his six feet of sinewy frame on the sand and raised his eyes with polite interest and mild curiosity. It was seldom that those eyes were serious, but now they gazed into hers with unfathomable graveness as though some profound sorrow or some daring plan lurked in their blue depths. I'm so lonesome, said Julia Faxon. And she rambled on about some recent garden party to an unappreciative listener. Suddenly Kent Stewart's tanned face lit up with gladness, and joy replaced for a time the gloomy suggestion of his eyes. Julia Faxton's gaze followed his across the sands to where a lithesome young figure in a green bathing suit racpd across the beach, closely followed by a young boy. Julia Winslowe couM outrun the fleetest. She scaled a huge rock which stretched long arms into the sea, and stood poised an instant 10 THE CHIMES on its farthest extremity, her slim body swaying gently. And as her pursuer drew near, a green meteor flashed through the air and was lost in the blue below. Then there was the gleam of brown arms swimming toward shore ; and she stood dripping with brine, panting, laughing, glowing with life, as she waited for her brother. Kent Stewart made a moveme nt to get up. The girl spoke in a tremulous voice. Julia Faxton could cry very easily and now she was very near tears. Kent doffed an imaginary plumed hat and bent low. ''It is indeed grievous to me to be compelled to leave you thus soon, he declared elegantly. ' Yet I must needs depart. The half sob changed to a giggle. Julia Faxton could also giggle very easily, and Kent Stewart had provoked merriment from far more solemn people than she. She watched him dart away, come unawares upon a slender figure in a green bathing suit, and bear her into the waves. And Julia Faxton sighed. As Kent opened the door of his aunt's home, he found his temporary gaiety slowly being replaced by his earlier mood. That morning he had come face to face with a problem which had been brewing for some time, and now a decision was inevitable. Kent Stewart had been left at the age of three, a penniless orphan, to the volition of the Fates. And the Fates had been kind to him. Adopted by a maiden lady with a kind heart and a slender purse, he had spent the first few years of his life playing and working with those no better off than he. Then Ezra Faxton had died, leaving his money to his unmar- ried niece, Julia. His other niece, Mary, had married a weal- thy young man, son of a Wall Street broker, and his only nephew, Stanly Faxton, had married against his uncle's wishes. Therefore Julia Faxton had, thanks to the eccen- tricities of an old man, inherited the whole fortune, and from that time on Kent Stewart was brought up in the best of so- ciety. He went to an exclusive preparatory school, and thence to college, where he was known for his football rather than any merit in scholarship. After a prolonged tour of Europe, he came home to enjoy the idle luxury of the rich. He was soon the darling of the women and looked upon as an all- round good fellow by the men. The summer after his return he met Stanly Faxton's daughter, Julia, a plump demoiselle much like her aunt whose name she bore, in more ways than one. Soon after he had met Julia Winslowe. Funny they should both be named Julia. Now he and Julia Winslowe were engaged. And that is where the trouble lay. He had been informed that he must marry Miss Julia Faxton's niece, or lose his inheritance, the wealth, the position, and the many blessings (if they be blessings) which accompany them. It THE CHIMES 11 was too much to ask, he told himself. Still Julia Faxton was a nice girl. But — didn't he owe it to his aunt to grant the first thing she had ever asked? Yet, candidly, Kent Stewart could not give up his money without a great effort. He loved the idle, happy days, filled with golf, tennis, mo- toring, dinners, and parties. He was a coddled child of Dame Fortune, and could not readily relinquish his carefree life. During dinner he spoke little, going directly to his room when he had finished. He walked absently to his desk and picked up a snapshot taken on the memorable day when he had picnicked in the country with Julia. Now her eyes looked pleadingly at him, as before they had seemed to cheer him in his times of sorrow, spur him on to victory when defeat was imminent, and laugh with him when he was gay. Perhaps half an hour afterwards, he caught up his hat and went out into the street. The sun was hidden behind a mass of black clouds and soon big drops began to fall. It was late when he returned, and the flickering arc lights played upon the inky pools in the wet street. It was still raining and the wind howled dismally round the dark masses of buildings. But Kent Stewart's heart was light, for his decision was made and he had obtained the first job he had ever held. To be sure it wasn't much, but he and Julia could get along- — As he turned in at his own residence, he could see lights in the library and a bright fire crackling on the hearth of the great stone fireplace. He could see his Aunt Julie's plump form, and nearby a fair head bent over — yes, a tiny ball of white fluff. And outside the circle of light bent a violet shadow which escaped his casual glance. As he entered the hall his aunt's high voice called. Is that you, Kent? He came to the library door and saw Aunt Julie and her niece, Julia Faxton. It's no use, he said in a tired tone, I can't do it. I've got a job and I'm going to — Julia has some news for us, broke in his aunt. Julia, her poodle cuddled in one arm, stretched out a plump, white hand. On the fourth finger gleamed a huge solitaire. She nodded in answer to his bewildered glance. I've got myself engaged, she said in the childish tone she always fell into when highly excited. To Mr. Edward Channing Cox- well. The young man with the spectacles, said Aunt Julie aloud, but inwardly her heart was singing over and over, Bravo, Kent Stewart, bravo ! I knew you would do it. B — but, stammered Kent, I don't understand. You said — Meet my niece, said Miss Julia Faxton in a complacent tone. I believe you're not acquainted with her. At a faint rustle of silk, h e turned, bewildered, to see Julia 12 THE CHIMES Winslowe, her brown locks as tousled and charming as ever, her dark eyes as full of impish glee and tender love as only Julia Winslowe's eyes could be. An instant she stood poised, as a butterfly on some trembling rose leaf, and then an ever so slightly turned up nose with nine tiny freckles, impudent laughing brown eyes, and a face that altogether looked like an impish sprite of Maxfield Parrish, was pressed close to Kent Stewart's rainsoaked coat. And Miss Julia Faxton smiled on the two nieces who had been named for her. H. L. Wilson, '26. HARVEST TIME The weather is cold but bright. The days are shorter, too. The nights are chilly but clear. Each dawn brings frozen dew. The barren fields are frozen and hard. The frost comes every night. The squirrel is busy packino- nuts In his home all snug and tight. The turkey tries to hide away He knows his doom is near. The children hustle to find their skates And run to the pond with a cheer. This is the harvest time of the year, And the birds to the south have flown. The harvester goes forth to reap, And gather what he has sown. No man can expect to receive Any more than he has given. The man that gives the best he has Is the man that is nearest Heaven. Wallace Torre y, '26. THE TOWER Majestically it rises above the land; A tall gray spectre of better days. The b 'rds nest in its shiel Mng eaves And shriek encouragement As it struggles to reach the sky. Year in, year out, it has battled The howling winds and pelting rains. Year in, year out, the tentacles of tiny vines Wind about the weather'd shingles; Yet despite all Nature's protests. It still remains, through passing time. Showing its former splendor But undefeated! Jean Lawson, '26. THE CHIMES 13 THE LIFE OF THE NORTH The ground was covered with glistening, crusty snow. Off in the distance the snow-capped mountains reflected the pinks of the setting sun. The trail was worn down to a rutty mass of white, with a coating of ice which cut the feet of the hard- working sled dogs, and left little red stains which made a pretty contrast with the white snow. Up the lonely trail came a sled drawn by eight husky sled- dogs. On the sled, partly buried with fur robes, sat a young girl. Her face was aglow with a healthy red, and her hair curled around her face in yellow ringlets. A fur cap was pulled down to meet a fur collar, and she was urging the dogs onward to a greater speed. Through the gathering dusk came the cry of wolves, ever nearing; and Justine's eyes glistened with the cold and with the fear of the e creatures. On and on went the team; down the frozen river, and up the bank — in silence except for the grating ice under t he runners and an occasional whine from a dog. Mitzi, the leader of the team, was growing restless. Every in t nt she set up a howl to the moon that echoed through the stillness of the v oods. F om the distance came an answering cry from the pack of wolves. Justine shivered. Then in the distance appeared a black spot. It was rapidly approaching; and as it came nearer, Justine recognized it as a dog team. She was instantly alert. Wild thoughts were surging through her mind. Friend or foe? But it turned out to be Jose from the trading post. Justine sat back with a feelinsr of security as he came up and turned his team about. As they jogged along toward home, he explained that the family had become worried, and he had set out to find her. and bring her safely home. Then they realized that the pack had scented their trail and v ere ''dogging them. In Jose's quiet manner there was no Fign of fear, but he was inwardly planning how to protect themselves. Finally he said, ''We had better stop and build a fire. We can't go much farther without being attacked. So they rolled out of the blankets and started a fire with the box in which Justine was carrying provisions on her sled ; they al o secured some large dry limbs and made a pile to burn, little by little. Then the frightened dogs were un- hitched and the sleds turned sideways with the fires at each end to fo m a barricade. By this time the pack was sneak- ing near them, not quite knowing what to do, as fire was their greatest enemy. Justine and Jose threw the hungry pack a huge quarter of lamb, one of the articles of provision. This kept the pack quiet for several minutes, eating and growling. The lighted 14 THE CHIMES sticks, flourished over the heads of the beseiged, bewildered the wolves. The dogs were soon lost control of, and with angry snarls they surged into the pack, all but faithful Mitzi. The rest of the wolves, not occupied with fighting the dogs, were pushing forward almost tasting the blood and flesh of the humans. With madness several at a time would dash forward, only to be repulsed by the fires and flaming brands. The woods, to the beseiged, seemed an ocean of gleaming teeth and fiery eyes. They grabbed and tore the fur rugs to shreds. Defeat and death seemed near. And then sudd enly Jose remembered his automatic. In the frenzy of the barricading and starting fires, he had for- gotten his means of defence — firearms. He fired into the surging, angry pack. The flash and report frightened and terrified them. For a moment and only a moment, they stood as if frozen in their tracks. Then they turned; and with a last snarl and howl fled into the darkness of the woods. The moon made a white path over the hills and lighted the woods. On the ground lay frozen bodies of dead wolves. But the night was serene, and from the distance came the howl of the still hungry, hunting pack. Katrine Schuyler, '27. NIGHT A cricket's tune, 'Neath a silver moon, A soft wind's sigh, A starlit sky, A flicker bright Of a firefly's light — And this is night. Helen Healy, '26. THE STORM KING The Storm King comes in his chariot of white With his wintry winds and snows. He whistles and shrieks like The war of the bands That come from the depths below. The Storm King is a man of great age With his hoary locks so pure; To watch him as he soars through the sky Will remind you of mythical days of yore. The Storm King is a man of great strength He destroys things that come in his path Like a reaper of Death, he does not select But takes them as they pass. L. Panetta, '26 THE CHIMES 15 THE LOG JAM A lazy shiftless good-for-nothing — that is what the tru- ant master, Deacon Brown, had said while calling on his father last evening. Well, he had played truant, he solilo- quized, but he hadn't meant to. The river as usual had called him, and he couldn't resist its wild appeal. It called him today, more loudly, more persistently than it did yesterday; and his willing feet were even now carrying him directly toward it and away from school. What did Deacon Brown or his father, for that matter, know of this wild urge within him to follow, follow, the siren call of the river ; to yield himself to its racing tide and float with it under sun and moon, far, far away, into the great world of men, or across the wide ocean at its mouth to savage isles or strange golden strands; or even to stand man to man and fight the angry seas. Today the ice was breaking up; and the great cakes, sparkling and glistening in the sun, sailed away like fabled argosies on some great adventure. In the distance could be heard the crash and boom of logs released from their winter sleep in the ice far to the north ; booming and rollicking, turn- ing first one slippery side to the sun and then rolling over in wild abandon seemingly of joy, they raced toward the arches of the old bridge, upon which stood John. Here around the masonry of the bridge strong platforms of cement and stone had been so placed that a man could stand upon them, and with a good strong pike or bar fend off the racing logs from the supports of the bridge and steer them through the openings. On, on, came the logs, leaping into the air, twisting, boom- ing like sea monsters, John thought, and he thrilled with joy at the mad, wild flight of them toward the sea. But what was that wild cry of fear? It was a man fleeing from death as he climbed up beside John, his pike in his hand, and his face blanched, as he looked down UDon the SDot he had deserted and beheld a tangled mountain of lo gs piled high. A jam was ahead, and a bad one, at the weakest spot on the bridge, its very center. It must be broken at once or the bridge would go down. John looked back at the miles of water full of racing logs, and at the men who, aware of the almost certain death com- ing to the man brave enough to carry the dynamite down to the bottom of that nest of logs and blow up the log that con- trolled the jam, would not volunteer. Lazy, shiftless, good-for-nothing — they had said of him — surely he was the one to be spared. This was why his feet had led him to this spot perhaps. He grasped the sticks of dynamite before the men were aware of his presence or pur- pose, and descended the iron rods of the ladder riveted to the masonry. The roar of the logs, still piling up or crashing by, 16 THE CHIMES filled his ears. Here and there a small opening between the logs permitted h 'm to climb down, down, ever down until he reached the very lowest log and lighted his fuse. He placed the explosive as far out from the bridge as possible in the very heart of the jam. Diving as deep y as he could into the icy water, he swam away as fast as his numbed limb - wouM carry him. With a terrific explosion the jam was lifted far up into the air. And up, far above the bridge amid logs ard ice, a boy flew as if on wings, a bravely smiling boy, still smil- ing when they tenderly lifted his mangled body from the cruel waters. He had at last started out on the greatest ad- venture of all, and if you should travel to that little northern town today you would ee a bronze tablet on the bridge, com - memorating his brave deed, — and never a wo' d of th- ''shift- less good-for-nothing. Hazel G. Eaton, '26. LIFE'S PATHWAY Standing tonight at my window, Gazing out over the sea, I wonder what Life's Pathway Holds in store for me. If the Angel of Death should call me, My dreams will fade with the n ght. And tomorrow I'll be with my Creator, In the land of the Holy Light. If the summons I could not answer, And if I should live on for years, I wonder if God's Pathway, Will hold for me sorrows and tears. Perhaps a silver lining, May appear through clouds of grey, And who knows what happiness, May come to me some day. Claire McDermott, '26. DAWN Water lapping on the shore. Far in the east a faint, faint light The light grows stronger, and across The wave-capped water Comes the first light of dawn. Before this ever-growing light The shore is transformed; Then, above the horizon, Appear the first rays of the morning sun. Night is gone, dawn has come Bringing with it sunshine and joy. Wherity, '26. THE CHIMES 17 THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT Let us imagine we are taking a December walk. We shall ask a few people that we meet how they expect to celebrate Christmas. We see a young lady approaching, clad in furs and dressed in the latest style. Her name is Miss Selfishness. We ask her how she plans to celebrate Christmas. She answers, '0h, I am having an awful time trying to buy pretty presents for my friends and to spend very little money. I have loads of friends that will give me just lovely presents, and I must give them something in return, but I must save money enough to bi7y a new set of furs that will cost $200.00. The next person we meet is Greedy. He is dressed in nice clothes, but they are rather soiled. Let us ask him what he plans to do for Christmas. He replies joyfully, Oh boy, I am going to have turkey, potatoes, celery, cranberry sauce, turnip, squash, and after that all the candy and nuts I want. Now isn't that a good way to celebrate Christmas! Here comes old Mr. Grouch down the street. How are you planning to celebrate the Holiday, Mr. Grouch? we ask. Holiday, what holiday? The world never did me any good. I shan't pay it back with presents. Let us pass on. He is too much like his name. The next man we meet is plodding along rather dreamily as though he is thinking of something very important. What can it be? His name is Mr. Moneymad. In answer to our question of how he is expecting to celebrate Christmas, he answers, Don't bother me. I am too busy thinking of how to support my family. Christmas means nothing to me exceDt that I can't work and so I shall lose one day's pay. The next peoDle we meet are two little children, the boy carrying a small box in his hand and acting as though it were the mo t precious thing in the world. Perhaps it is. Let us ask them. They answer our question happily, Oh, w have just been to the village and bought Mama a lovely bottle of perfume, and it cost ten cents. We have been sav- ing up for a long time. The Christmas spirit of these little children reminds me of the following: The real Christmas spirit is not seen of men, nor is it found by searching the thronging highways. It abides in the heart, and many there are who never have its presence. The true Christmas spirit is love, a love that makes you wish you were to see others as well as yourself happy and merry on Christmas Day, a love that makes you willing to share with others some of your own joy and gifts, a love that makes you unselfish and makes you feel it is more blessed to give than to receive. Nellie Mitchell, '29. SCITUATE. mss. 18 THE CHIMES MORN The wind arose one cool, clear night; It lifted my spirit to the restless stars, Exalted it in unshaped dreams. My soul was moved among these mysteries As I stood meekly gazing In a rhapsody of silence. My tranquil calm continued, — The moon smiled as I gazed at the countless stars Slowly twinkling away a prelude To the dawning of a new day, A promise from God to all. The fulfillment of his presence. H. Alexander, '26. CAMPING OUT A group of boys in the last days of autumn had gathered around the open fire in their shack, as they called it, to dis- cuss the possibilities of camping out. Well, said Jack, one of the leaders, I think it would be great fun. Kids are always camping out in the summer, but I never heard of any one camping out in the fall. The idea of being scared. To hear my mother talk, anybody'd think we were babies. Anyhow, if any of the rest of you fellows get scared, I shall stay there anyway. My mother and father said I could if I wanted to, but they said they would expect me back, as soon as it began to get dark, said Billy, another of the brave pioneers. These boys had formed a sort of club, named The Explor- ers, and they had decided that the proper thing for such brave fellows as they were to do was to camp out of doors around a camp fire for at least one night. They had arranged a system by which each boy had to stand watch for one hour of the night, for in spite of their fathers' joking and scoffing at their expense, they thought there might be a possibility of wild animals, and of course they must be on the safe side. Besides, it was altogether more realistic to them to have a night watch as they called it. Well, said Red, who had been elected leader of The Ex- plorers, let's put the matter to a vote. All those who are in favor, and whose mothers and fathers have given their consent say, 'Aye.' Aye ! shouted all the boys in unison. I tell you what! cried Teddy excitedly. I've got just the thing. Why didn't I think of it before? What are you talking about? asked Jack impatiently. Go ahead ! Break the news ! THE CHIMES 19 Instead of waiting till to-morrow night, let's camp out to- night. It would give our mothers and fathers a good scare. They think we're so timid and all that, maybe they won't hereafter !' Good idea! Let's! I'm willing! broke from all the boys, and they started chattering as fast as they could. Here! Here! Come to order! We'll vote on it. All those who want to stay to-night say 'Yes,' Red shouted excitedly, completely forgetting his parliamentary law and order. Yes, all the boys cried. Come on. Let's start now! Where'U we camp? asked Billy, as they poured out of the shack. Doesn't it look dark? Let's not go way over to the pines to-night. We can next time. Yeah, assented one of the boys. Let's go over behind Old Man Brown's house, and sleep in back of his barn. It's all woods over in back of there, any way. The boys ran along the road a little way, and then they cut across the cauliflower field of Old Man Brown. Here's a good place, shouted back Red, who had gone ahead to find a location for their camp and had already climbed the fence which separated the field from the barn. Gee Whiz, cried Teddy, as he paused before climbing over the fence, doesn't it look awful dark. Perhaps my mother was right. We might get cold, you know. Yes, said Billy, just suppose we did get cold. We couldn't play football or anything. 'Let's wait 'till next week, suggested Jack, glancing ner- vously behind him. Yes, let's, said another boy. As the words left his mouth, Billy tripped over one of the cauliflower stubs and went down with a bang. This was just what the rest of them needed to start them for home and off they went on a run, tumbling and tripping over the field. Red, who had already climbed over the fence, took one look around, lost all his bravery in that look, and followed their example. Oh, by the way, mentioned Billy to his father as he start- ed for bed, we've decided not to camp out this year. You don't mean it, replied his father with a smile. Why so? Too many skunks out in November, said Billy, as he dis- appeared up the stairs. Sarah Baker, '28. Rita O'Hern : Say, Eleanor, what poem did you learn for English? Eleanor Cole: It Can't Be Done.' Rita O'Hern: Can't be done? Why not? Eleanor Cole : It Can't Be Done' by Edgar Guest. 20 THE CHIMES NIGHT Soothing night! Its cool breath gently strikes one's face Sweeping dewy mist in from the sea. A shadowy moon half peeps from a silvery cloud. All is enveloped in the inky blackness of night. Waves gently lapping the moist sands Make quiet music. Far off among the reeds a frog croaks, Disturbed by some chance from his rest. How still the night — How restful and how peaceful. And memories — . The Girls' and Boys' Glee C ubs are planning a demonstra- tion of the work of the Glee Clubs and the orchestra. They are not giving a show but a form of a concert. This annual work of the Glee Clubs will not be like any- thing they have ever done before. They have planned rather a unique evening. The program is comprised of Indian se- lections. There will be scenes in costumes illustrating Indian legends. The girls are giving Mon-dah-Min, an American-Indian legend set to music, as a cantata. Mon-dah-Min means corn. Among the Ojibwa Indians each spring, a chosen maiden must walk around the field of young corn, at night, alone, w th a trailing blanket. This is magic protection for the growmg corn from beetle, bug and crow, and will make a bountiful harvest. The boys will give an interpretation of Indian legends. The orchestra will play characteristic music which, we know, will add effect to this concert. We hope everyone who is able will attend this demonstra- tion. The date will be announced later. Watch for it in the Scituate Herald. H. L. Wilson, '26. DRAnaTic Eleanor M. Cole, '28, Dramatic Editor. THE CHIMES 21 CHOOL f OTl To make this year a memorable one, the Seniors began to scurry around for new ideas, suggestions, and plans. During the first week of school the following officers were elected: Anna Conant, president; Rose Herman, vice presi- dent; Hazel Eaton, secretary; Edgar Hyland, treasurer. The project of a series of class parties was immediately attended to. At the present time there have been four par- ties. The hostesses have been Anna Conant, Hazel Eaton, Eleanor Cole, and Margaret Torrey. The economics class has recently visited Keith's Shoe Fac- tory of East Weymouth and the Walter Baker Chocolate Fac- tory of Dorchester in order to understand more thoroughly the subject of the division of labor which is being studied in this class. The Senior Girls, who are complimentary members of the Scituate Woman's Club, have attended all the meetings held at the Club House this season. They have found each meeting more interesting than the preceding one. The Senior Class is greatly pleased with the success of the food sale which was given at the High School, Saturday, December 5. In spite of the rain nearly everything was sold. A committee, composed of Miss Dudley, Anna Conant, Sal- lie Murphy, and Lois Wilson, went to Boston for the purpose of choosing a class play. The final selection will soon be an- nounced. Many of the members of the commercial class have been awarded certificates for speed and accuracy from the Royal Typewriter Company and certificates for the eighty work transcription test from the Gregg Company. Four of the girls are members of the Order of Artistic Typists. The first meeting of the Sophomore Class was held the sec- ond week of school. The election of officers was as follows: John Young, president; Priscilla Cole, vice president; Kath- erine Somers, secretary; Sarah Baker, treasurer. The first project that the class took up was a party given to the Freshmen of November 28 at the Allen Memorial Li- brary. Miss Bradford and Miss Pierson acted as chaperons. In the Freshman Class the following officers were elected: John Stewart, president; James O'Connor, vice president; Ruth Dwyer, secretary; Ethel Tierney, treasurer. The new cover design for our paper was an extra problem assigned to the Art Classes. The ones who stuck to the prob- lem were Paul Quinn, Gertrude Wherity, Malcolm Merritt, Priscilla Cole and Anna Healy. The design drawn by Paul Quinn was finally chosen. However, all the students that en- tered this contest deserve credit for their good work. 22 THE CHIMES Following is a list of the school papers we received last year. We enjoyed them very much and hope that we may have copies of this year's issues. The Unquity Echo, Milton High. The Parrot, Rockland High. The Partridge, Duxbury High. The Meteor, Berlin High, Berlin, N. H. The Ea stoner, North Easton High. The Ahhis, Abington High. The Pilgrim, Plymouth High. The Enterprise, Roxbury High. The Appleton, New Ipswich, N. H. The Hermiad, Hingham High. The Golden Rod, Quincy High. The Periscope, Bridgewater High. The Taconic, Williamstown High. The Echo, Canton High. The Clarion, Arlington High. The Red and Black, Whitman High. The Wampatuck, Braintree High. The Reflector, Weymouth High. The Spice Box, Avon, Mass. The E. H. S. Record, Boston. The Student's Pen, East Bridgewater High. The Anvil, Varnille High, Varnille, S. C. The Menotomy Beacon, West Junior High, Arlington. The Par-Sem, Parsonsfield Seminary, Maine. The Climber, Howard High, West Bridgewater. Margaret Torrey, '26. Exchange Editor. THE CHIMES 23 BOYS' ATHLETIC NOTES I'he boys, under the direction of Mr. Kruzyna, have been practicing on the track. A squad of about twenty-five has re- ported regularly each day and plans are under v ay for a track team this spring. Despite the fact that a foot ball team was not organized this fall, one watching the boys at noon would think that they were striving for positions on a college eleven. It is hoped that next year the field will be usable and a foot ball team will be organized. Because of the conditions of the hall, basket ball practice has been somewhat postponed. Last year's basket ball team made a creditable showing in view of the fact that none of the team had ever played basket ball before. The team will be a formidable one this year as it has a few of last year's ex- perienced players: Hyland, Driscoll, Wherity, Prouty, Pan- etta, Merritt and Evans. Morris, the center, McCarthy, for- ward, and Curran, guard, will be missed, however. The first meeting of the Athletic Association was called on Friday, December 4. The officers who are to serve for the year were elected. They are as follows : President — John Prouty, Vice President — John L. Young, Secretary — Nellie Mitchell, Treasurer — Miss Dudley. Edgar Hyland and Mal- colm Merritt were chosen as manager and assistant manager of the boys' basket ball team. They both promise a hard schedule for the boys. John Stewart, '29, Boys' Athletic Editor. GIRLS' ATHLETICS The athletics among the girls have not been very extensive this fall, although the girls have had some practice on the track. Very little of this work was done, however, because of the failure to begin the work early enough. The cheer leaders for the coming year are Hazel Eaton and Anna Conant. Both of these girls have shown their ability in this sort of work, and it is expected the cheering section will be larger than ever this year. 24 THE CHIMES A contest to secure membership to the Athletic Association was recently held by the school. This contest was very suc- cessful. The enthusiasm of each student was aroused by a graph placed on the blackboard, which showed the progress of each class. One of the most important questions that arose in the first athletic meeting was that of supplying wood to heat the hall in which basketball is to be played. The hall could not be used without being heated enough to take the extreme damp- ness out of the building. The basketball team, which is to start practice as soon as possible, will be much the same as last year's. It is hoped that two first-class teams will be organized this year, as there is sufficient material. The girls have elected as their manager, Miriam Tilden. A schedule of games to be played with other schools will be ar- ranged as soon as possible. K. Murphy, '26. JOK Heard in Chemistry ''Some one stole my beaker! Aw! that's nothing. Some one cracked mine. Chemistry Teacher: Name three articles containing starch. Student: Two cuffs and a collar. Johnny : Pst. Pa, there's the burglar ! Father : How many times have I told you not to point. — Exchange. Lady Macbeth: All the perfumes of Arabia will never sweeten this little hand. Bright Pupil From Gallery: Ain't y'u got no Lux, lady? Heard in English C Frankie Whittaker: Hey, Glea, sit near me. I want an inspirat'on for my essay. Glea Cole : Nothin' doin' ! so do 1. 4( 4: Heard in U. S. History Mr. Martin: Why couldn't any one impeach, say. Presi- dent Wilson? Bright Pupil : Cause he's dead. THE CHIMES 25 Near-sighted Daddy : I hate to complain on Xmas morn- ing, but I must say that this ham is awful tough ' Daughter : 'Why, Dad, you're eating the bedroom slippers that Aunt Sarah sent! « Commercial Seniors Claire : ''Hey, K, what did you get for passing your com- mercial tests? K : Have you seen those new Ford roadsters? Claire: Yes! yes! K : Well, I got fifty cents. A Literary Joke Great Scott, I've forgotten who wrote 'Ivanhoe'. I'll tell you if you tell me who the Dickens wrote A Tale of Two Cities.' Latin D Latin Teacher: When did Virgil die? Bright Pupil: 51 A. B. L. Teacher: A. B., Don't you mean B. C? Bright Pupil : 51 A. B. Fifty-one years after birth. Evelyn, who was doing American History: Has any one got a map? K. Murphy: Look at me! (and she made a face.) Rose: You poor fish, she doesn't want the map of Ire- land. Question : What's the best joke you've heard yet? Answer : Hyland. Question: Hyland? Why he's not much of a joke. Answer : Oh, yes, he is. He's our Joke Editor. Anna A. Conant, Edgar Hyland, Joke Editors. DREAMWOLD TEA GARDEN Club Luncheons and Dinner Parties by Reservation MRS. GEORGE F. HENNIGAN Telephone Scituate 158 EGYPT, MASSACHUSETTS LADIES If you wish your hair bobbed, Go to FABELLO'S, Price 50c GENTLEMEN If you wish first class job, Go to same place FABELLO'S TONSORIAL PARLOR NORTH SCITUATE 26 THE CHIMES The Fred A. Conroy Co. Compliments Successor to William P. Richardson, Agency INSURANCE DR. W. B. PARSONS and REAL ESTATF. Compliments of FRONT STREET THE DESSERT SHOPPE SCITUATE, MASS. MRS. WILLIAM STANLEY S. GATES DRY GOODS L. D. HOBSON Leopold Morse Clothes of Refinement NORTH SCITUATE P. Simeone Company CARL FRESINA, M . Builder FRONT STREET, SCITUATE Confectionery, Cigars, Magazines, Imported Pure Olive Oil NORTH SCITUATE TEL. 236-2 Patronize Chimes Advertisers THE CHIMES 27 WORTH YOUR WHILE TO REMEMBER DURING THE WINTER MONTHS PRESCRIPTIONS And DRUGS SODA CANDY TOILET ARTICLES at the SEAVERNS PHARMACY FRONT STREET L. CONTE Dealer in Shoes and Rubbers Fruit and Groceries All Kinds of SHOE REPAIRING NORTH SCITUATE COMPLIMENTS OF ELSWORTH CURTIS General Contractor Patronize Chimes Advertisers 28 THE CHIMES THE SEAVERNS STORE COMPLIMENTS NORTH SCITUATE OP All Kinds of Things r 01 J ii iVinQS of People DR. GROVENSTEIN We are local headquarters for all your needs Compliments ATLANTIC and PACTFTC of TEA CO. Opposite Margaret E. Phelan No. Scituate R. R. Station Piano Teacher d. J . WA-tvJJ, Manager Compliments W. R. SCHULTZ 01 RADIO Sales Repairs BOUNDBROOK Authorized Dealer for Magnavox Sets GARAGE NORTH SCITUATE North Scituate Patronize Chimes Advertisers THE BEST IN HEATING And PLUMBING FREDERICK T. BAILEY AND CO. NORTH SCITUATE 88-2 F. T. BAILEY 88-3 P. S. BAILEY 88-4 J. W. APPLETON MANN HILL FARM, EGYPT Pure Milk and Cream Also Pure Holstein Milk for Babies and Children Telephone, Scituate 162 or Speak to the Driver EDWARD 1. WILSON ARCHITECT Compliments of DR. and MRS. T. B. ALEXANDER THE BOUNDBROOK PRESS Twenty-five Years at the old stand. Estimates on all Classes of Printing. PROMPT SERVICE Reasonable Prices NORTH SCITUATE, MASS. Telephone 228-2 A. C. DeMARY CO. Groceries, Meats, and Vegetables NORTH SCITUATE MASS. TeL 359-4 C. H. PRATT, Manager THX IfKMOBIAL PBISS PLYMOUTH THE itorage 70 ;hi un 926 SCITl]AT£ HIGH SCHOOIj JUHB ISSUE, 1926 STANDING SINCE 1879 For GOOD MERCHANDISE And REASONABLE PRICES THE GEORGE F. WELCH COMPANY AT THE HARBOR THE CHIMES Vol. 3. June, 1926 No. 2, Member of AGoe: or MASSACHUSC TTS , r ■ n J? Published by the Students of the Scituate High School, Scituate, Massachusetts. EDITORIAL STAFF Editor-in-Chief Hazel G. Eaton Assistant Editor Edward Driscoll r Richard Wherity Advertising Managers Karl Haartz LJean Lawson Literary f Helen L. Wilson :v Editors .. . x. Athletic Editors 1 Ruth LaVange Catherine Murphy John Stewart Alumni Editor ROSE Hernan Dramatic Editor Eleanor Cole Art Editor Gertrude Wherity r Edgar Hyland Anna Conant Exchange Editor Margaret Torre y Finance Manager Dorothy Hammond Joke Editon The Editorial Staff wish to express their sincere apprecia- tion of the voluntary support of the pupils who have submitted material for the Chimes. We sincerely hope to have a more varied list of contributors. To produce the best possible re- sults, we need the support of the whole school. Show your co- operation by writing something for the school paper. We wish to thank the Alumni for their interest in our maga- zine. We also wish to thank the advertisers for their contin- ued financial aid of our school paper. 2 THE CHIMES POETRY In all creation there is a natural law of rhythm. Mankind as a whole is not possessed of ears rightly attuned to hear the great music of the spheres as they roll through space. The genius of some of our great musical composers, how- ever, has caught the faint echo of it, and has given to the world glorious symphonies to tell us the wonder of their mel- odies. Our great poets and authors sensed it, and the urge of expression burned within them until poetry was born in the earliest age of civilization. The noblest and bravest deeds of man have been recorded and immortalized by bard, minstrel, and poet through all the ages. The rhythm and swing of poetry is easily memorized by man. Prose, no mat- ter how finely written, is much harder to hold in memory, and for that reason the minds of children receive their first training in memorizing through poetry. This is continued even to the colleges of highest education. Poetry awakens the imagination of the student, first by its sheer beauty of expression, and then by the nobility of the thoughts expressed, or the tenderness which no other form of speech can attain. It conveys to the student a magic that enriches and enobles his future years, adding strength and beauty to meet even the humblest tasks. Remembered lines and phrases will give him courage and hope to lighten the dark days of sorrow or adversity which come to all. Our songs, our loves, our devotions and joys are all expressed in this noble form of the written and spoken language. All peoples, even the prim- itive savage, expressed their dreams and faith in the rhythm of poetry, song, and dance. Scientists predict the perfect man of the future will converse in poetry alone, and perhaps THE CHIMES 3 will even sing it. In the perfection of that day the coarse form of speech now used will be forgotten. Poetry is the golden stairway leading ever upward; the silver lining to the dark clouds of life ; a bright ray from the eternal realms of beauty; the world's greatest expression of its blind groping for a higher existence. It is the music of speech, and is rightly used to express music and song. It is old as the world, and will be with us as long as the world shall last, and perhaps longer. Hazel G. Eaton, '26. HIGH SCHOOL ATHLETICS Not long ago, there met at one of our eastern colleges, a group of men. This group, composed of men who are prom- inent in high school circles, is known as the Massachusetts High School Athletic Association. To some, the mere men- tion of the name will convey no meaning, but to others, those followers of high school athletics, the name will have a deep meaning. Every high school student should follow the work of this association, for the Massachusetts High School Ath- letic Association is the power behind high school athletics in Massachusetts. The public will probably never know just what took place in this meeting. What the public does know, however, is that the Association debated at length on two proposals for changes in the elegibility qualifications of high school ath- letics. The first proposal, that the age limit for high school athletics be lowered from twenty years to nineteen years, was lost by a vote of twenty-five to twenty-one. Again, to some, this will have no meaning, but to others it will suggest that slowly, but surely, men are changing their opinions in regard to the age limit rule. A few years ago men were of the opinion that if a player was good enough to make the team, he should be allowed to play regardless of his age or schol- astic standing. Public opinion has changed, however. Some men are still in doubt, as the reported vote shows, but if the proposal is brought before the association at some future date, there are those leaders who believe that the proiDOsal will be adopted. It is generally known that there are schools in Massachusetts whose chief aim is to produce winning athletic teams. These teams are mostly composed of ath- letes hovering around the age limit. These players do not attend school for the purpose of study, but rather for the one purpose of playing on some athletic team. To be sure there are certain scholastic requirements, but up to the pres- ent they are low enough to enable players to ''squeak by with very little work. Thinking men are beginning to be- lieve that such conditions ought not to exist. The proof of this lies in the announcement that the State Association adopted the second proposal for a change in the eligibility qualifications for high school athletics. As a result 4 THE CHIMES the Association will recommend to the executive board that an athlete, in order to be eligible for any team, mast be pars- ing in courses having a total scholastic credit value of fifteen points. True followers of high school sports are hoping that the executive board will make such a change in the scholastic requirement. They believe that such a change will go a long way toward bettering amateur sports. Better a thletics will tend toward better school spirit. Students will be quick to support a team composed of scholars as well as athletes. A change of view among high school students will mean a change in public opinion ; and when the public comes to look upon athletics in this light, the future of high school athletics will be assured. Richard Wherity, '26. THE VALUE OF COMPETITION Competition is the only means by which one can estimate his ability, whether in strength, athletics, business or any other activity. A person may over estimate himself or his ability in some line of work. By competing with others he may find out just where he is strong or where he is weak. Then, there are cases where people under estimate them- selves. When they are in competition with rivals, their strength is brought out and they gain confidence in them- selves. This is what competition is for. No one who has not had any obstacles to overcome has become very great. It is the mastering of difficulties that gives him confidence and strength to overcome greater ones and to make a success. This is why competition between schools is important for successful training. The value of competition is not less to a person just be- cause he or she is not always victorious. There is a gain just the same. The experience gained through these tests is valu- able because it adds much to the strength needed for future triumphs. Of course, to come out victorious makes a person feel bet- ter than to be defeated. This, however, depends very much on the strength of the opponent. If a person or a team is able to beat a supposedly stronger person or team, they have a right to be proud of their achievement if it has been won by fair means. If not, real success has not been achieved. Edgar Hyland, '26. A PLAYMATE, PROTECTOR AND FRIEND These three words, playmate, protector and friend point out the real meaning of the word dog. A boy's greatest animal friend is his dog. There isn't any sport but his dog will enter and be proclaimed the winner. Is your dog faithful? Ask any boy this question and I will lay you ten to one that the answer will be, You bet he is THE CHIMES 5 faithful. He is my best friend. Of course Ma and Dad come first, but the pup is a close second. Friend! Your dog is your friend. Are you his? Of course you are. If you are not, why does he run to greet you when you arrive from school? When you are sad and need to be cheered, does he not prove a friend? When he comes up and teases you to go play with him, you just have to give in to him and go play. Perhaps you say, 'Why be kind to that animal? He doesn t even know what you are talking about if you speak to him. But when you make that statement you are just fooling yourself. Talk cross to him and watch his ears drop. Does he hang his ears in shame? Not always. The reason usu- ally is that he is sad because you have not proved a faithful friend to him. Sometimes these friendly animals get lonesome passing the day away without a friend. So at school sometimes into the room will w alk a poor lonesome wanderer searching for his master. Do you miss your dog as much as he misses you? Gertrude Jones, '29. MEMORIES After swinging open the great iron gate that leads to the garden of our childhood days, we sit on the old rustic bench and give ourselves up to thought. There under that old apple tree still hangs the old swing over which many a battle was fought. Over there in the little summer house still hang the little pots and pans, and in the corner sits the stove all cov- ered with rust. There by the door sits faithful Fido with the sawdust coming from his shoulder. Behind the summer house is the little garden of Nature's own blossoms. See, despite the overgrown weeds some of them are pushing their heads bravely through to light; for the spring is calling them. Down here by the little brook, still clear and sparkling, we built great ships and loaded them with brave pioneers to sail the race over the falls below. Through the misty haze w e watch while the memories of our childhood days flit past, bringing laughter and sorrow. Dorothy Hammond, '26 FAVORITE SONGS ''Ten Best Steppers at Scituate High School Roger Kenny — ''W-W-What, No Women! Vivian Newcomb — ''Sleepy Time Gal. Dick Wherity — That Certain Party. Irma Hobson — Kitten On The Keys. Lydia Stearns — She's Just a Sailor's Sweetheart. Paul Quinn — Oh, How I've Waited for You. Loretta W. — Walking Home with Josie. Sally — Cradle Snatchers. W. Stone — When Do We Dance? Louis Panetta — Five Foot Two. 6 THE CHIMES THERE IS ROOM AT THE TOP Do not leave the wonderful avenue of education too soon. The pupils who leave school as soon as the sixth grade is reached (for this is as far as the law compels them to go) have no future in store for them. They leave the avenue of great things and good education to become machinery, to do manual labor. Think what a good education would be given to them if they only had foresight enough to plan their fu- ture. The pupil who leaves school when high school is reached, goes from the avenue of education to the alley of Small Hope of a Future. Some may enter trade schools and use the small chance left to them ; but why not go to the end of the avenue of education. It takes but a little more work to become an engineer, business executive or member of some profession. Why not take advantage of the education which is given away at the cost of the state? The higher a person goes in educational training the fewer people he has to com- pete with. Do not be discouraged; there is alv ays room at the top. Gretchen Schuyler, '28. EDITORIAL BOARD THE CHIMES 7 LITERARY DREAMS The ponderous clock in the great dim library had just struck four, and now the tiny jewelled clock in Madame's boudoir faintly chimed its echo. Madame, reclining on her silken couch, tossed aside the novel she had been reading, yawned daintily and stretched her slim white arms. Then, leaning gracefully on one elbow, she parted the curtains and looked out. The rain was beat- ing monotonously against the window pane, and across the street the solemn gray houses rose gloomy and silent. Madame's carefully rouged lips puckered and her daintily penciled eyebrows contracted ever so slightly. Madame was bored. This state of mind, in fact, was not an unusual thing for Madame, who found almost every- thing, including life, a bore. At this moment an especially tattered umbrella came unsteadily down the street. Beneath it two unusual rubbers were barely visible. These rubbers were not at all like ordinary rubbers because one was brown and the other black. Nor was this their only difference. The black one fitted snugly to the little shoe ; while the brown one flapped up and down, splashing in and out of puddles, giving its owner much discomfort. Suddenly the umbrella tilted dangerously to one side and Madame could see the pale, troubled face of a little girl. A strand of wet hair was blown across one cheek, — hair which if it had had half the care of Madame's own carefully marcelled locks, would have drawn forth admiration even from the critical lips of Madame herself. As the child came nearer, the unruly brown rubber des- paired of being able to stay on the shoe so many sizes smaller that itself, and it remained behind in a puddle. The little girl, clinging to the umbrella, poised precariously on the edge of the sidewalk and tried to push a diminutive foot into the refractory rubber. But as she gave an impatient thrust, both she and the umbrella toppled over and lay in a crumpled little heap in the gutter. Suddenly Madame sat upright and touched a silver bell at her side. Immediately Celeste, trim in her frilled w hite cap and apron, appeared. ''Madame? she asked politely. Tell Saunders to bring in that child, Madame commanded briefly, pointing to the rain-soaked bundle of rags out in the street. Yes, Madame. And Celeste disappeared. Saunders made his way carefully to avoid soiling his well- polished shoes, and he gingerly attempted to separate um- brella from child, which he carried up the gray stone steps and into the long shadowy hall. 8 THE CHIMES There Saunders left her and made a hasty departure to other realms. His usually calm and unruffled countenance was disturbed and his spotless uniform stained with mud. As he disappeared, Madame glided down the curved stairway and found the pitiful little figure standing where Saunders had left her. Water dripped down from the faded hat to her worn coat and splashed in little pools on the polished floor. Tears overflowed her brown eyes and mingled with the rain drops on her face. Madame realized that she had done an extraordinary thing. But then Madame was always doing extraordinary things at the most extraordinary times. It was the one pleasure she derived from life. Now she stood looking at the forlorn little child, trying to decide what to do with her. Obviously Saunders would have nothing to do with her. Madame had smiled to herself as she saw Saunders bringing in the child in his arms. Her thoughts were rudely interrupted by sobs which were shaking the frail form of the little tot. Madame hesitated a brief moment ; then did another extraordinary thing. She said, ''Come with me, and took the cold, dirty little hand in her soft, white one. Thus she led her unusual guest up the stairs. The brown eyes opened wide at the door of Madame's bou- doir, for doubtless it was the most beautiful scene that had ever met the little stranger's gaze. Her attention, however, was held by one object, and all else lost its glory in comparison. Nor was it any wonder that this was the first thing to arrest her attention; for it occupied the place of honor in Madame's room. It was a beautiful Spanish doll reclining in state beside her dressing table. This was Madame's latest fad, — as it was of all the society women. The costume of this doll was as expensive as one of Ma- dame's own. It was complete to the minutest detail, from the exquisitely curled hair to the jeweled bracelets on her arm and the tiny silver buckles on her velvet slippers with their miniature French heels. An amused smile crept around Madame's lips as she watched first the surprise, then the longing grow in the eyes of the child. Hardly realizing what she was doing, Madame crossed the room, and lifting the doll from its splendor, placed it in the eager arms of the little girl. She opened her lips to speak, but instead she turned, shrugged her slim shoulders and rang for Celeste. Celeste appeared almost magically at the door. She saw the pathetic little figure so out of harmony Vvith the luxurious apartment; she saw the Spanish doll, crushed in the embrace of the strange child; but she did not express the least sign of surprise. Celeste had learned from experience never to show surprise at anything Madame did or said. THE CHIMES 9 ''Celeste. ''Yes Madame. Get some dry clothing for that child. But, Madame, there is no — I said find some dry clothing for that child, repeated Madame, waving her hand imperiously. Celeste knew bet- ter than to contradict Madame; so she turned and left the room. One would form an entirely different opinion of Celeste could he see her outside of Madame's presence. She was no longer compelled to conceal her feelings and she expressed them with no uncertainty. She muttered something about the foolish whims of idle people as she tripped up the stairs toward the attic. This attic was not one that would delight anybody but Madame. It was not a friendly, inviting attic but a cold formal one. Everything was in perfect order. Not a cobweb, not a speck of dust was in evidence anywhere. Each trunk and each box sat solemnly in its assigned place. Celeste went straight to a small worn trunk standing un- obtrusively in a corner, and kneeling before it impatiently, she thrust back the lid. A delightful fragrance of June roses escaped and pervaded the dim attic. Celeste sniffed with a dainty nose as she turned over the folded garments within, which had lain there untouched for years. Now Celeste, with ruthless fingers, disturbed their long sleep and peaceful dreams. Hastily selecting a few dresses, she slammed the trunk closed and descended. As Celeste reentered Madame's room, her face again as- sumed that imperturbable mask. Madame was standing by the window amusedly watching the little girl's delight. It was a new experience to her, for she had never closely observed children before. When Celeste came in, that delicate odor of roses reached Madame, and she felt as if she were in a dream with Celeste and the child afar off. Only faintly did she hear Celeste per- suading the little girl to go with her. The room seemed filled with roses, — lovely fragrant June roses, whose perfume intoxicated Madame. Mechanically she raised the window beside her and a cool damp air blew in Madame looked out, but she did not see the rain, nor the houses. No, a flood of memories that she had believed were dead long ago and their ashes hidden away in her heart. Sud- denly burst into flame and warmed her cold heart. She was again a little girl with curly brown hair and an eager happy face. It was June. She was again in the rose garden with her mother, and that mother had the same cold, expressionless features that Madame now bore. They were saying good-bye, and little did Madame realize then that she was bidding farewell to her childhood, her happy carefree childhood. Her mother was telling her that she must go 10 THE CHIMES away to become a well-mannered young lady and she must put away her childish notions. Foolish caprices her mother called them. Yes, Madame had once been a weaver of dreams, beautiful magic dreams. There were tears in her eyes then; for those fancies she had woven were a part of her, a living, joyful part. Now she was leaving them all. She must fold them away in the rose- scented corners of her memory as she had folded away her beloved dresses in the little trunk in the attic. Thus that day she began her education as a lady, as her mother defined it. And Madame soon fulfilled her mother's expectations. She forgot her dreams, her dear whimsical fancies, forgot them as she had the little trunk in the attic. For Madame was beautiful, charming and rich, the three requisites for success in the world. Then, just as her mother had planned, Madame married a rich man, — for his money, not for love, no, that v as not necessary. So Madame's mother beheved, and so Madame herself had then believed. After marriage her husband had buried himself in busi- ness, the business of making money for Madame to spend. And of course, Madame knew how to spend it for that was a part of her education. However, there were things Madame could not purchase for money. ine cold rain blowing in against her face brought Madame back to the present, and she closed the window, with a little shiver, drawing the silken negligee closer about her white shoulders. Celeste now returned with the child, and even Madame could not conceal her surprise at the change in her appear- ance. Her hair, still damp, clung in little ringlets around her pale face. Her eyes, though now sweetly serious, held a hint of laughter in their depths, and an impish dimple lurked in the corners of her rosy lips. The soft pink of the old- fashioned dress with its quaint ruffles and tiny full skirt com- pleted the picture. Madame gave a startled cry. Where had she seen that same little child before? Ah! Yes, she remembered now. This was the same little dream girl she had had years before. The little dream girl that had lived in the white cottage on the hillside where Madame had once planned to live. Madame had forgotten all about that child of her dreams. She dismissed Celeste and, sitting down on a low stool, she drew the little girl towards her. What is your name? she asked. ''Rosalie, the child answered simply. Won't your mother be waiting for you, Rosalie? I have no mother. She died last year. Here the baby lips Quivered and tears welled into the brown eyes. I live with Auntie now, she finished bravely, but Auntie doesn't love me. THE CHIMES 11 Madame did not know what to say. She was not accustomed to talking with children. Suddenly Rosalie flung the Spanish doll's face downward on the floor and ran into Madame's arms. She flung her arms impulsively around Madame's neck. I love you, I love you, she sobbed. ''You're so good to me. Love me? repeated Madame with that hollow little laugh that had taken years to acquire. It was the first time a child had ever spoken those words to Madame. Madame put her arms around the little figure and caressed the soft curls resting on her shoulder. ''Would you like to live with me? she found herself asking. O, yes, please let me, please. I don't want to go back to auntie. She won't care, begged Rosalie. Madame's arms tightened around the trembling form and her eyes were misty with unshed tears. The rain beat unceasingly outside and the soft gray shad- ows of twilight stole into the room, enshrouding the two figures sitting together before the friendly flames. That evening Madame spoke to her husband across the table, gleaming in the soft candle light. I am going to adopt a child. Adopt a child? He looked questioningly up at Madame and gave a crooked little smile, if it could be called a smile. Another fad? Well, go ahead, I don't care. Madame smiled to herself but said nothing. But if her husband had been a little more observant, a little less absorbed in his business, he would have seen a new Madame. He would have realized that no rouge could bring that blush to Madame's cheek, no interest in any passing whim could bring that glint of happiness to her eyes. He could have also noticed when she laughed it was no longer a hollow meaningless laugh; it was the echo of the true happiness of Madame's heart. But then he did not know either of Madame's dreams. He did not know that somewhere in her heart an echo had come back, the echo of a wish uttered long ago. It was a lilting happy echo filled with the fancies and laughter of youth that had awakened in Madame's heart the dreams that had for so long lain there forgotten. , 3 MY RETREAT When life seems full of sorrow, Of hardships, and of pain, I seek my peaceful hilltop Till courage comes again. Anna Healey, '28. 12 THE CHIMES SENIOR CLASS LIFE AS A DREAM Floating on high like a cloud Drifting below like a stream, Floating, drifting, God only knows where Isn't life just like a dream? Flying above the soft clouds. Gazing below by the stream; The songs of birds oft' I've heard. While thinking on life as a dream. Watching the clouds floating by, One of God's wonderful scenes; All in a blue azure sky. Isn't life made up of dreams? H. Pepper, '28. THE CHIMES 13 MY SHIP My little ship will soon put out, Alone on Life's great ocean; I leave behind the friendly shore, For wave's uncertain motion. I am the pilot and the crew, The captain and the bo'sun; I'll cross alone the billowing seas As I shall take the notion. Far out on Life's unchartered w ave Adventure calls and daring; And youth seeks aye a cargo fine In hold, when homeward faring. Across the blue, a valiant speck, My standard white is flying; No mortal foe shall haul it down Till I be dead or dying. The stars shine on my sail so white, The moon-drenched sea below, The kindly heavens arching night, Befriend me as I go. Ah, never must I pause, or wait, In some far mart when trading ; Or list to loreleis on the rocks Their golden tresses braiding. Should pirates bold cross o'er the main, To bring my ship disaster, For quarter, soon upon by deck They'd kneel to me, their master. But should I meet a sister ship In sore distress, I'm thinking I'd lower sail, and lend a hand To save her crew from sinking. I'd rescue storm-tossed mariners, That on lone isles are stranded, And clothe and feed, tho' scant my store. Till all are safely landed. And should my ship come sailing home, In hold no golden cargo, I'll sleep in peace, if one shall say Mine was a friendly Bark-oh. Hazel Eaton, '26. 14 THE CHIMES AN EVENING AT HOME The Jones family was comfortably seated for a quiet even- ing at home, or so it looked. Mr. Jones was tuning in on the radio. Mrs. Jones was reading the evening paper, and Mar- garet, the oldest daughter, was doing Latin. The other three members of the family, Jane, Betty, and Bob, were discussing a seemingly exciting event that had happened at school that day. Oh, dear, exclaimed Margaret at last, can't you kids keep still for one minute ! How do you think I can do Latin with you all talking at once. Won't you please go in the other room. The kids had no idea of going in the other room and kept up their conversation, louder than ever. This was too much for Margaret. She threw her Latin book with a loud bang on the table and started to leave the room. There's never any peace in this house with those kids around. I wish we could have one quiet evening. Margaret, dear, said mother sternly, you must learn to control your temper. I don't think you've had enough sleep lately. You get all worked up over the least little thing. If the children bother you, you will have to go in the other room to do your Latin. Margaret left the room, but not with her Latin. She went to the piano and started playing. Margaret was really a good piano player, but when she was angry her playing was indeed unbearable to listen to. Margaret, said father after a few minutes of this, you will have to stop playing now, I guess, because I want to get the Symphony Orchestra tonight. Oh, daddy, exclaimed Margaret, I've got to do my prac- ticing. Can't you miss the orchestra for just 07ie night? Please daddy. Can't you practice any other time besides now? No, because I take my lesson tomorrow, and I haven't got my practicing for today finished yet. I want to have a good lesson. Well, I'll let it go this time. But remember that after this you will have to do your practicing after school. All right. Thanks, Daddy, said Margaret as she re- turned to her practicing again. In the meanwhile father gave a long, deep sigh, took up a magazine and sat down with another sigh. Daddy, said Betty, what's 14 x 3? What? Oh yes. Forty-two, I guess. And what's 1 3 of a hundred? Oh, thirty-three and a third. Hey, dad, where's Berlin? said Bob, who was doing geography. In Germany, said father impatiently. THE CHIMES 15 Margaret, Jane called out. ''You'll have to stop prac- ticing now because I haven't done my violin practicing. I haven't finished yet; so you'll have to v ait, said Mar- garet. ''Mother, make Margaret stop playing. I've got to prac- tice just as much as she has. Yes, Margaret, you'll have to stop nov . Jane has to go to bed pretty soon. You can practice later, said mother. Wait a minute. I've got to finish this exercise. Margaret, what did I tell you? Stop playing this instant! Yes, mother, said Margaret. Jane had not been practicing more than ten minutes when the door bell rang. Betty and Bob both ran for the door but mother appeared. Children, she said, go and sit down. I think it's Mrs. Barnes and Mrs. Sargent. What would they think of your manners? Betty, go and tell Jane to put up her violin. Mrs. Barnes doesn't like violins anyway. When mother had opened the door, all four had seated themselves in chairs, reading a book or doing school work. How do you do, Mrs. Jones, said Mrs. Barnes. I hope you don't mind our stopping in. Our radio is out of order and I thought you'd have the Symphony Orchestra on. I'm so glad you came, said mother. We were just going to get the Symphony Orchestra. Come right in and sit down ! After all the children had exchanged greetings father turned the radio on and mother and her company began to talk of household matters. Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Sargent was saying. What a lovely little family you have, — so quiet and well-mannered. You must have lovely quiet evenings. Yes, said mother simply. Carolyn Poland, '29. THE CALL OF SPRING Just about when the peepers in the thawing swamps be- gin their shrill piping, and green tips of the earliest spring plant, — skunk's cabbage, — are forcing their way through, near the banks of some over-flowing brook-stream; — just about the time when the first bluebird's liquid, plaintive call can be heard over greening fields ; — then is when that ardent, passionate longing to be free, to live in the open encroaches upon the heart of every nature-lover. Ask the dreaming nature-lover what he is thinking about at this time, and he will say, — Speckled trout in a rushing, cold stream; hip rubber-boots; a trout-fly and rod; — and even better: A worn, ghostly-looking tent, amid encircling, purplish twilight-gloom; the sweet, wafting odor from the vivid, birch-wood campfire. And ummm the sizz- ling of speckled beauties in the piping-hot spider ; ummm — fried trout for supper ! Lydia Stearns, '26. 16 THE CHIMES THE HAVEN OF SAFETY He was only a wee, little curly-haired tot, But he wondered and wondered an awful lot. He had often wondered, had Anthony Lee, Why the birds couldn't talk and the trees couldn't see. Why the river kept moving with never a rest, How the ships were kept up on the ocean's broad breast, And more than all else why he couldn't fly Just once, up to play on a cloud in the sky. Then one summer's evening little Anthony Lee As usual crawled up on his nurse's soft knee. Let us talk secrets. Nana, he said, And Nana bent down to kiss the wee head. ''Tell me the things that I like to know About the birds, the ships, the rain, and the snow.' After she'd told him ever so much. He patted her face with a light wistful touch. Nana mine, can't I ever play on a cloud? I'd be ever so good and you'd be ever so proud To think that your Tony was up in the sky. Nana, dearest Nana, why do you sigh? Hush, Tony mavourneen, you never can run Up to the sky. You'd be scorched by the sun And when it was time for you to come back Nana would not know Tony. He would be all black. Still, Nana dear, someday I surely may go Far out on the ocean and be rocked to and fro. I may play with the fishes and dance with waves. And dive with the mermaids down to their caves? Tony! Tony! childy, you mustn't talk thus. You frighten poor Nana into a terrible fuss. You'd be caught in the sea weed and struggle in vain. And Nana would never see Tony again. Well, Nana, I've been to Dreamland before So I think that I'll go there perhaps just once more. You won't be afraid because you've been there, too. You can't be afraid now; isn't that true? Yes, loved one, yes, yes. Go to sleep on my arm. Nana will watchfully guard you from harm. Be polite to the sand-man. Hurry or you will be late And don't forget to knock gently on Dreamland's gold gate. Jean Lawson, '26. THE CHIMES 17 JUNIOR CLASS THE CALL OF THE SEA A cool wind blows from the east tonight And naught is calm or still, It ruffles the crests of the waves so white, And rustles the leaves on the hill. It gently sways through the birches slim. And whispers them secrets low; It stirs in my head dear memories dim And bids me to up and go; So I must follow my spirit bold And answer the call of the sea 'Cross the moonlight path of gleaming gold Where the blue waves call to me. Where a pale light gleams on the distant shore Through the purple mists afar. Where from far above the ocean's roar Looks down the evening star. So I must leave my home and all To whither I know not where To simply answer the east wind's call And take up the sea's wild dare. Helen Healey, '26. 18 THE CHIMES THE GAJME OF LIFE An old, tarnished lamp made a circle of dull, uncertain light in the center of the low room. Around the square table huddled four men, their faces blotched and indistinct in the wavering glow of the lamp, their dark-clad backs abruptly outlined against the light. The rest of the room was filled with obscure, massive forms. One sensed the rough-hewn beams, the dark boards, the splintery, uneven floor, indistinct in the shadows. In one corner was the dim bulkiness of some old secretary, and in another a row of bottles which caught the gleam of the lamp and reflected it. The men about the table were silent. They played their cards tensely. Suddenly one of the men leaned back in his chair and laughed. Then he bent forward into the light, taking from his pocket a small gold watch, and laying it face up on the table. His features were clean-cut and slightly irregular. His hair was dark and thick. He smiled as he pointed at the watch, and raised his eyes. His eyes were dark and unfath- omable ; his smile lighted up his lean face and gave it a fas- cinating and reckless charm. 'Till quarter past, he cried, his voice pleasant and refined. 'l will not quit, a winner. Till quarter past, and you may gain from me. He laughed again as he put the watch back into his pocket and gathered up the cards. A happy, boyish, lovable laugh, as one might laugh when he has run hard against the wind or felt the salt spray in his face and found it good. As he leaned forward, the light flared up and showed the weak- ness of that young face, — the joy of taking a chance, the joy of gambling. For the boy had inherited his father's love of playing the game, of flying in the face of all things, and of taking a chance. In him was the reckless, daring blood of gypsies wandering over the country side, of pirates sailing unknown seas in their white-winged vessels, even of the soldiers of the cross, advancing in search of the Holy Grail, braving all hard- ships and taking a chance, the wonderful, inspiring chance of winning, winning against all odds, overcoming all handi- caps. It was that which drove them on, gypsies, pirates, knights; that which made their blood tingle beneath their tanned skins; that which sent them so proudly and joyfully on, ever on. It is not the gain that counts; it is the risk of losing, the chance of winning. The boy's mother knew. Had she not combatted it in his father, confronted it bravely, tried to keep them alive and comfortable when all was gone, attempted to save when there was plenty, for the next hard place? For there would always be another hard place. As long as the boy's father lived, there would be hard places, times when he had lost, and he would come home tired and discouraged to find sympathy and love beside his own hearth. Yes, Mary Gordon knew. She DAVID MONROE, GENTLEMAN It had always been impressed on David Monroe that he must be a gentleman. His mother would say, ''If you are going to be a gentleman, David, you can't do that. And Delia, the maid, would chant at him, ''Gentlemen don't do that. Master Davie. So for the six years of David's little life his one desire had been, naturally, to be a gentleman. Many times his mother had told him that gentlemen were always kind and ready to help people; that they were never rude; that they were never afraid. Yet David was terribly afraid of the dark and of tramps. But he was never rude and was a very kind-hearted little fellow. There was one thing David hated and that was to hear a woman cry. It gave him a pain in his chest and sometimes he could hardly breathe. When Delia had lost her ring which the Irving's chauffeur had given her, David had found her crying in the butler's pantry. Of course, David shouldn't have been in the butler's pantry at all, but how could he help it when he'd heard Delia crying so heart-brokenly. He had pushed the swinging door open and had stood there, a tiny boy with a great crown of the blackest hair falling in little ringlets all over his head. He had seen Delia at the other end of the pantry and had thought of the long distance of forbidden territory he must cover to reach her. But where there was a woman in distress, David never hesitated; ro his sturdy legs in their rumpled socks had started bravely toward her. The pantry had seemed longer than ever and every plate had shaken a reproving finger at him as if to say, You know you shouldn't be in here, David. But the lion-hearted bottle opener had nodded encouragingly to him from its place on the wall. Go on, Davie, it's a lady in distress! David always had liked the bottle opener. At last there had been only five more boards in the pantry floor before Delia would be reached. David had heaved a sigh of relief. The anxiety had been awfully trying; for any minute he had expected to hear his mother's voice bidding him come out of the pantry instantly. What are you crying for, Delia? David had thought it best to waste no time but to get to the bottom of the matter quickly. He had leaned against the copper sink confidenti- ally and had crossed his feet. Delia had started and had r jjavia, you mustn't be in the pantry. Your mother wouldn't like it. She'd be awfully cross, Master David. David had made a little face, wrinkling up his nose. ''Don't be silly, Delia, I always help people that are un- happy. Mother told me I should. You see, gentlemen always do and I'm trying to be a gentleman, Delia. So what is it that makes you cry? Well, the upshot of the matter had been that Delia had told David that she had lost her ring, and David had given Delia his mother's very best gold ring with the emerald in it. But Delia, with great fore-thought, had returned the ring to Mrs. Monroe, who made the loss up to Delia in her salary. Every- one liked David immensely. His mother's friends, on seeing him, would exclaim, How darling, Simply adorable, or Too sweet and his father's friends would pat him on the head and say, A perfect little gentleman. But way down in his heart, David knew that he could not be a gentleman while he was afraid of tramps and the dark. Then one night when David was tucked into bed in his nursery and his mother bent down to kiss him, he noticed how tired she looked. She had been shopping all day and her face was drawn and pale. Slipping his arms around her neck, he frowned disapprovingly. You're terribly tired tonight; aren't you, mother? You shouldn't have gone to the theatre last night. He kissed her, hugging her gently. I'd go to bed soon if I were you. It was late, after midnight, when David awoke. He lay in bed listening when a sound came to him from downstairs. Could it be his father? No, because his father had called up to him long ago that mother and daddy were going to bed now. Finally, crawling out of bed, David started down the wide carpeted stairs. It was frightfully dark. In every cor- ner a hobgoblin beckoned to him and the grandfather clock, standing on the bend of the stairs, looked down benignly on the wee, white pajama'd figure clutching the mahogany rail- ing. The pictures swayed and whispered eerily, Go back, Davie dear, it is late, so late. It is long past midnight, Da- vie. As he reached the last stair, the grandfather clock struck one. Careful, Davie. He could hear very clearly now a dull scraping and heavy THE CHIMES 19 had learned its meaning when a young bride. And when her baby came, she prayed that he might not have the love of gambling; for she knew that for every bit of joy there were hours of heartache. Mary Gordon knew the joy of taking a chance at times. She knew the value of a touch of it in one's heart, but she also knew the despair and the ruin to the man who is obsessed by it. As her boy grew, Mary Gordon saw with fear that Kenneth Gordon was like his father. And she knew in her mother heart that nothing could change him. She saw him always the first to try the half -frozen ice on the pond. She saw him always ready to climb the tallest, frailest tree; always ready to swim farthest from the shore when dared by any comrade. She watched his face as he played marbles, his glee as he picked his gain from the dirt. His mother saw these things with a sinking feeling in her heart, yet she was helpless. People called Mary Gordon a strong-willed woman, cold and distant. They did not know Mary Gordan and what she felt in her suffering heart, the love that she, who had never known brothers or parents, lavished, on her only child. Mary Gordon was forced to be strong-willed. She loved her hus- band, she soon learned his weaknesses, and she did all in her power to help him. She did not try to reform him. She did not reprove him. She understood and bravely did what she could to be a true partner and to protect him from himself. In those long, hard years Mary Gordon must have become strong, must have learned to keep her fears and troubles from the world. Yet she was happy. She loved her home, her husband, her baby. Life was hard, but it brought much joy to Mary Gordon. The night that Kenneth told her of his engagement was dull and weary, with a cold wind and a hint of snow in the air. She as frying steak for supper when he came in, tall and boyishly good-looking. He tried to be nonchalant. He came over and patted her shoulder. ''Steak tonight? he said. ''That's good. It's cold out. Mary looked up at him and smiled. By the way, Marg. and I've decided to hit it off. Mary stopped on the way from the stove to the table. En- gaged? Her boy? Was he going to leave her? No, no, she could not let him go. She's a nice kid, Mumsy. He always called her the name he had as a child, when any- thing happened, good or bad. She recognized the pleading, almost hurt tone in his voice. She finished the trip to the table and said calmly, though her tongue seemed caught in her throat and her heart beat madly in her breast, Yes, Ken, she's a dear girl. Thus she spoke, calmly, smilingly, though she felt stifled and unreal. She never knew afterward how she got the sup- per, and kept up a conversation about trivial things. 20 THE CHIMES When the last dish was dried and put away, and Ken gone for the evening, she unseeingly walked into his room. She smoothed the cover of his bed fondly. As she raised her eyes, she saw a poem cut from a magazine that he had pinned on the wall. 'The Joy of Life. Mechanically she read. 'The games in the playing, And, losing or winning, The fun's in essaying Your bravest and best, In taking your chance While Fate's wheel is spinning And backing your fancies With nerve and with zest. The words beat upon her heart and stamped themselves on her brain. She went out of the room and closed the door. Burton Gordon sat with his paper reading the stock reports. Mary sat down and took her mending. Her boy married. Gone — gone? Her boy who knew nothing of life, much less of marriage. Oh, he did not understand its meaning. She must tell him, tell him it was not a mere happiness, tell him of the trials he would meet. Oh, her boy, her own boy, gone — . As the days passed, Mary Gordon rallied her habitual com- mon sense and power to face things squarely, and with a smile overcame and numbed her grief. She worked like a slave in making her son remember his last days at home as his hap- piest. She made all his favorite dishes and hung over him until he grew boyishly resentful of such display of affection. She told herself over and over that someday it must have come; that all nestlings spread their wings and fly away; that she was so glad it was a girl like Margaret Clark and not someone like Madge Evans. But all the time in the back of her brain the words were beating feverishly again and again. ''He is going away. My boy's going away. And still more unconsciously the fiery brand of the words glowed, The game's in the playing, and losing or winning, in taking a chance while Fate's wheel is spinning. The day of Ken's first wedding anniversary was warm and exhilarating; one of those rare and lovely days that brings the first hint of spring; when there is still a trace of snow on the ground and the frozen earth fast yields to the friendly sun. Mary Gordon's day had been long and full as all her days were, and she welcomed the quiet and solitude of the night. She was alone, sitting in her small kitchen with her mending, and thinking of that day a year ago. The spring breeze had now risen to the boisterousness of a March wind, bringing with it great, black clouds and cold torrents of rain. The great clock chimed twelve. The contended cat lay be- neath the stove, one eye blinking up at his mistress; the tea THE CHIMES 21 kettle suddenly began to lend its music to the purring of the cat as the fire flickered up in one last glow. A great gust of wind disturbed the stillness, rattling the windows and beat- ing the rain against the panes. As the wind thrust its force against the house, it seemingly opened the door wide and blew in a young girl. She stood huddled against the door, a dark cape billowing around her, wet wisps of hair across her cheek. Mary Gordon needed to glance only once at the young face. Father, son, the same traits from generation to gener- ation, as deeply entrenched as the roots of great oak in the soil, as much a part of them as any other thing in their life. And while the girl stood uncertain, Mary Gordon opened her arms wide and received her son's wife. The barrier of re- serve which the girl had never dared to cross was broken down; the sympathy that Mary Gordon had never known how to show was given in a sweet impulse of understanding. In a few words she told her own poor story and spoke words of encouragement to keep up the fight and to play the game. The great clock chimed one. A half-dead coal sprang into living, brightening the two still forms, one, a woman with the sad, sweet lines of experience and trouble on her face, rock- ing to and fro, her hand on the bent head of a young girl kneeling beside her. H. L. W., '26. 22 THE CHIMES THOUGHTS BY A BROOK Now its waters softly purling Now impetuously hurling Into space. Never hesitating in the palpitating, breathless, frantic scurry of the race. Never thinking, never knowing Whence it came, or whence 'tis going. Yet perpetually rushing ever onward in the flight Yet perpetually gushing with a noisy delight How it rumbles, how it tumbles Over restless, glossy stones! How it plunges, how it lunges O'er reluctant, mossy stones ! How merrily they search out every nook. The whirling, swirling waters of the brook! Like the brook, mad youth is striving, And as rashly onward driving In the race. Never hesitating in the palpitating, heedless, hectic hurry of the pace. How the striving mob is surging How the motley crowd is merging Into one great throbbing, struggling and precipitating mass, Into one great frantic, frenzied and accumulating mass! How they hurry in the scurry To attain a futile aim! How they hustle, how they bustle To pursue elusive Fame! How they eat out heart and soul. How they struggle and cajole, In a desperate desire to drain the bowl ! The thoughtless brook has left the hills And reached the low far-stretching plain. Advancing with a slow and steady sweep into the sea. Thus sweet maturity fulfils This life, and seeks true goals again, Benignly moving toward a calm and fair eternity. H. L. W., '26. THE CHIMES 25 breathing as of someone working hurriedly. Not a person moved in the sleeping house. David v as horribly frightened. His heart beat furiously and his knees felt wobbly, but he managed to reach the door from which the noise was coming. He grasped the portiere and stood looking into the room. Two men were kneeling before his father's safe, one holding a flashlight while the other was busily at work. Neither of them saw David until a childish voice spoke softly, ''You are burglars, aren't you? The man holding the flashlight snapped it out and turned sharply, uttering a low exclama- tion. How in the devil did you get here? David laughed nervously. was asleep in my nursery and heard you. He shook his head. ''You're very poor burglars, you know. You make so much noise. Burglars are not sup- posed to make noise ! But will you please go now. I'd like to go to sleep again. If you're ready, I'll show you to the door. The man who had been working got to his feet. Wait a minute, son. We ain't goin' quite yet. You be a good boy and keep still or we'll have to hurt ya, do ya hear? David took a step backward. If you don't go now, I'm afraid I must call my father. He can hear me very easily. And you won't hurt me because you're bigger than I am; gentlemen don't hurt people smaller than themselves, Mother said so. But perhaps you didn't know that. He nodded his head, his voice rambling on softly. Yes, that's the trouble. You just didn't know, or you wouldn't have said you'd hurt me. The men looked at each other. Then one spoke. We'd better get. If the kid yells, he'll bring the house down on us. Anyhow, we've got another job to do tonight. Come on. He bent over and collected the tools. David watched them and when they were ready to go, he started toward the front door. No, sonny, I guess not tonight. We'll go out the way we came in. As the first man dropped out of sight, the second one strad- dled the window sill. He almost jumped; then hesitated. One thing more, sonny. Burglars ain't really gentlemen. David's forehead drew into a puzzled frown and he bit his lip. In an instant his face brightened. Oh yes, they are. Anyone can be a gentleman that hon- estly wants to. Didn't your mother ever tell you that? The man smiled whimsically. You sure are a queer little guy. And swinging his leg over the sill, he disappeared. David- closed the window and standing on a chair, carefully locked it. The moonlight lay in a silver path across the liv- ing room rug and here and there flecks of stray silver danced. 26 THE CHIMES Somehow David no longer felt afraid of the dark. Hopping off the chair, he ran down the hall and climbed the stairs again. As he passed, the pictures swayed and whispered eerily. You're a gentleman, Davie dear, a gentleman, and the grandfather clock, striking the half hour, boomed forth proudly, ''You're a gentleman, David, a gentleman. Jean Lawson, '26. THE WINTER SEA There is ice upon the water. And the winds so strongly blow. While the frosty air is dotted, With the steady falling snow. Now the waves grow rough and restless, And the boats are pitched and tossed. Now the boats are almost hidden. By the sleet, which sweeps across. The scene is dark as night almost. The sky o'ercast and gray. And the ships are ornamented With the frozen rain and spray. C. P. Chase, '28. THE STORM The skies darken; The winds roar; The sea birds cry O'er the dreary shore. The trees sway; The lightning flashes; The rain falls; The thunder crashes. The storm is over; The wind dies away; The sun peeps forth; The sea birds play. le, '28. At Pre-Historic Party Glea Cole (removing her mask) : Why don't you take off your mask, too? Allan Coster: Beg pardon, but that's my face. Did y'a hear about 'Cal' losing his bicycle the other night for about four hours? No! Tell me the gossip quick. Oh, Wherity borrowed it to 'cycle' to Minot. THE CHIMES 27 The class of 1926 at Scituate High undertook for presenta- tion, a dehghtful farce called ''When a Feller Needs a Friend ' The cast, in order of their appearance, was as follows : Tom Denker, an artist Richard Wherity Bob Mills, a magazine writer Edgar Hyland Mrs. Reese, their landlady Anna Conant Jerry Smith, just returned from Over There, James DriscoU Liz, Mrs. Reese's stepdaughter .... Sally Murphy Bing Dickson, Liz's steady Harold Dwyer William Denker, Tom's uncle John Prouty Alice King, Tom's Aunt Hazel Eaton Elaine Lynne, Alice King's ward .... Lois Wilson Angela Scott, Bob's fiancee Eleanor Cole The time was a Friday morning in November, 1919. The place was in New York City. Eleanor M. Cole, '26, Dramatic Editor. CHOOL NOT Mr. Howard A. Corey of Burdett Business College of Bos- ton spoke to the pupils of the Scituate High School several weeks ago. The subject of his address was The Key to Suc- cess. Mr. Corey's visit each year is looked forward to eag erly by all the members of the school. In order to obtain material for this issue of The Chimes a contest was held for three weeks. The first week was de- voted to essays, the second to poems, and the third to short stories. The winning essays were The Call of Spring, written by Lydia Stearns, and High School Athletics, by Richard Wherity. Dreams, by Helen Healy, An Evening At Home, by Carolyn Poland, and The Way of Life, by Katrine Schuyler were the winning stories. The Call of the Sea, by Helen Healy; Thoughts by a Brook, by Lois Wilson; The Haven of Safety, by Jean Lawson; My Ship, by Hazel Eaton; Spring, by Priscilla Cole, and I Won- der, by Gertrude Wherity, were the winning poems. But owing to the lack of room all material could not be printed in this issue. One hundred and twenty-one dollars has been added to The Chimes Fund through a plan offered by the Crowell Publishing Company. A certain per cent of the returns from the subscriptions to the Woman's Home Companion and the American Magazine were given to the school. A contest was held and those selling the most subscriptions were Continued on Page 33 28 THE CHIMES FRESHMAN CLASS GIRLS' ATHLETICS The Girls' basket ball team of the Scituate High School has had a very successful season under the direction of their coach, Mr. Kruyszna, who deserves much of the credit for the girls' winning all the games they did. Behind the movie star, there is always a director; similarly in basket ball or any other game, behind the players there is a coach, who is really the greatest player of the team. Manager Tilden arranged a very satisfactory schedule for the girls, as is shown by the games played. The team scored 181 points, playing seven games. The players were as follows: R. G., Captain Sallie Murphy; L. G., Dorothy Hammond ; Center, Ethel Stonefield ; S. C., Jean Lawson ; Forwards, K. Murphy, R. F. ; Glea Cole, L. F. Subs were Anna Consant, Gretchen Schuyler and Jane Prouty. The games played were: THE CHIMES 29 Played At Scituate At Scituate At Scituate At Scituate At Hanover At Norwell Participants Score Norwell vs. Scituate S. 15— N. 6 Marshfield vs. Scituate S. 16— M. 4 Hanover vs. Scituate H. 15 — S. 13 Norwell vs. Scituate S. 17 — N. 7 Duxbury vs. Scituate S. 36 — D. 6 Duxbury vs. Scituate S. 46 — D. 17 Hanover vs. Scituate S. 29— H. 9 Much is expected from the baseball nine as it is mainly composed of veterans of last year's team. The manager of the team is Ruth LaVange. Catherine E. Murphy, Girls' Athletic Editor, '26. Date Jan. 15 Jan. Jan. Feb. Mar. Mar. At Duxbury Mar. 22 29 23 3 19 30 GIRL'S BASKET BALL TEAM 30 THE CHIMES BOYS' ATHLETICS After three weeks of strenuous practicing, basket ball suits were issued to the following boys : Wherity, Driscoll, Quinn, Stanley, Prouty, Stewart, and Whittaker. Wherity was elected Captain by the letter men of '25. Two systems, the five-man defence and the three-man attack were introduced. At first the players experienced difficulty in becoming accus- tomed to this new style of play. The schedule which the management provided was a strenuous one. The results of the games are as follows: Scituate 13 Norwell 25 37 Marshfield 10 5 Hanover 23 6 Duxbury 46 8 Norwell 31 18 Duxbury 22 21 Hanover 17 A serious handicap which prevailed all during the basket ball season was the shortness of substitutes. In many games five boys were required to play the whole time of forty min- utes; while opposing teams put in fresh men every period. During the latter part of the season the team played much better basket ball than in the beginning. This may be well illustrated by comparing the two Duxbury games; also the two games with Hanover High. The players seemed unable to play good basket ball on foreign floors. The services of Mr. Kruyszna in coaching are gratefully acknowledged by the members of the squad. The baseball schedule provided by the management is as follows : April 20 Marshfield at Scituate 23 Duxbury at Duxbury 27 Kingston at Scituate 30 Norwell at Scituate May 4 Open 7 Cohasset at Scituate 11 Marshfield at Marshfield ) 14 Kingston at Kingston )J 18 Open ff 21 Norwell at Norwell 25 Hanover at Hanover 28 Duxbury at Scituate June 1 Hanover at Scituate j 4 Open  8 Open j 11 Cohasset at Cohasset The captain chosen by the letter men of '25 was Edgar Hyland. Under the careful eye of our coach, Mr. Kruyszna, the team is expected to make fast progress. John Stewart, '29, Boys' Athletic Editor. THE CHIMES 31 BOY'S BASKET BALL TEAM aLUWl NOT Sara G. Gillis, '03, is Mrs. Ralph E. Bray of Rockland, Mass. Mollie A. Doherty, '10, is Mrs. William Sullivan of Bridge- port, Connecticut. Irma Jewel Cole, '10, is Mrs. Harold D. Talbot of Franklin, Mass. Anna E. Murphy, '12, is a school teacher at Revere, Mass. Henry E. Bearce, '12, is manager of the Connor Store at North Scituate. Madolyn E. Murphy, '14, is a librarian at Southbridge, Mass. Edward B. McCarthy, '14, is an army officer at Honolulu, Hawaii. James Hugh Dunn, '14, is employed as an English teacher at Lynn, Mass. Ethel Bonney, '14, is Mrs. James H. Stacey of Windsor, Vermont. Ethyl M. Duffy, '15, is employed as a stenographer at Scitu- ate, Mass. 32 THE CHIMES Phoebe E. Richardson, '16, is a designer for the R. H. White Company of Boston, Mass. Alice M. Cole, '16, is employed as a teacher in Glenridge, New Jersey. Eleanora Finnie, '16, is employed in a bank at Boston, Mass. Marion McDermott, '16 works as a filing clerk in an in- surance office in Boston. Helen Murphy, '17, is a teacher at the Fisher Business School in Boston. Hazel V. Ramsdell, '18, is employed as stenographer in a Boston office. Dorothy Simpson, '18, is a music teacher in the state of New York. Grace D. Waterman, '18, is a teacher at Wellesley, Mass. Alice E. Webster, '19, is a dietitian at Washington. Fred Vines, '20, is employed as a civil engineer in New York. Ina Litchfield, '22, is proprietor of a tea room at Falmouth, Mass. Ruth Welch, '24, is attending Thayer Academy at Brain- tree, Mass. Margaret L. Cole, '25, is now Mrs. Allerton Bonney of North Scituate. The following letter was received from an alumnus: Woburn, Mass., Dec. 14, 1925 Miss Rose Hernan, Alumni Editor Scituate High School Scituate, Mass. My dear Miss Hernan: I am enclosing a check for one dollar for subscription to both magazines; put balance in your treasury. It seems good to get the magazines and read them through, even though most of the names are new. Although I have not been in Scituate to stop for a long time, I do not like to feel that I have lost contact with it ; and the Scituate High School helps through its publication to keep pleasant memories. My own boy is in Woburn High taking a Technical Course preparing to go to Technology or Northeastern, and I hope in years to come his memories will be as pleasant as mine. Holiday greetings to each and every one of you. Cordially yours, Herbert B. Totman. The Board of Editors of The Chimes are always glad to receive communications from the members of the Alumni As- sociation. We thank those who have contributed this year to our paper. Rose Hernan, '26, Alumni Editor. THE CHIMES 33 The Exchange Department has received so far this year the following papers: The Ahhis, Abington High School. The Climber, Howard High School. The Wampatuck, Braintree High School. The Castoner, North Easton High School. The Menotomy Beacon, Arlington, Mass. The Hanoverian, Hanover High School. The Hermiad, Hingham High School. The Red and Black, Whitman High School. The Unquity Echo, Milton High School. The Echo, Canton High School. The Parrot, Rockland High School. The Partridge, Partridge Academy. The Enterprise, Roxbury High School. The Sprice Box, Avon, Mass. The Pilgrim, Plymouth High School. The Huttlestonian, Fairhaven High School. We enjoy comparing The Chimes with the other school papers, and shall be glad to receive a larger number of ex- changes. We are not making any comments because personal letters have been sent to the exchange editors. Margaret Torrey, '26, Exchange Editor. SCHOOL NOTES Continued from Pag-e 27 awarded prizes. A prehistoric party given by the losing side to the winners was the wind-up of the affair. The members of the High School were given a banquet by the Scituate Woman's Club on April 14. The apparent jollity of the pupils showed that they appreciated very much the hospitality so kindly extended to them. Sally Murphy, '26. 34 THE CHIMES JOK Mike Stewart: ''Our team uses a style of play that is terribly hard to understand. John Davy: 'Yes, the coach told me the team used the overhead game. Kenny: What's th-th-that old proverb th-th-that says a rolling stone — L. Panetta: Goes from pawnshop to pawnshop. 'Cal. Jenkins: talked with a very interesting man today. He was a Buddhist. A. Bragdon: ''Oh, Fd love to meet him — all my geraniums are wilting. I'd walk a mile for a Camel, remarked the Arab, as his Ford expired on the desert. Heard In Chemistry Mim Tilden (brushing Rita's shoulders) : Say, Rita, you've got Sodium Chloride on your shoulders. Rita O'Hern: That's not Sodium Chloride, that's dand- ruff. Math. Teacher: Explain, 'a whole is greater than its parts.' K. Haartz: A restaurant doughnut. Heard In Chemistry Instructor: How do we measure rain? Evans (absent mindedly) : With a thermometer. Ed. Driscoll : Is that phrase 'rotten bananas' poetical? J. Prouty: No, that's slippery prose. Wise : I like to hear that professor lecture on prohibition. He brings things home to me that I have never seen before. Crack : That's nothing ; so does the wet wash. Chemistry teacher: What plants give off oxygen? Sleepy Pupil: M.anu+'ac uring plants. Teacher (to late : Why are you so late this morn- ing? Tardy Senior: I was shaving myself and I couldn't get away until I had re-sharpened the knife. Teacher: Well, you had a fairly close shave. THE CHIMES 35 MERRILL'S AUTO EXPRESS BOSTON, SCITUATE COHASSET 2 Trips Daily FURNITURE MOVING GENERAL HAULING and TRUCKING Gannett Rd. North Scituate. Tel. 670 Boston Offices: Haymarket 2501, Richmond 3562 139 Friend St., Congress 6800 226 Devonshire St., Liberty 2213, Main 3963 TRUNKS CALLED FOR AND DELIVERED ONE HAN JJ Patronize Cf ' ertisers 36 THE CHIMES L. H. GODION Successor to A. C. DeMARY CO. Groceries, Meats, and Vegetables FREE DELIVERY North Scituate, Mass. Tel. 671 C. H. PRATT, Manager BETTER SERVICE STORES Opposite Hatherly School NORTH SCITUATE The Home of OAK HILL Food Products Where Quality and Low Prices Unite THE BEST IN HEATING And PLUMBING FREDERICK T. BAILEY AND CO. NORTH SCITUATE 88-2 F. T. BAILEY P. S. BAILEY 88-3 88-4 THE SEAVERNS STORE NORTH SCITUATE All Kinds of Things For All Kinds of People WE ARE LOCAL HEADQUARTERS FOR ALL YOUR NEEDS Patronize Chimes Advertisers THE CHIMES 37 Compliments of Marg aret E. Phelan Piano Teacher J. W. APPLETON MANN HILL FARM, EGYPT Pure Milk and Cream Also Pure Holstein Milk for Babies and Children Telephone, Scituate 162 or Speak to the Driver Compliments of BOUNDBROOK GARAGE North Scituate ATLANTIC and PACIFIC TEA CO. Meats and Groceries Opposite No. Scituate R. R. Station J. A. WARD, Manager Compliments of DR. and MRS. T. B. ALEXANDER THE BOUNDBROOK PRESS All Kinds of Programs A Specialty Prompt Service Reasonable Prices North Scituate, - - - Mass. WALTER t. BATES Dealer in MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS r-1 J TT ] A. Second Hand Cornets $6.00 - $15.00 - $25.00 Tel. 329 NO. SCITUATE SCITUATE GREENHOUSES Cut-Flowers Bedding Plants Floral Designs Orders taken for Nursery Stock Tel. 347-2 Fred Waterman, Prop. Patronize Chimes Advertisers 38 THE CHIMES WRIGHT DITSON Athletic Outfitters to O'NEILL CASELLA Schools and Colleges Baseball, Tennis, Golf, Track Archery YOUR CLASS JEWELER Camp Clothing and Shoes Bathing and Swimming Suits Bicycles and Sweaters 110 High Street BOSTON, MASS. (Send for Catalog) Phone: Liberty 1976 344 Washington St., - - Boston GEO. T. OTIS Fancy Meats and COMPLIMENTS Provisions OF Orders Promptly Deli vered J. A. WARD 0 Telephones: 0333, 0212-3 SCITUATE HARBOR Central Street Patronize Chimes Advertisers THE CHIMES 39 WILLIAM A. BURTON REAL ESTATE and INSURANCE Bailey Building, North Scituate, Mass. Telephones, Scituate, Office 38; Residence 293 SOUTH SHORE REAL ESTATE. Consult me if you wish to buy, sell, rent, or insure property in this section. I write insurance of every description — Fire, Liability, Automobile, Burglary, Accident and Health, Life, Surety Bonds, etc. My slogan is: ANYTHING INSURABLE INSURED. NORTH SCITUATE PHARMACY J. Francis Bresnahan, Reg. Pharmacist Gannett Road cor. Blossom St. North Scituate, - - - Mass. Friend, to motorist with flat tire, Your shoe's flat. Motorist, indignantly : Well, it's nobody's busi- ness but my own if I have got fallen arches. COMPLIMENTS OF ELSWORTH CURTIS General Contractor Patronize Chimes Advertisers 40 THE CHIMES COMPLIMENTS OF A FRIEND Patronize Chimes Advertisers THE MEMORIAL PRESS PLYMOUTH