Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

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SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR 11 Nevertheless, the man who concentrates deeply on problems of engineering and the like is of- ten the possessor of a prematurely old face. There is nothing like privation in one way or another, however, to bring on wrinkles. This causes the well-known remark: “How old she looks.” Yet the object of the criticism may be a person who is young in body and mind. Just as a dominating personality may lead the mob, so may a face be of the greatest im- portance in associating with people. If, for example, you are applying for a job, and you have a clean, smiling face, your chances are many times better than they would be if your features were drawn into a frown. A smiling, pleasant face is a valuable asset even if on.. has no claim to beauty. I do not mean by this that beauty is not to be desired, but merely that if you keep a smile on your face and by so doing reflect an amiable disposition, you are bound to make a good impression on those with whom you come in contact. ADVENTURES OF A CARAVAN By Julia Saparoflf, 32 THE caravan wended its way through the jungle. It consisted of four huge ele- phants carrying equipment, and five ethers which carried on their backs large litters that could each easily seat five people. The seats were all deserted except one which was occupied by a sullen, fierce-looking man. He was of medium height and powerful build. He had even features, a bushy mustache, heavy eyebrows, black eyes, and straight black hair. He was gazing at twenty-five persons exploring the ground. They were adapting their pace to the elephants’ leisurely walk. He regarded them all with hatred, but every time he looked at four side by side, he frowned dreadfully. The four especial objects of his wrath were a lithe girl, a tall boy, her brother, a still taller man, the father, and a third man, Norman Luce. After quite a long time, a cry arose, and the caravan came to a stop in a large clearing. “We stop here for a couple of days. We need the rest after this week’s hard traveling,” an- nounced the father, Mr. Evans, who was in charge. Immediately, everyone except our sullen ac- quaintance set to work to erect two cabins — one for general use, the other for the exclu- sive use of the Evanses. When they had been made, the elephants were fed and corralled. After all the work had been completed, the boy crossed to his sister, and, flinging himself down beside her in front of their cabin, exclaimed, “Gee, it’s hot, Betty.” “I know, Bob. It must be 110.” “Too bad Norman Luce had to get lost. And in such a place. He would!” “Well, he’s a—what you call a—a naturalist. He wanted to collect information about the jungle life—” “Information — bah!” interrupted her brother. “The fact is that, on his account, here we are a couple of thousand miles from nowhere.” “From Algeria,” corrected Betty. “Oh, well! Only four hundred miles (making ten a day) from that little town where we pur- chased the elephants. We might be at home—” “Well, he’s found, and we’re almost safe.” “Safe! Did my ears deceive me? Safe in a jungle! For safety, all animals should be killed. ’Sides Dad is far too gentle, forbidding any beasts to be killed except in absolute neces- sity. You didn’t feel so very safe when those horrible shrieks of rage from the negroes were heard.” “Just because we were sitting on a heathen god, a Sphinx,” laughed Betty. “Such a sacrilege! It was lucky for us they worshipped it for an hour, during which time no one could be captured or killed. Norman was among them as friendly as could be. But he escaped with us.” “There’s Norman’s foster-brother, Alvan Swagger. You might know they weren’t real relatives. He hates Norman ’cause they both got an equal share of the parent’s fortune. Alvan wanted the lion’s share. He hates us because we favor Norman, and also because he tried to steal our valuables, and was prevented. I don’t like him. Oh, Bob. Are you going?” “Must. Work to do. Bye.” He walked across the clearing into the other cabin. No one was in sight except “the man who always had the sulks.” Alvan passed with the agreeable remark: “Tell your dad I’m going to kill all animals I see. I want pelts and money.” Just then the howl of a tiger came from the jungle. He turned pale and hastened off to pick up

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10 SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR many different styles and colors. Each clan has five wholly different tartans; one called the chief, worn only by the chief and his heirs; an- other, the clan, worn as an everyday costume; a third, the dress, worn at gay ceremonies and festivities; another, the mourning, worn by the family for twelve months after a death; last, the hunting, usually of a dark or greenish hue. To cover the upper part of his body, the Scot wears a tunic, and carries his plaid over his right arm. Everybody seems to think that the furry-article hanging in front of the kilt is just an ornament, it is called a sporran and is a large purse or pouch of skin covered with fur or hair. The Scotchman uses his sporran for much the same purpose as the American ladies use their pocketbooks. In it he carries everything he wants to take with him, for he has only two pockets in his tunic. One of the oldest, proudest, best known, and most honorable of the Highland clans is Mac- Leod of MacLeod. They can be traced far back of the year 900 A. I). The head of the clan resides in the stately castle of Dunvegan, on the beautiful quaint Isle of Skye. It is about the only castle in Scotland that has stayed in the same family line and name since it was built. Like other fortresses of feudal times, Dunvegan Castle was constructed for stability. The walls in the older section are solid mason- ry, fourteen feet thick. Can you imagine such walls in our modern houses and apartments? The Scots of several centuries ago were very superstitious. On Skye a legend has been handed down about the witch, who wished evil for the whole MacLeod clan. Finally she was caught and put in a strong box in the dungeon of Dunvegan Castle. The clan believed that if she ever escaped, catastrophe would fall on the entire MacLeod family. So many other tales of this nature could be told, that you would not be able to enumerate them. The later Scotch are an excellent type of pioneer. A noted American historian wrote: “I can follow the path the Scottish people took from the Atlantic to the Pacific in the United States. Where they made settlements, there was prosperity, and they became a more de- pendable type of citizens than the immigrants of any other country.” Of course, people who were born, or whose ancestors were born in other countries, would naturally resent that statement. I would not blame them in the least, for I believe that everyone should be loyal to his own country, but as for me, I say: “Long live Scotland.” What Mr. Avery said to the Sophomores at their first assembly might well be taken to heart by every- one: “Be kindly disposed toward your neighbor and mind your own business.” FACES AND MASKS By Stanley B. Howard, '31 HAVE you ever noticed, in the subway, on the street, or anywhere, the difference between the various faces which you encounter? I assure you it is a very interest- ing way in which to pass time. Smiling, scowl- ing, laughing, they pass by, the cinema of life. Hew true it is, that a person’s face is often the mirror of his soul, telling to the world just what is going on inside. You cannot truly be angry and smile at the same time. It is almost a physical as well as a mental impossibility. When one is “sore,” to use the common expression, it is only the well controlled person who can conceal his ire and keep it from coming out in his face or eyes. We are all emotional in a sense; i. e.; at cer- tain times we are angry, at other times sad, and often happy. It is the lot of man to be thus. But in sane people this trait is more marked than in others. And it follows that this same emotional being should possess a physi- ognomy corresponding to his character. You have surely seen people who can smile one moment, frown the next, and cry in the third. The features of such a person are always work- ing, that is to say, they are never quiet. It is often true that this person may be of a shal- low, artificial character, without stability. The face which always has a smile upon it is also common. We are certain to judge the owner as a person with an amiable disposition. The opposite feeling to this is incited by the eternally gloomy, frowning face. We imme- diately put it down as being the possession of a grouch or a boor, and avoid the person as much as possible. So much for the emotional face. But there is another type which you have perhaps run across. Some people’s faces seem to conceal their feelings as if by a mask. A face which seldom smiles, yet is not gloomv, a face that seldom frowns, and yet is not cheerful. This sometimes covers a rather imperturbable per- son inclined to be reserved and to remain apart from others, or the owner may be just plain “dumb” as we often say, or may be, though rarely, a person with a force of character which could not be obtained in any other way. If you have ever watched a poker game, you must have noticed that the consistent winners were usually those who could hold a full house and keep their faces straight. This is often a val- uable asset in other ways, for to be able to con- ceal one’s feelings from another is often the best sort of tact. Many people’s faces become lined at an early age. We are apt to conclude that such a per- son has had more than his share of hard luck.

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12 SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR his gun from the place where he had dropped it around the corner of the cabin. “That was perfect. Bob. Sounded like a real tiger. I knew you’d perfect that call,” said Betty, stifling with laughter. And then, as she looked up, her hair suddenly rose, her eyes started from her head, her mouth gaped, her teeth chattered. She was all tension. She tried to call. Something seemed to clog her throat and prevent her from speaking. Not a muscle moved. She stood transfixed with fright, petrified, rooted to the spot. And then she seemed to have a vague thought that this was like one of those horrible dreams where, when you need most to run, you can only creep; when you need to shout, you can only whisper. And she gave a feeble laugh from sheer ner- vousness. For there on the edge of the clear- ing, with barred teeth and body crouched ready to spring, was a tiger. But he hesitated to jump—perhaps he was touched by the unpro- tectedness of the girl — or perhaps it was a more selfish motive — maybe he sensed danger. And then, he whirled around in the direction Swagger had disappeared. He gave a sudden spring, a shot sounded, and the tiger came sprawling down. Out stepped Swagger. “I said I’d get pelts if only for the reason your dad said not to. Look at me! Thank me for saving your life.” For all this boastfulness, Betty knew, and Alvan knew that she knew, that he had fired to save his own life, and had not intended to fire to save hers. Alvan was base enough, cow- ard enough to do so. Three months later, the hot sun shone down upon a caravan — this time of dromedaries. The scene too, had changed from the damp jungle to the dry desert. Betty and Bob were seated comfortably on a sheltered litter on a camel and between them was Leopold, the tiger. “Leopold is very tame now. Everyone but Alvan is friendly to him. Alvan takes care to keep out of his way. I’m glad Dad let me keep him. He’s healed perfectly now. The wound was only slight.” A silence ensued. “Oh, Betty, our band has enough jewels to tempt a dozen Swaggers. Maybe it was mean to take them from the natives of that town where we returned the elephants, and give them cheap beads instead. But they demanded the beads and didn’t want the jewels.” There was a silence, then Betty said: “We’ll be in Algeria in two weeks or so. We’re in the heart of the desert now.” “I’m thirsty. I’ll get some water for you and me.” “Strange.” He took another cask and another, and then opened them all, with the same result. “Dad,” he called. His father stopped his camel, and waited for Bob to reach him. “What is it, son?” “Dad, there’s no more water left!” “What?” thundered Mr. Evans. “No more water.” “Halt,” he yelled to his companions, “come here.” Mr. Evans told them the news quickly. The next day came. And with it — torture. Thirst parched their Jhroats. Water, water! Their eyes grew strained from their sockets. The next day came. The expeditioners never once left their seats for fear that, once out, the weakened condition of their legs would cause them to stumble, never to rise again. Then they could eat no more. Thirst and star- vation. The mirages. Lakes of water, cities, people — all mirages. Water, water! And then, on the third day, Alvan stepped out, flourishing one huge leather bag. “Friends, here is water. One by one, you shall drink.” A tremendous applause went up. “Leopold is first.” He stooped and put some in a pan, then stepped off a distance. The tiger leaped forward, and began to lap at it. And then, he suddenly knocked it over. With a tre- (Continued on Page 23)