Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

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8 SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR. XLen TTurkeys. Respectfully Dedicated to II Geology. Years ago, how many I dare not state, for fear of arousing grave doubts in your minds as to my veracity, a prolonged gasp of dismay swept through our entire household—from grandfather to the hired man. Affairs came to a sudden standstill, and the confusion incident to the preparation of a Thanksgiving din- ner was succeeded by a solemn hush. “What shall we do?” gasped my mother, as we gathered to discuss the situation. “ There be some ’specially fine ducks in the flock jest now,” suggested our man, Ezekiel, in low tones; low, because he doubted whether we would even con- sider the idea of substituting these birds for our customary turkey. Grandmother began adjusting her spectacles. “ I Ien-e-ry ! ’’ she said—her usual manner of pronouncing my name when some important question was on her mind—“ who left the turkey-yard gate open ? ” The question was not unexpected on my part, and I had been trying to con- jure up some good excuse for my negli- gence, but at the awful question I meekly faltered, “ I—I guess I must have. “ I was purty sure of thet! ” she ex- claimed triumphantly. “ Who ever heerd of a Knutt havin' a Thanksgivin' without a turkey?” wailed Aunt Hannah, “an’ the Lord only knows where we’ll git one, for it’ll be nothin’ short of a mericl’ if we ever ketch sight of our flock agen.” Slowly but surely I had been edging away from father’s locality until satis- fied that I was beyond his immediate reach—a very judicious move tor one who knew his quick, fiery temper. Finally, the outburst came, but instead of the usual command to meet him in the woodshed, it was “ Henry, go to your room ! ” in stern, decisive tones. “ Get the horse-whip, Ezekiel!” came sharply to my ears as I stumbled up the narrow stairway to my humble attic room. I thought it was for my express benefit, but to my unspeakable relief, after ten long minutes I happened to look out of my small window and saw my father, Ezekiel and our dog tramp- ing through the tall grass in the direc- tion of the forest. That moment my aunt approached my door on the way to her room. “ Mercy on us ! ” she cried, stopping short; “ no turkeys and twelve guests expected ! An’ to think thet a Knutt has got to eat a Thanksgivin' dinner without turkey ! ” A few minutes later the clock struck two, and as the sharp, ringing strokes fell on my ears, the daring thought came to me of going on a turkey hunt of my own. Curiously, father had not taken his shot gun and I resolved to borrow it, thus being prepared for any game I might chance to meet. Stealthily I made my preparations for the trip, which necessarily must be un- known to the family. Squeezing through my narrow window, I found myself on the roof of the woodshed, from which I leaped, and made a grand rush for the edge of the wood, hoping to reach that haven of security unperceived. For- tune was with me for the time being, and I reached the sheltering bushes safely. Later, when I was deep in trouble, I heartily wished that the com- mand “ Come back” had pursued my flying footsteps. Having no settled plan of action, I was at first puzzled as to how I should conduct my search. Kneeling behind a thick clump of bushes and putting a turkey-call to my lips, I gave a vigorous blow, and waited, expectant, for a reply. None came, and three other seductive calls also produced no result. Finally, giving it up, I plunged into the depths of the forest. A good half- mile in was a great granite cliff, extend- ing back about 300 feet and running lengthwise for a quarter of a mile directly across my path. Rising per- pendicularly to a dizzy height it was an

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SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR. 7 its institutions, its love for the right, and its trust in the God who rules the universe, shall have the first place among the nations of the world. Exchange Notes. The Greylock Echo has a decidedly artistic cover. Adams should be congratulated on again having a school paper. The stories and editorials in the Dis- taff are plentiful and interesting. The Jabbemvock still continues its high standard and shows what girls can do. More steel is now used in the manu- facture of pens than in war implements. —Ex. The Philomath has an instructive article on the late William Kwart Glad- stone. The Radiator extends a kindly greet- ing to its old friends and welcomes gladly its new ones. The Cherry and White is up to its usual good standard. Its class notes arc especially good. He stood on the bridge at midnight, Interrupting my sweet repose; For he was a tall mosquito, And the bridge was the bridge of my nose. —Ex The Guard and Tackle of Stockton, Cal., should represent an athletic school judging from its title. The L. and . S'. Review is a paper of which Cambridge may be proud. Its Current Events column is a creditable feature. Teacher : “ Spell needles.” “ Johnny : “ N-e-i-d-l-e-s. Teacher: “There’s no “i” in it. Johnny: “Then it’s no good.”—Ex. “ Oh, parson ! I wish I could carry my gold with me,” said a dying man to his pastor. “ It might melt,” was the consoling answer.—Ex. The Eastern High School, Washing- ton, has the honor of possessing a gen- uine Spanish flag, taken from the Court House of Manila by a former student of that school. Tearing up the sidewalk is not exactly a patriotic flag raising.—Ex. Many of our exchanges contain de- scriptions of the late war and camp-life. We wish the “Chauncy Hall Ab-, stract all possible success in its effort to raise the interest in its issue. The teacher was at the telephone. “ Yes, this is room—but I can’t hear you very well. Please wait a minute until I put my glasses on.” Our exchanges this fall have been very pleasant. Many former ones have been received and quite a number of new ones added to our list. Ypsilanti, Michigan, must abound in foot-ball coaches, for we read in the Chat — “The High School foot-ball team has a coach for every player.” “ Say, I’ve had a chance to go to work for a Chicago wholesale house. What would you do if you were in my shoes?” Friend (after a careful inspection) : “ I think I should black ’em.”—Ex. Truth is not by any means what peo- ple, as a general rule, like to consider it, nor is it what they, at all times, like to hear ; but it is what they have found to be a fact after the closest observance and most careful investigation. Truth is the very bond of society.—Ex. Professor (in English class) : “ I will read a sentence, and you may punctuate it properly: “ The beautiful girl for such was she was passing down the street.” Student: “ I think, Professor, that I would make a dash after the beautiful girl.” The Radiator is exceedingly glad to have received this fall the following : Iletald, Academy Weekly, Argus, Liter- ary Society Monthly, Cherry and White, yJigis, Philomath, Oak, Lily and Ivy, Enterprise, Phat nix, Junto, Chat, Guard and Tackle, Premier, Abstract, East erner, L. and H. S. Review, Distaff, Bulletin, Bangor Oracle, Jabberwock.

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SOM ERVI LLK HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR. 9 imposing and sublime work of nature ; unconquered, it reared its stony head, for no man had been known to climb it. Rut a legend had it that years ago an Indian maid, to prove the courage and endurance of her sex, managed to reach the very top, where she was seen to wave her naked arms in triumph. A second later she disappeared from view, never more to be seen ; and from that day to this, no one had again attempted the perilous feat. For this spot I now made my way, keeping close watch the while for any chance shot. No sounds were heard save the rustle of the leaves above, and the snapping of the twigs beneath. Suddenly the silence was broken by the whirr of rapid wing-beats, and a brief vision of several partridges was allowed me. I stared blankly—long after the birds had passed out of sight and hearing. “ I didn’t want partridge, anyway,” I muttered, unconsciously repeating the story of the fox and the grapes. Finally, coming to the ledge, I started to follow its sinuous outline, meanwhile blowing on the turkey-call from time to time. “ Sh-h, what was that ? ” Again it came, the unmistakable cries of a flock of turkeys. Hardly daring to breathe, and trembling with excitement, my answering call scarcely quavered on the air. My surprise was great, therefore, when I received an answer so near that it seemed as though I had but extended my hand to touch them. As moments passed, the flock ap- peared to be coming nearer and nearer, and I dared not answer for fear they would perceive the deception. Bring- ing my rifle to bear in the crotch formed by two small limbs, for I was not sure whether the birds would turn out to be ours or a wild flock, I waited impatiently for the critical moment. A plain pat- tering of feet and the low cries of tur- keys came to my ears, and I was eagerly watching the bushes for their first ap- pearance, when the distant sound of a rifle broke on my hearing and all be- came silent. Five minutes slowly passed before I had the courage to sound my turkey- call, but receiving no answer to that or numerous others, I stepped forth. Where they had gone to was more than I could tell. In deep disappointment I wandered on, revolving in my mind the while the many strange parts of the in- cident—the nearness of the calls, the rifle shot and the succeeding silence. “Guess I’ll go home,” I muttered, angrily. Smash! Rang! How my head did tingle! And why shouldn’t it ? I had run plump against the cliff wall. Half stunned, I turned about to retreat from my position, when, to my confusion, the solid rock faced me. Soon the startling fact that I was entirely en- closed by the rock flashed upon me. Rapping my forehead with my knuckles to promote mental action, I cast my thoughts backward in order to see what had occurred in my forgetful moments. All that I could remember distinctly was of wandering and wandering and wandering, which knowledge did not, in an alarming degree, better my condi- tion. “Rut stop a moment,” I mur- mured thoughtfully; “didn’t I leap down from some huge stone or bowl- der ? ” It seemed to me that I could remember that fact, and, looking up, sure enough, there was the bowlder a good ten feet above me. “ How did I ever jump down here without noticing it ? ” I groaned. Well might I ask that question, for the sides of the rocky chamber were as smooth as glass and with a dull polish on their cracked granite surfaces. Vain were my attempts to climb out of that funnel-shaped hole. Again and again I slipped back. Resorting to the arti- fice of setting the gun on end against the wall, and then using that as a sort of step, I came to grief with a crash, tearing my hand terribly. In trying to save myself I caught hold of a slightly projecting stone knob. Frantically clutching this, I fell with a thud on the hard gravelly bottom of the hole, when suddenly, with a soft, gasping swish, a great bowlder gave way, nearly pinning me to the ground, and disclosing to view a roughly cut passageway, low, narrow and encrusted with the sediment of many years.