Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

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SOMKRVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR 9 but after much pulling this came off the bottom, was reeled in. and untangled from the line. Hut still the line was taut, and puzzled, he quickly reeled in. To his amazement, instead of the frayed end he had expected to see, “()ld Solomon’’ appeared. By some miracle the line had held, and ------------ the big trout had worn himself out in trying to escape. He was easily drawn ashore and strung on a twig. As they again started homeward Roger laughed weakly. “Well. Raul, that was a rare case of sophomore help senior. B Sail on tbc 36a? JSy Cliff orb Ik. Ibernck, '13 VERYTH'I XG was quiet in the house. Curly and I were studying in the den. Outside the rain tapped dismally on the roof of the piazza, and ran in little rivulets down the window-pane. The wind was whistling in the trees, and blowing the umbrellas of adventurous pedestrians inside out. In short, it was just the kind of afternoon to make one glad to be in a snug, warm den in a morris chair, rather than out in the cold and wet. Curly laid down his chemistry, and yawned. I yawned in sympathy and also laid down my book. ■ Gee! I wish we were back in camp again,” said he. “Same here! I replied with emphasis. “Xo such luck though. A long pause followed. Say! Curly!” “Huh?” You ought to have gone out sailing with us that afternoon, instead of playing tennis.” I didn’t play tennis,” he answered. “You kid- naped the girls and George didn’t come over. 1 went up the Tanyard Swamp, gunning. I didn’t get anything, either. What happened out sail- ing. anyway?” ()ne could tell from his tone that he didn't think much of my ability as a sailor. Well! I replied. “Several things happened. I'll tell you about the trip. “About two o’clock Edna and Lou came down to the tent to see if we were going for a sail that afternoon. Of course 1 said. ‘Yes.’ and Don echoed my answer. We went over and got the Dragon ready while they went over and got Susie. “There was hardly wind enough to take us out of the cove. It was blowing about southwest and there was no room in the river to tack on ac- count of the fleet anchored off the yacht club. 1 went right amongst the fleet, heading f r Rat- Rocks. “We had almost cleared them when the Redfin, the big racer, not the cat boat, dropped her mooring and started to make sail. The tide carried her right across our course and I jammed the tiller hard up. which tacked us across, our boom raking the deck of the Playmate, of the Boston Y. C. The girls were almost ready to jump overboard from fright. Just as soon as we got clear I tacked back again, but we had lost too much to make the rocks. We kept on across however, but when we started to tack again, we went aground on the bar. The tide was too low. “All I could do was to try my best to go between the rocks. The wind had breezed up quite a bit. but we cleared the rocks all right and started out between the beach and the bar. After that it was great fun. The wind was against the tide, and the waves were about five feet high. The Dragon would go away up on one wave and come down slap on the next one. Don was sitting up forward, with his back to the mast, when we buried our bow- sprit in a big comber. Some of it ran off by the scuppers, but most of it ran down the back of his neck. Holy smoke, wasn’t he mad! Yc went up past Essex and were just oppo- site Ipswich when it started to blow a gale. Edna was sitting to leeward on the middle seat. Lou was opposite her. Don was sitting at the foot of the mast, and Sue was beside me. at the tiller. “Well. 1 never was so scared in my life! The masthead went over till it almost touched the water, and we shipped half a boat full. “I let her come up quick and yelled: ‘Let go the jib sheet. Don.' She righted and we lay in the trough of the waves. As soon as possible. I got over an anchor, which held us up to the wind, and prevented us from being capsized by the waves.

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8 SOMKI VILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR tEbc tables ZEutneb 36 Harlan ill. lUortIMev?, ’13 11 was one of those perfect clays in September which yet remind one »f the approach of winter. The sun, which was near the middle of its circuit, was alternately obscured and revealed by fleecy, leisurely-sailing clouds, and with them seemed en- deavoring t» warn us of the storms to come. Roger Newell and his brother Paul were sorting fishing tackle on the piazza of their father's farm- house in Central New Hampshire. “Guess this is the last chance we'll get to go fishing this year. remarked Roger. “Yup.” asserted Paul, dubiously. Spose that at this time next week we'll be plugging away at Greek, and trig., and chem., etc. Say, how does it seem to be a senior, anyhow? Feel too dignified to associate with sophomores like me? No, responded Roger, soberly. “The only trouble 1 can sec is in having you butt in with some silly problem or other when 1 am trying to get a strangle hold on a translation. Its always a case of senior help sophomore, but never of sophomore help senior. There, guess 'Old Solo- mon' won’t know there's a hook in that fly. What!” exclaimed Paul, “you don’t mean that you are going to try for 'Old Solomon do you? Why, the best fishermen in the village Have failed in trying to land him! I'll be content if I get one or two smaller ones myself.” Roger i njointed his rod. took an apple from a barrel on the piazza, and made after his younger brother, who had already disappeared around a corner of the cow-barn. They made their way in silence across the pasture, and plunged into the woods, emerging on the bank of the brook at a point about half a mile below the village grist mill. Here a series of shallow rapids terminated in a deep pool, with overhanging banks. Jiininv! exclaimed Paul, as he caught a glimpse of the brook. The water's about a foot too high, and running like a mill race. 1 guess something has happened to the grist mill dam. “Looks bad for the fishing.” commented Roger, “but we can have a try. anyway, and if we don't catch anything we’ll go up and see what is the matter at the dam.” So saying, he jointed his rod. and for half an hour they tried all the arts they knew on the fish, but to no avail. “Well.” said Roger at last, “one more try for me. I'm getting tired of this.” He made a cast clear under the further bank. It was a beautiful cast, and certainly deserved to be fruitful. Sure enough, almost as the fly t niched the water there came a splash, and the rod bent nearly double as the taut line zig-zagged back and forth in the water. “Wow.” yelled Roger, jumping up and down on the bank in his excitement, it's 'Solomon' all right. Feels as if I had the whole river bottom on the hook.” Play him easy.” cautioned Paul, or you’ll lose him yet. Cracky! What a monster he must be! Loth strained forward in the excitement, Paul trying to get a glimpse of the fish. Roger intent on the play of the line. Neither noticed their position. Suddenly Paul jumped back, crying: “Look out» Roger, the bank -------” Too late! 'Hie bank, undermined by the unusual flood, sank, carrying Roger and about two tons of dirt into the water. '1 he rod landed in the middle of the brook. I here.” said Paul, resignedly, “guess that spoils our chances of getting 'Old Solomon.’ He had no fears for his brother, who was a good swimmer, but stepped to the bank to help him crawl out. Roger was not in sight. Imagining a hundred things, Paul quickly stripped off his coat and shoes, and plunged in at the point where he had last seen his brother. He had scarcely made one short circle on the bottom, with outstretched arms, when he came upon Roger buried to the knees in the fallen bank. Working rapidly, he tugged at the legs with every ounce of strength in his body, and just as it seemed that his head must burst from lack of air. they came loose. Grasping his brother by the hair, lie shot to the surface, took a gasping breath, and turning over on to his back drew Roger's head to his chest, and swam ashore. It took him nearly an hour, using the methods which he had learned with his scout” patrol, to bring his brother back to consciousness, and when this was accomplished Roger was so weak that he could hardly stand, so Paul, by the aid of a magnifying glass and a piece of paper, kindled a fire, by which they sat and dried their clothes. Then they started for home. Roger's arm over Paul’s shoulder for support. “Hold on a minute.'' said Roger, stopping, where’s my rod? That’s so. assented Paul. I forgot all about it. The rod had drifted, and Paul reached it from the shore. The line had caught on a snag.

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10 SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR “While Don pumped her cut, 1 reefed mainsail and jib, took in the top sail and headed across the bay for Sqmin Light. As I had all I could manage in steering, Susie held the mainsheet, and Don. the jib sheet, for I did not dare belay them for fear an extra strong gust might send us over. “By this time we all had our oil clothes on, for every whitecap drenched us with spray. We should doubtless have reminded you of pictures you have seen, if you could have caught a glimpse of us then. ()ur oil clothes glistening with spray, the Dragon heeled over until her rail was level with the water, everybody sitting upon the weather rail, the waves foaming under the bowsprit and boiling under the stern. It was a most exciting scene. Not until we were well past the black buoy, did I dare to tack and go in before the wind, for to jibe in that gale would have meant, everybody swim. Going in we fairly flew. The mainsail was out till it touched the stay on one side and the jib full out on the other side. We left a wake like a racing motor boat. “Hut we couldn’t make the cove. As'there was hardly room to come about. 1 decided to risk it. and jibe her to go in the cove. The wind was not quite so bad in the river, as the point broke the force of it a bit. ■ ‘When I give the word, haul on that sheet quick, Sue! Ready, Don! Cast off the jib sheet! Haul, Sue! Quick!’ We just man- aged to make it without shipping water, and just as we came up to the mooring the wind went down altogether. “If you had been with us, you wouldn't have been quite so anxious to go out the next day in that ‘light southwest breeze’ as you called it.” “Hang it all.” complained Curly, ‘T never get in on the real good ones.” He picked up his chemistry again and resumed the study of the eccentricities of the elements. I thought for a moment. “Curly.” “Um-m-m.” 1 threw a book at him. “Well! What?” “It’s no use, you'd have been sick. Such amusements are for sailors, not lubbers, you know.” ()utraged and insulted, poor Curly retaliated, and in another moment we were rolling on the floor in close embrace. tEbe Struggle m TlKlen m. IPonD, ’13 ILLY Mercian, son of “The Wheat King,” had always lived the life of luxury so prevalent among that class of the idle wealthy. Never had he done a stroke of work in his life. Suddenly, at the beginning of his senior year in Dartmouth, he found himself confronted with a new phase of life. He was no longer the richest man in his class, but. on the contrary, his father’s failure had so greatly reduced his finances that lie saw horrible visions of being dropped from his class. He flung himself full length on the mossy bank, as idly he threw pebbles into the rippling stream below. “By Jove! I'd like to know what I’m good for anyway! And to think dad wanted to make a professional man of me! hy. I doubt if I d even make a decent hod-carrier! But. I’ve just simply got to do something or be dropped. “Let’s see—first there’s Latin. I passed in that, but I couldn't tutor a donkey. German? No, that’s out of the question, too. French? Urn! that’s more like it. Chemistry? That’s it! That’s one advantage of my medical course anyway. Then, there’s English and 1 know I could tutor that. Mathematics I can easily tutor. Oh, I guess maybe I won’t be so poverty stricken after all. “But. ye gods and little fish-hooks, how am I to do all that and still play football? I can’t give up that captainship after trying so hard for it. Besides. I haven’t another full-back to take my place. That's one place where I’m actually nec- essary without one of dad's checks,” Billy added bitterly. ‘‘Still,” he continued, “there’s Dick Gordon, who has been trying ever since his freshman year to make the team. He would make a splendid full-back, too, if he had a decent chance. Oh. hang it all, I want to be full-back myself.” Suddenly Billy sat up very straight, “Why, Billy Mercian, you conceited fool, that's the whole trouble with you. You’re a selfish brute. You’ve always had more than your share; it’s