Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

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SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR 11 A GOLDEN MESSENGER. By May H. Baker, L., '03. IIE fresh green of the summer leaves was changing to the golden brown of autumn. Vacation was over, and much too soon it seemed to Miss Lelia Cummings, as she stood on the wharf at Camden, watching the ap- proach of the steamer which was to carry her back to her duties in Boston. It seemed unusually hard to leave home this year: for the vacation spent on the old farm had been an extremely pleasant one. And then, too. her mother was growing old and feeble, and as Lelia said good-bye. it was with a sharp pang of grief that she noticed how wan her mother's face looked. Rut after the last farewells wore waved, and the great boat had pushed its way out into the river, she settled herself in her camp could sec in her imagination his face beside that of her mother. Indeed, his cheerful countenance and frank, boyish smile had haunted her to-day, and when the long, tiresome journey was over, she stepped on the Boston wharf with a sigh of relief. When I get to work 1 shall feel better,” she said to herself, as she unpacked her trunk. !t was not until that night, on raising her hand to take off her locket, that she found it was missing. In dismay she searched in every conceivable place, lint in vain; it was gone, and little did she dream of the mission upon which it went. « o few days later, a tall, sunburnt young man stepped off a ship onto the Boston wharf. His head was bent in thought as he walked along, and YIELDING TO A BOYISH LOVE FOR THE SEA. HAD LEFT HOME. chair on deck, and tried to think of the year of work ahead of her. But. in spite of herself, her thoughts would wan- der to the dear old home nestling among the Cam- den hills. She saw the little sitting room, with its great open fireplace and comfortable rocking chairs, in one of which she could see her mother sitting. Over the mantelpiece opposite hung the picture of her brother, who, yielding to a boyish love for the sea. had left that happy home. I low she longed for him to return and cheer tip the sad and wrinkled face he had left behind! And. as she thought, Lelia unconsciously unfastened the locket which hung about her neck, and gazed at the pic- ture of her mother which it enclosed. The locket, too, was dear to her. as her brother George had given it to her just before he went away, and she he iiardlv noticed his companion who was walking by his side. Finally, the latter said : George, what are you thinking about? Aren't you glad to get back to Boston ' Yes. said George, but this trip has been a mighty pleasant one.” I have enjoyed it. too, and---” Rut what's this?” asked the other, and as he spoke he picked up what appeared to be a piece of brass. I don't know. replied his friend; it looks like a piece of dirt to me.” But.” said George, as he saw the dirt removed from the article to the sleeve of his coat. I guess it's something gold.” [Continued on lwigo 23.)

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10 SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR A murmur of applause rolled through the court, and 1 felt my record was clear. Overcoming my pride. I kept my head bowed in an humble position. “Rise! It is given you to choose some gift. Choose wisely, and your desire shall be granted; otherwise, perhaps Death shall reward your foolish pride.” Lull of joy, I raised my head to show my grati- tude. and then bowed it again. What should I wish for? A hat, a Yale vs. Harvard ticket, or an automobile? Nay. I had it! A rush of memories of sleepless nights, of headaches and heartaches came over me, as I thought of my story due the Radiator. Oh. worthy king, if I might express my wish, I would for the power to write a story. What could that murmur mean? It had no ap- plauding ring, but why not? Mad I not chosen wisely? Child of earth, great has been your mistake. Had you been intended for an author, the gift would have been bestowed long ago. Authors, like poets, are born, not made. Rut let these authors, some of whose works arc good, others bad, decide your fate.” He pointed to his left, and there among a great number I saw Shakespeare. He stepped out from the rest, and immediately three old women came toward him. As he whispered to them, the glance which they gave me awakened a great fear in me. Again they glided away, murmuring as they went:— Trouble, trouble, come and double. Fire burn and cauldron bubble.” Then Shakespeare spoke to his companions, but so low that I could not understand him. His audi- ence seemed pleased, and all said, Yea. vca.” He continued, and I heard:— if it were done, when it were done, Then it were well if it were done quickly.” Shakespeare turned to Jupiter and addressed him. ■ lie king looked at me very sternly, and said:— “Oh, feeble soul, your doom has been decided. You must drink from the witches’ cup. They alone know the result.” A cold, damp feeling came over me. I felt my last moment had come when I saw the witches re- turning. So cold and fearful had I become that I did not notice that any one was speaking. For the first time 1 listened:— I never believed, as I state in my essay on Addi- son. in harshly criticising women authors, and now I would plead for this child. She is de- ceived bv the false glitter, and is too young to be allowed the privilege of choosing a gift. That she kept a secret. 1 believe, was a mere accident; but keep it she did. Therefore, I say, allow her to re- turn to earth a sadder, but wiser, girl.” A silence fell o er the assembly, but at last Jupiter said:— Macaulay’s plea has attained its object. Be- gone. before our minds arc changed. You arc free.” One of the witches dropped the cup, and. as Mer- cury hurried me away, she screamed:— You’ll never write a story!” The crash of the cup seemed to double and triple as it echoed through the court. I turned to Mer- cury to ask if the prophecy was irrevocable, but, instead of seeing the messenger of the gods, I be- held the mighty column of books from whose depths I had been imbibing knowledge fallen in chaos on the floor by my bed. THE MAN OF RED AND BLUE. By J. G. H„ S. L. S., '03. With his myriad host of satellites. Admiring friends and chums, The greatest of our “shining lights,” The gridiron warrior comes, With hair a-clot with mud and gore, With a broken bone or two. With nose in pieces three or four, And eyes of black and blue. He’s lacking much of sanity. And a yard or so of skin. His cars arc sought with vanity On the field by happy kin. He’s the idol of society. The deity of youth, Emblematic of propriety, A Chesterfield, in truth ! The golfer lays his sticks aside To grace the conqueror’s march, Equestrians no longer ride In pomp and generous starch. The tennis crack is on the shelf, The yachtsman,—on the beach, The mobilist can prove himself To be quite out of reach. The cyclist rides in solitude, The sprinter sprints in vain, The baseball player’s “somewhat crude,” And has an addled brain.” But the footballist is just the thing, So full of force and vim. Of all great fav’rites, he’s the king, V hen will his sun grow dim? I-Ie’s the pet of femininity, And, girls, it’s up to you To support your new “affinity,” The Man of Red and Blue.

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12 SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR ACK STANLEY was a young cattle king, who had spent several years in Cheyenne, Wyoming. It is a thriv- ing, bustling city, which stands out on a bleak plain that bears little but a tough, waving grass and cacti. The city itself is largely dependent upon the livestock which is exchanged there—the sole product of this bleak, wind-swept desert. The picture one sees from a car window in Southern Wyoming is always the same—a spotless sky. met by low, rounded lulls, with occasionally a background of mountains toward the north. The place is dreary and deso- late. to say the least, but Stanley had learned to love it. Annually his mother went East to visit her sister. Mrs. Raker, in Pennsylvania, and the latter's son. Harold Raker, made an even exchange by visiting Stanley at the same time. It was early on a morning of June when Raker arrived, and naturally the two young men were discussing the girls- Why. Stanley,” said Raker. I tell you, she is a goddess. You've forgotten what she looks like, that’s all. She is tall, as graceful as a willow, and her figure is perfect; her hair and eyes are black— “Oh, yes. I remember now—all but the name,” said Stanley. “Alice—don't you like the ring of it? Alice Carter: but of course the ‘Carter’ is only tempo- rary.” Heavens! Engaged?” O. no; not formally, explained Raker, but it’s a half-understood affair. You see. it’s this way: The old folks take it for granted; she seems to think it a matter of course, by her manner; and I—well, I like her. but not enough to make it a definite matter. See? “Exactly,” replied Stanley, with his habitual brevity. Yes, old man, of a verity she is charming—one of those dreamy creatures, whose soft tones lilt you to another realm : but, say. what in the world is this picture of Ethel Douglass doing on your table?” Minding its business,” answered Stanley. O. come, old Xestor, tell me about it.” Simply an old tlame of mine. 1 would destroy it, but I liate to mutilate a photograph.” Jack, it’s too bad you let that girl embitter you. Why, there are millions of girls,” argued Baker. i know it—bores me, too; but we can’t change it.” “O, cheer up. It’s nonsense to let a soulless girl take all the life out of a useful man this way.” “Break away, Baker. Put the thing back, and let's go see the city.” After a few days, an event occurred which put Raker in high spirits, and utterly disgusted Stanley. They were strolling at their ease in a park, when from a distance Raker espied a face approaching which simply captivated him. As his cousin knew the girl. Baker succeeded in getting an introduc- tion. though Stanley rather stiffly complied. She was in a hurry, and as she went on. Baker ex- claimed :— Well! Pennsylvania can’t equal that; just look at that figure. Stanley.” O, don’t stare like a farmer. Can’t you sec those people laughing at you?” said Stanley. “What do I care! Isn’t she a fairy!” Alice, where art thou?” chanted his friend. Rats, can’t a fellow change his mind?” Not in this case; that maid is simply a wild, harum-scarum sort, with absolutely nothing in her make-up but vivacity.” argued Stanley. You, a self-avowed bachelor, ought not to judge the fair sex.” “I’ve a notion,” said the other, half to himself, “to send this little fool back to his mamma.” ()nc evening some days later Stanley was walk- ing up and down the floor with an impatience and anxiety that his sullen philosophy would seldom permit; for Baker, who, of course, did not know the city, had been out for three hours on a trip to the post-office—some fifty yards away. No telling what that fellow’s doing,” he mut- tered. He has grown quite game lately.” At just that moment Baker entered. “Back?” inquired Stanley. Did you take the letter to him?” Just a minute, Jack—let me get my breath. Oh. my boy, mv boy. I’ve had a great time. Let me take your fan. I’m roasting. I met her on the street----” What! ejaculated the other. “Don’t interrupt—and I walked up Main with her—ice cream, chocolates, etc., go along with the fair sex. you know. She’s a veritable goddess, old man: honestly, she’s simply bewitching!” “Unsophisticated idiot! roared Stanley. O. get out. I'm sane, brother; don’t worry. I'm just wound up. that’s all. This little fairy is enough to make anybody happy but you; and of course a mule can’t smile. No use kicking, though, I’m going up to see her this evening.” Never!” exclaimed Stanley. “I’m going.” Meanwhile, Baker had made preparations to shave the second time that day; and his angry host