Scituate High School - Chimes Yearbook (Scituate, MA)

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THE CHIMES 19 MY DOG Elizabeth Willard, ' 30 My dog is what people commonly call a ' ' mongrel ' ' or a yellow cur. ' ' He, being a mixture of collie and German police, is subject to these insulting names and many others. Even if he is a cheesehound, he can roll over for a piece of cake if you keep at him long enough. The thing he does most easily is sitting up with his paws on the tal)le tc ask for his tea or coffee. No doubt this helps him to be more of a mongrel as no aristocratic dog would drink — tea or coffee. His greatest achievement is singing. When there is company at home, Dad is sure to ask me to make that dog sing. No one else has enough breath. I will sing an octave higher than any prima donna ever sang; my face gets as red as a cooked beet; and still that foolish dog sits at my feet, cocking his ears and head and looking up into my face, no doubt wondering why I make such a jack ' ' of myself. When at last he joins me, his voice sounds like a fog horn. Our two voices do not blend harmonious- ly. Trying to get that doggie to sing is worse than trying to start our car on a cold winter ' s morn. But just the same I would not sell my mongrel pup for any amount of money. APRIL Barbara Knox, ' 33 April showers are coming; Winter winds have gone; Soon will be the blue birds From their winter home. Then the buds will open In the sunny air; To all the little garden folks. So merry and so fair. THE CHIMES Paul Bresnahan, ' 33 C is for its contents that didn ' t come from Rome, H is for the happiness the Chimes brings to your home, I is for the interest that in it scholars take, M is for the make-up, like frosting on a cake. E is for endorsers who bought at our behest, S is for the students who contributed their best.

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18 THE CHIMES With another oamin i rin and a ban of the front door Shonnie was off — and the quite resi)ectal)le i)ur])le nmhrel- hi that stood in the corner 1)y the door rustled rather in- dignantly, as a woman scorned. I watched the swini ino- progress of the fool-hardy girl as she i)ace(l off up the street, and wondered musingly if there hadn ' t been a roguish l anshee abroad the day she was created. When, after two hours of incessant downpour, I heard a shout kitchenward, a whack of wet rubber on the floor, and the shower of shaken raindrops on smooth tiles, I ambled thence and beheld Shonnie shaking raindrops from her eyelashes and wriggling soaked stocking feet out of the martyred shoes. The moody, discontented frown that had sat so unbecom- ii;igly on her young face was gone, and in its place was a completely cherul ic smile. Why, the shine of her, the wdiole-hcarted wave and glow of her, and the gay kink in her sopping hair quite took my breath away. I found myself wondering uneasily about that banshee — he could- n ' t have been such an awful dud after all — a bit tempera- mental perhaps, but he certainly had an eye for the lighten- ing of eyes and the curl of a smile! And then— that very night, as though I hadn ' t already had enough of sheer nonsense, — as I w as puffing across the street after having mailed a letter in the corner box, I heard the scrunch of snow under light feet and out of the ])erfect blizzard that was howling in my face, came Shonnie, brown throat open to the gale and glowing face adrip with melt- ing crystals. And as though already her small feet weren ' t thoroughly soaked, she scuffed — actually scuffed — in the drifted snowM I shook my head wonderingly and asked her rather humbly (for surely such happiness as hers isn ' t to be scorned) what she saw in all this — roaming around the square in a snow storm getting soaking wet and scar- ing people to death? She laughed, did Shonnie, and I could have sworn that the banshee w-as there for how else did that lilt rise? Shonnie linked her arm in mine and answered, What do I see, Dee? Oh — heaps o ' things! And she included in a gesture the mounds and heaps of downy snow that lay piled on the dim landscape. Um, ' ' I heard the banshee chuckle. Yes, ice palaces and gnome ' s houses, hidden fairy ruins and — as you can very plainly see ' Heaps o ' things ! ! ! ' '

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20 THE CHBIES W ' AITIXG Harriet Pierce, ' 31 Imagine yourself, for a few minutes, to l)e waiting- for a friend on a Inisy street corner in a large city. Peo])le are hurrying- to and fro like a swarm of bees, each intent upon his own business and not paying the slightest attention to you. You arrive, we will suppose, a few minutes early, hoping that you will not have to wait long ' . At first you amuse yourself by noticing the different people that pass by, wheth- er they are rich or poor, sad or happy, and whether they are of the working or leisure class. You soon tire of this oc- cupation. Then you begin to watch the clock opposite or your wrist watch, both of which show you the correct time. She, your friend, must surely arrive now, you say to your- self. It is almost past the time appointed, — and you shift your weight to the other foot. You begin to scan the various faces carefully now for a glimpse of a familiar face, but none appears. Then you are actually nervous. You watch the clock anxiously, compar- ing it with your watch, — but then, she said that she might be a few minutes late. Probably she was unavoidably de- tained at the last second, you try to reassure yourself. That must be the reason, but it couldn ' t take this long. You are not so sure. It is then that your mind follows a flight of wild imagin- ings. Perhaps she has been run over and has been taken to a hospital, seriously hurt. ] Iay1)e she is terribly ill. ] [ayl)e — but you can ' t even think of the horrible things that might have happened. Oh, a sigh of relief escapes unconsciously. She is com- ing now. You can just barely see her smiling face through the crowd. All unconscious of your anxiety, she hurries toward you saying that she hopes you haven ' t been waiting very long. She was just talking with an old friend, whom she hadn ' t seen for years. You smile and say that it was all right. How we cause ourselves unnecessary torture by Avorrying and lack of patience ! It isn ' t worth the toll it takes. ] Ir. Cole: AVhat is the difference between the Paris Pact and the Kellog Pact? Jerry : Oh, just a matter of cornflakes.