South Pasadena High School - Copa de Oro Yearbook (South Pasadena, CA)

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COPA A Thanksgiving Dinner Mr. Gaylord was sitting in his office one bitterly cold morning, the day before Thanksgiving. He was in a great hurry to finish his work that day, as he and his wife were to start early that even- ing for Riverville, a little town on the Hudson, in which Mrs. Gaylord’s parents lived and where they were to eat their Thanksgiving dinner. The little office was warm and com- fortable. It looked down upon the busy streets of New York from the twelfth story of a large office building. In the next room the tap-tap-tap of the type- writers could be heard; also the buzz of voices as the office girls talked to cus- tomers and consulted each other about some important piece of business. Presently one of them entered Mr. Gaylord’s room and announced a gentle- man to see him. He sighed as he nodded his head, but his attitude changed when he saw the visitor. The visitor, a large man with smiling face and twinkling eyes, was dressed for the winter day in fur coat and cap and gloves. He took these off as he said, “Well, good morning, Jack. Glad to see you, old boy. Don’t stop work. I am just going to wait here until my auto- mobile is fixed. It broke down out in front of this building and Tom said he couldy’t have it fixed for an hour, per- haps longer, so I wandered up here to get warm.” Although Jack was busy, he put aside his work and, offering Chapin a cigar, settled himself for an hour’s pleasure. “There’s not much use working with you around, Bill,” he said. “Those papers don’t necessarily have to be mailed this morning and I'd rather talk college days with you, anyway, than write dull, uninteresting letters.” About half an hour later the ‘phone rang and Jack stopped talking for a few moments to answer it. Mr. Chapin heard only one side of the conversation, 38 but he could, nevertheless, understand it quite well. “Hello Yes— A telegram! From whom ?—-Sick, is he?—What’s the mat- ter?—Too bad.—What shall we do about to-morrow ?—-Do you think you could do it ?—Order everything you need, then.— I'll be home about six.—Good bye.” “Were you going away for dinner to- morrow ?” Chapin asked as Mr. Gaylord hung up the receiver. “Yes, we did intend to, but Mae’s father is ill, so we shall have to stay at home, after all.” “Why don’t you come out to our house? My wife is going to have a big dinner for a number of our friends, but the more the merrier.” “Sorry, but I don’t believe we can. Thank you just the same, though. To tell the truth, I’m sure Mae is rather anxious to get up a big dinner herself. We’ve been married only a month and she hasn’t had much chance to do any- thing of that kind, and I know she will work her hardest all day to try to please me.” “She must be a very enthusiastic little woman. I hope she has success. But I am sorry, too, that you won't accept my invitation. However, you must come out some other time.” x After telephoning her husband, Mae immediately called up the grocer and butcher, ordering all kinds of necessary eatables, but more of luxuries. Then with a great deal of care she swept and cleaned the flat from top to bot- tom, or rather from front to back. This took some time and the work was not finished until the middle of the after- noon and, feeling a bit tired, she sat down in the Morris chair to view her work. The little living room was as cozy and comfortable as possible. A large bay window took up one whole side of the room and from this one could look out upon the rows and rows of apart- ment houses that lined the street. The windows were hung with clean, white muslin curtains that partly hid the shin- ing. transparent glass that was as clean as the curtains. At the other end of the room was a small open fireplace, in which a log fire was blazing merrily, sending out a flickering light that gave that part of the room a cheerful color. The Morris

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ee | ClOrP A aWaits his approaching prey, But it was a smilie and we certainly believed the school boy’s Paradise was near at hand. The morning passed quietly. At noon a large group of us boys gathered on the grounds to arrange our program for the afternoon. We all believed the teacher a “cinch,” and decided to take advantage of it that very day. The de- tails of that afternoon bring unpleasant memories I will omit them. At any rate about six of us boys went home that night sadder and wiser and many others followed during the next week. We began to think he had not smiled at = DE ORO all. At any rate he did not give us an encore, Even Percival DeLaney, the with his bouquet of esstul. You might as teacher's darlir roses Was uns well attempt to obtain honey from a squash vine. We soon gave it up as a hopeless case and resigned peacefully to nine months of unceasing persecution, When my children come home from school with woeful tales of long lessons and eighth periods, [ think of the long rows of birch switches which we so often felt, and | congratulate them on getting off so easily. HOMER WRIDE, 10. 2 The Massachusetts Coast, as Seen From the Driver's Seat It was a beautiful June morning on the Massachusetts coast. The sun, ris ing in regal magnificence out of the placid sea, cast a half light over the still sleeping little town of Magnolia. On the bluff, however, things were all astir. An all-day coaching trip) was scheduled for the guests of the hotel. The coach and its driver came up just as I emerged from the dining room, Of course, being a youngster of just nine vears, | wanted to sit upon the driver’s box like a “big man.” The driver was a genuine New England Yankee with all the inborn shrewdness of his kind but he was a good fellow at heart and, with a sweep of his long arms, | was up be side him. We started with a crack of the whip and there I was upon the front seat, holding the ends of the reins as they came through the driver’s hands. No prince could have been any hap- pier than [| that day. The beautiful and historie places through which we passed possessed for me a peculiar glamour when seen from a driver’s seat. The roads along the route were perfection and the rhythmical beat of the horses’ hoofs was the only sound heard as we passed through woods, or rather marshes, that were simply covered with magnifi- cent magnolias of the most exquisite delicacy of fragrance. These flowers are not of the same species as those of the same name that grow in California. Our horses rapidly whirled the light wagon along and place after place was passed. Norman’s woe; the graveyard of the Hesperus, made immortal by the pen of Longfellow, and quaint old tree- embowered Salem, with its hosts of tragic deaths and sad memories of re- ligious feuds, were far in the distance as we passed through the quaint streets of Beverly and Manchester and finally en- tered the town of Gloucester, One could easily write a book about the “sights, smells and sounds” of Glou- cester. As the largest fish handling port in the world, it was and is distinctly a town of seafaring people, but its glamour is passing with the vanishing of the sailing schooner. Late in the afternoon we started from Gloucester and, after a quick trip in the beautiful evening twilight that prevails on the eastern coast, reached the hotel Just as the first light shone out in the little village by the shore. The beauties and pleasures of the day are deeply engraven on my mind, but at the time the “honor” of sitting upon the driver’s box and holding the ends of the reins overshadowed everything else. B. C. KIESLING, 713.

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COPA chair and low table, which held a read- ing lamp, stood near. An upright piano, a couch and several chairs completed the furniture of the room. On the dark red walls hung a few good pictures and a number of college pennants and one corner was devoted entirely to photo- graphs of young people, evidently school friends of both Mr. and Mrs. Gaylord. It was altogether a very pretty picture, with the young wife sleeping soundly in the large, comfortable chair, with her hair curling prettily about her face and her neat house dress covered with a large, blue, gingham apron. It was growing dark and a step in the hall startled her and she awoke sud denly, remembering that it was nearly time to commence getting dinner. The first thing she did was to find out if the groceries had come, but no, not a sign of a package was in the kitchen. She called up the store and was told that the things were on their way. but there was so much delivering to be done that they might not arrive until late. “Til have to have something for din- ner,” she said to herself, after receiving this message, “but I have only five cents because | paid the gas bill this morning and it was bigger than I expected. Maybe Ill find some more if T hunt around for awhile. Why, here is Jack’s purse. He must have forgotten it this morning. It has just a quarter in it,” she added laughingly. “That will be enough for some chops for tonight, but tomorrow I'll be cooking a turkey.” The chops were sizzling in the pan about half an hour later and an odor of baking biscuits floated out from the oven, when Jack opened the door and came in to help with the process of getting dinner. “Gee, things look good, Mae, but they will be even better tomorrow, won't they?” he said, as he thought of the dinner they would have. “Yes, but the groceries haven’t come yet, and T wanted to start a few dishes this afternoon, but I think there will be time enough if I get up early tomorrow. It will seem funny cooking a Thanks- giving dinner for just two.” After helping with the dishes, Jack sat down to read the evening paper while Mae wrote to her father. The evening DE ORO passed rapidly and she commenced to worry about the whereabouts of the morrow’s dinner, and about nine o’clock again telephoned to the grocer, but was 1in informed that they would soon ar- rive. “[ suppose we had better sit up until they come; otherwise they will put them on the back porch and the cats will de vour everything.” “Yes, we want to be very careful of our first Thanksgiving dinner.” The minutes flew by and Mae stood by the window watching anxiously for the delivery wagon. Fewer people now hurried along the streets and soon only one or two persons could be seen, and only an occasional car passed by. The little clock on the mantel jingled out the hour of eleven, but still no gro- eeries. “T suppose Martins’ is closed now,” Mrs. Gaylord said, sitting down by the fireplace, “so I presume there is no use telephoning again. But I do wish those groceries would come. I hope they didn't get dumped out in a snowdrift.” “They'll be here. Don’t worry,” said a sleepy voice from behind a news- paper. “Oh, you’re sleepy, too, are you?” yawned Mae. “There, I do believe I hear the wagon,’ and they both ran to the window. “Only a milk cart,” they added, gloomily. Another fifteen min- utes elapsed and the two occupants were nearly asleep, when a knock was heard at the back door and Mae ran to open it, but came back with a disappointed look on her face. “It was someone else’s grocer boy and he came to the wrong door,’ she in formed her waiting husband. “T’m going to bed, groceries or no groceries.” he said, rising and walking toward the door, “but, there, I hear someone,” and he hastened into the kitchen, but he, too, came back without success. “It was only the cat jumping off the table. I’m going to bed.” She soon followed and dreamed all night of turkeys and pumpkin pies danc- ing about on the bed. The first thing she did the next morning was to run into the kitchen and open the back door,