Spaulding High School - Red and White Yearbook (Rochester, NH)

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8 THE RED AND WHITE Coming into sight of the station, the dog stopped and refused to go farther. No amount of coaxing would induce him to follow me. So, giving the dog an appreciative pat on the head, I started for the sta- tion. Bill, the Mountie in charge, had seen me coming and met me half way. Looking back, I saw the dog still sitting on the last rise, watching me. You know, Bill, if it wasn't for that dog, I could never have gotten here. I would be lying frozen some- where up north of here, but thanks to that dog, here I am, alive and O. K. Bill looked at the hill, then at me, and again at the hill. Turning, he looked blankly at me, and scratched his head. Joe, he said, You bet- ter come inside. There is no dog there nor are there any dogs around here, except for my two brown sled dogs. Looking back as Bill closed the door, I could still see the dog, sil- houetted against the rose and gold sunset. Was he the Ghost Dog? I . Blind Date GERALDINE MOON Dear Diary: 6 230 P. M. As I sit here in the quiet warmth of my bathtub, I'm wondering what he will look like. Will he have black or brown hair? Eyes, blue or brown? Will he be fat or will he be skinny? With my luck there will be some- thing wrong with him. I dread the thought of opening the door when he comes: I know I have to go through with it, so I had better stop writing and get ready. - 'Til later. Dear.Diary: .. 4 7:15 P. M. lim now all dressed and waiting patiently on the sofa for the next fif- teen minutes to pass. I'm beginning to think I was out of my mind to say I'd be the one. After all, there are lots of teen-age girls in this town. Oh! there's the doorbell! Barb and Jimmy are with him, so I have to be calm. I don't know if I can make it to the door. I'll tell you tonight what he's like, dear diary. 'Til then- . Dear Diary: 10:30 P. M. Oh, he's every thing I've ever hoped for! He has the most adorable blue eyes, wavy black hair that is so shiny and smooth, I love the coy ex- pression on his face. I'm so glad Barb gave me first preference. I can see him looking at me with those big, blue eyes. It will be wonderful not having to sit home alone every evening. It certainly is grand to have a darling cooker spaniel for a pet! l I Goodnight, dear diary. Captain Happy Go Lucky On A Careless Cruise THOMAS GRAY A light breeze had just begun to stir the tall grass around Happy Ha- ven Yacht. There was an air of ser- enity about the fashionable club. Sea- gulls were screaming and quarreling over choice bits of debris brought in by an early tide. The first rays of the sun were glancing oi ten thou- sand small wavelets creating to the imaginative a veritable sea of gold. All this indicated a bountiful day for yachting. Here and there in some enthusiastic members' garden one could find cabbage leaves and lettuce heads that had been nibbled. Tiny silver dewdrops detached themselves from vegetables as our 'little friend, the swamp rabbit, foraged for his morning feed. The rabbit cocked a disdainful eye at the belligerent gulls and scornfully continued his feeding

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THE RED AND WHITE bounded four flights of stairs, and en- tered a steaming kitchen. He went straight to the window, threw up the battered sash, and stood gazing at the one pride and joy of his short life, a small rose bush bearing proudly one small green bud. Booker gave the smooth green leaves a loving touch, then slowly he slit the stem and placed the bud in a glass of water. Booker had watched the bud for many weeks, he had watered it carefully and kept it in the small patch of sunlight that filtered through the neighboring buildings. Now he thought it will really do some good. He thought of the proud way in which he would hand it to Miss Robins on her birth- day, and then Booker T. Clark slept, sitting by the warm fire. Miss Robins stood alone in the dark entrance hall of Sherman Street School. She gazed vacantly at the large pile of various shaped objects on the floor beside her. Out of the many elaborate gifts she had re- ceived for her birthday, only one stood out in the gathering darkness, a large and very red rose. Miss Rob- ins knew who had given her the rose although there was no name on it, and it had been there on her 'desk when she arrived at school that morning. Miss Robins smiled as she watched the disappearing back of one small boy made in God's image, only made black. Ghost Dog JEAN GRAM, '53 The blizzard was becoming fero- cious as it growled and whistled and moaned through the tall, stately spruces. As I stumbled along, I thought of the ironic trick fate had played on me. After betting my life's saving that I could prove superstitious the belief of the Indians of their legend- ary grea.t ghost dog, here I was, lost in the vast reaches of the Arctic, with only matches, no wood, no food, no dogs-and in a blizzard. As it grew dark, I thought of my home in Manitoba, where there was Warm food and my bed waiting for meg then again I thought of the icy night with possible and probable death ahead of me. I stumbled and fell as a harder blast of wind struck me: suddenly I thought, my feet were frozen. I have no feeling, I can't move them at all. But I didn't care any more. I was too tired, too cold. All I wanted to do was to lie down and the ground was coming up to meet me. Mmm- everything was so peaceful, even warm, as I seemed to drop into a deep, soft, black abyss. The sun was shining, and the snow glistened with millions of tiny dia- monds. I seemed to be in some sort of a cave hollowed out of a snowbank. A freshly slain rabbit lay within reach, while something warm was against my back. I turned over, looked, rubbed my eyes, looked again: yes, unless I was crazy, the Warm thing was a great white wolfdog. Suddenly it dawned on me that this must be the dog the Indians call the ghost dog. My turning over evidently awak- ened the dog for he stood up, stretched, and then sat down beside me. I sat up, took out my matches and wished I had some wood so I could cook the rabbit. As the dog saw the matches, he got up and went out. Soon he returned with a dry spruce limb. Heavens knows where he found it in five to six average foot- age of snow. Having cooked and eaten the rab- bit, I stood up experimentally, and found that though I was stii, I hadn't frozen my feet and could walk. Calling the dog, I set out for the Mountie station forty miles south of me.

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THE RED AND WHITE 9 as if to say, Humph, what silly birds! They never seem to agree. Unfortunately, peace and harmony of this sort is seldom allowed to take its course. This time it was the in- sistent jangle of an irritable fold alarm clock that shattered the quiet- ude. The rabbit left for parts un- known as the aforementioned clock sailed out into the garden and came to rest right side up after an as- sisted flight of some seventy feet. Bed springs creaked as the propul- sion agent of the alarm clock turned out of his springy bower, fully pre- pared, bloodshot eyes and splitting headache included, to meet the chal- lenge of wind and wave. A low moan escaped the flabby lips of our hero as he fondled his aching head. A loud clump, clump clump sounded as he stumped off to the shower room. Here new groans and vulgar complaints about the cold wa- ter, the management, the evils of drink, and women in general, did their bit to irritate late risers in other parts of the club. Finally, after many unsuccessful attempts our hero managed to get into nautical garb and stumble off down the imposing dock. Crummy 3rd, a small 'express cruiser, lay alongside bumping against the piling. As usual, our he- ro, who for sake of the story is J. Wellington Birdbrain, had neglected to place fenders between his expen- sive craft and the dock. Friction had done its dirty work. Some of the spotless finish had been rubbed badly but not so much so that Cap'n J. W. B. couldn't repair it. No siree, no trouble at all, he muttered as he walked confidently to the paint locker. I'll touch 'er up in no time. No time like the pres- ent, he thought happily, for getting things done. He returned from the paint locker with a can of paint and some brushes. A water pail standing in his path seemed to be in imminent danger of being stepped in, but he carefully sidestepped this obstruction. After opening his paint he balanced it on the narrow coaming around the fore- deck as he sat astraddle the narrow- est forward part of the foredeck, painting merrily. A larger Diesel yacht camel in past Crummy 3rd's dock piling up huge waves in its pro- peller wash. i' The first two or three waves he hardly noticed, but the fourth lifted the stern fully three feet. J. W. B. went heels over head, paintbrush, and paint with him into the troubled water. He came up blowing and spewing. By and by, he managed to climb over the stern of his boat. When he had changed into dry clothes he suddenly remembered the extra paint he'd set on the cabin top. Oh, what a relief! he sighed, I remember that I covered it. At that moment a drop of some- thing Wet hit him on the nose. Rain? Nope, paint. - J. W. B. had reached the same con- clusion and with a muffled sound that seemed to 'be half way between an oath and a prayer, he rushed forward to investigate. Oh no, was his weak remark. Well, I was going to paint it any- ways, he added in a small voice. Two hours and several hundred oaths later the cabin top was finished in a sickly pea-green. This color was so horrible that every time he looked at it he became sick to his stomach. Now, he was ready to start the en- gines and cast off. Carefully, he edged along the alleyway between deckhouse and coaming and dropped gracefully onto a banana peel. The resulting skid was instantaneous and truly amazing. It took him clear across the cockpit where he grounded against some fishing gear carelessly strewn around. When he had picked the fishhooks out of his person he made another attempt to get to the