Scituate High School - Chimes Yearbook (Scituate, MA)

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20 I figger you don ' t know me. My name ' s Abram Gooch. I farm across the river. I ' ve seen vou workin in the fields. the captain sez. Yep. It s a right good little farm I ' ve got. too. I ' d sure hated to have anything happen to it, seein ' the work I put in it. He set hisself down on the Captain ' s cot and begun to whittle with his hunting knife. Right nice weather we ' re havin ' ; ain ' t it? ' he sez. Captain Pike was kinda puzzled. Is there anything I can do for you? he sez. Abram didn ' t pay no ' tention to him. Quite a spell of trouble they ' re havin ' up to Boston. he sez. I don t know, but I kinda figser there ' ll be trouble around here. too. if you ain ' t keerful. Captin Pike leaned across the table and looked hard at Abram in the dim light. That ' s true. Mr. Gooch. What would you do about it? W ell. Captain Pike. sez Abram. I been talkin ' to a friend. He ' s joined up to one of them revolutionary bands around here. He had quite a good deal to say. It ' d be mighty help- ful to you if I felt I ought to repeat it. But as I said before, he ' s a friend of mine and you ain ' t, so as I ' d hate to turn agin him. Abram whittled a minute. Unless it was profitable, of course. Captain Pike took out a leather bag. How much? he sez. Abram poked the bag with his finger. Half. he sez. Half? Captain Pike poured the silver out onto the table. Abram scooped it up an pocketed it. Well. he sez, I ' ll tell ye . . . It was gettin far on into the night when Abram joined Jeremiah on the river bank. Never sayin ' a word they got into a boat and rowed across. On t ' other side Abram spoke. Well, I seen him. What ' d you tell him? sez Jeremiah. I told him quite a few things. sez Abram. He paid me well. How much did you get? sez Jeremiah. ' Bout forty dollars. sez Abram. in silver. We kin buy us another horse. sez Jeremiah. Yep, sez Abram. I thought of thet. They walked along through the dark fields together, and Jeremiah begin to be kinda upset. It was sort of a mean trick, he sez. Well, mebbe ' twas, but it ' s done now. I think we ought to make it up to them rebels somehow, he sez. ■•Huh? The rebels? Oh. yes. them. If we went to Jed Bennett and told him we had found out thet the Britishers had found out what you jist told em. without tellin ' him who told the Britishers, wouldn ' t thet kinda square accounts? Abram began to laugh. WTiat ' s wrong? Jeremiah asked. Ain ' t thet a good idee? Thet ' s a right fine idee. Jeremiah. But he kept right on laughin ' . Wal, what ' s the matter then? Jeremiah sez. Nothin ' , sez Abram. Come on. we ' ve got no time to waste if we ' re goin ' to help t ' other side now for a change. The whole neighborhood had gathered at Jed Bennett ' s house. I don ' t like the looks of this, sez Abram. I kinda figgered I ' d see Jed alone. If anything happens we ' ll be in a heap of trouble. Well. I ain ' t goin ' to stop now. Inside Lem Bickett, seein ' as how he ' d been named captain, was standin ' on top of a table, makin ' a speech. Abram elled out as soon as he got into the room. Hallo. Jed. Hallo. Lem. I got news for you. Lem jumped off the table. What is it. Abram? ' he sez. I ain ' t got but a minute. Abram sez. but the Britishers have caught wind of your plan. They ' re marchin ' upriver now. everyone of ' em layin ' an ambush for ye. I come to warn ve. And here ' s only a suggestion, but mebbe it ' d work. If you slip across river about five mile down and sneak into their camp while they ' re gone, you ' ll have em licked afore you even begin to fight. Thet ' s a right good idee. Lem sez. How about it, boys? By the way them men lit out of there and down the road, there warn ' t no doubt but what the) thought it was a right fine idee. Abram and Jeremiah was left alone. Lem ' n ' Jed wanted em to join the party, but Abram sez no. He figgered they ' d better be gittin ' home seein ' as how the had a hard da ' s seedin ' to do the next day. Anyhow them fellers wouldn ' t be needin ' them. Well, sez Abram. as the was ridin ' home, we ' ve had quite a commotion for -ne night, but ' twas worth it. I don ' t expect there ' ll be any shootin tall now. ' You ain t forgittin ' are e? Jeremiah sez. thet them Britishers is bound to come back (Continued on page 26)

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22 LIFE IN THE COUNTRY Kenneth l ining. ' 41 T HERE are times when I hate everything about the country; times when I wish myself in the heart of New York City or on the pink beaches of Bermuda. I complain bitterly because there ' s nothing to do, not that I have any particular thing in mind, but the country seems a dull, monotonous, uninteresting place, fit for the old and infirm perhaps. 1 consider the people — the same few day after day — nothing exciting or glamorous about them certainly! 1 think about distances, miles to the movies, miles to school, miles to the next town. 1 feel anchored to the littleness of Egypt. I hate everything about it. Of course in the winter when the moon was pure silver and immenseh bright, and the stars were cold and brilliant and almost near enough to touch, we could walk to the nearest pond late in the evening and skate for hours, our skates ringing bell-like in the clear silence of the country. True, I ' ve met three young lads from England who are giving me vivid pictures of their lives in that gallant island. I know now that a law- yer ' s a barrister; I know lemons are worth their weight in gold; that only royalty can af- ford having teeth straightened; that jackets button higher; that cottage roofs are thatched and gleaming; glistening bathrooms are not too numerous. Mv own home is warmer, hear- ing stories of theirs; my own mother, dearer for being here with me. True I ' ve been horseback riding with my neighbor, and discussed subjects from life in the Panama Canal Zone to what education means, with another, that business-like girl that has traveled practically e ery where. I know the boys near me. what there are. and the girls down the road. True, when I amble along the streets of the little village and the larger town, I know that one and this one in a friendly, pleasant way. There seem to be no sides of the railroad tracks in Egypt. We ' re neighbors and friends. At times the tree-outlined curve in the road, bare, thin branches etched against a pale sky, the line of an ancient stone wall, the long, low rolling of the booming waves on the nearby shore, give me a sudden and quick-passing feeling of the beauty of the country. Then take my pig. He ' s a great, grunting creature, the source of constant complaint on the part of my father. But I like that pig. I ' ve had him since he was small and clean and pink. I ve scrptched his ears until he knows me. Beasis. I have a feeling, understands more than ou d think. Now if I lived in a city apartment again. I d never know the sorrow of sending a pig to slaughter, but I ' d never have the fun of watching him grow either. Consider my summers. If ambition over- comes me. I can find a chore here or there that nets me a neat little amount. I can mow a lawn or weed a garden in the fresh, clean air and sun of the country, and not in the drv dust of the city. I have the health and the money. What could I do in Boston? There may be things. And then down the road a jog or two there pre benches. Oh! they ' re not palm-fringed like Nassau, or powdery-white like Barbados; the water isn ' t warm like the Pacific, or clear deep down to the bnttcm like the Caribbean ( as thev say I . They ' re full of pebbles that grew gradu- allv into boulders. The water congeals the blood practicallv all summer long. But the people on the beaches are quite often friends, and the water is clean and most refreshing. Early in the autumn come the huge tides and with them quite often crashing, foaming breakers that roll in — in — in and rush out with a vast hiss. To dive through the breakers is breath- taking and most exciting. And this is just down the road. Not just fifty miles from the city. Perhaps I ' ll take it all back, about hating the countrv. Probably it ' s a black mood brought on by midseason boredom. Perhaps it s because there i= a blizzard raging. Perhaps, after a blizzard or two. spring will come, and jjerhaps. — well, will I like it. or hate it. this little couiitrx town where I e with m famih ? A man walked into a restaurant and ordered evervthing on the menu, from hors d ' oeuvres up to fried chicken, and consumed it all with gusto. A waiter beamed. You like your food, sir? The man repli?d. No. 1 hate the stuff, but I love bicarb of soda! Officer: Now tell me what is our id ' a of strategy. ' Draftee: It is when i u don t let the enem know vou re o ' jl of ammunitii)n but k°ep right on firing.