Stoughton High School - Stotonian / Semaphore Yearbook (Stoughton, MA)

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Literary (Continued) runless stockings at a very reasonable price. Ringless chiffon. No irregulars. All sizes. Guaranteed to wear well. Runless stockings ! Say ! . . . Tappy glared at her contemptuously. Why you ... I bet you got your ideas from me. You stole my plans! I (lid not ! retorted the girl angrily. Tappy was inflamed with wrath and the eyes of the girl gleamed like warn- ing signals in the gathering dusk. He snatched her bundle and drew out a shim- mering stocking of raspberry pink. Tappy dangled it before her smouldering eyes. Tears flowed freely from a pair of very blue eyes and the girl sobbed as she fought with an extremely obstinate Tappy. Her shrieks and his exclamations resounded throughout the desolate country side in a virtual tug-of-war game. The girl resisted his superior strength and managed to cling to her prized possession. The stocking, however, quickly lost its shiny appearance and lustrous gleam. Tappy gave a final desperate pull and was rewarded by a warning zip-p-p. Yes, there was a run in the invincible stocking! He fell to the ground in silent mirth. Tears rolled down his flaming cheeks and the green buttons from his smock popped off like kernels of corn and lay in the ])Owdery dust. But the girl remained silent. No laughter brightened her eyes or gladdened her pathetic face. Tappy patted her hand softly. I ' m sorry, he said huskily. I didn ' t realize. But he could say no more — the words seemed to be imprisoned in his throat. Awkwardly, he moved toward his buggy. The motor hesitated, then stuttered and finally yielded. Tappy looked at the silent girl and she, in turn, stared beyond the darkening horizon. Diplomacy and tact were not in Tappy ' s vocabulary but he permitted himself a contagious smile that revealed the dimple in his left cheek. The girl returned a smile that said all is forgiven and suddenly the world was a paradise of love and friendship. Once more the motor sputtered and groaned and just as the drowsy moon peeped over the shadowy hill, two heads were bent together, earnestly discussing plans for a new Collins Runless Stocking Company, Inc. But the old buggy only wheezed and coughed as the motor sputtered along. If you send a little ray of sunshine Into a person ' s heart. To push out every bit of sorrow And gladness to impart. You ' ll take away all sadness And replace it all with joy. Until they throw away each trouble As if it were a broken toy. The world will be much brighter Dark clouds will roll away For just a bit of kindness To someone every day. Helen V.acoulis ' 39 Ode to Shirley Powell ' 38 Page Thirty-one

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Whafs in a Kwl Tappy Collins wasn ' t exactly a woman-hater but he was rather shy and timid in the presence of the frivolous co-eds at Lakewood University. He was the self-esteemed inventor of a nameless device that consisted of a dilapi- dated buggy equipped with the motor of an antiquated washing machine. At the present time, he was working on a process guaranteed to produce an abso- lutely runless stocking — a Collins original. Tajjpy was a picture of rugged youth and manly prowess. Typical of young America, he was exceedingly tall of stature and fairly radiated with health and vitality. A pair of hornrimmed glasses that created an illusion of despair were perched ui)on his freckled nose. Piercing eyes shone through a tangled mass of flaming hair, not unlike a burnt e.xpanse of orange peel studded with twin stars. Tappy scorned women : consequently, his gaze seldom wandered in the direction of the blonde enchantress or her equally engaging sister, the wily brunette. He labored feverishly on his inventions and took no pains to con- ceal his dislike for the fairer members of his class. Tappy lived a solitary existence in a tiny cottage situated in the midst of a wooded grove. He thrived on the notoriety of his eccentric ways and expressed his joy by nonchalantly re- vealing the dimple in his left cheek. Dressed in an ancient smock and tattered overalls, he stalked among his inventions and drew plans, meanwhile chewing on a questionable pipe. Huge patches of grime were evident on his muscular arms and bronzed face, and his neglected smock was dappled with a varietv of brilliant colors. Sullenly, he climbed into his improvised buggy and drove off into the twi- light gloom. But just as he turned down a shaded country lane, a diminutive form slipped beneath the crushing wheels and lay motionless. Tappy drove on in a cloud of dust but guilt soon troubled his conscience. Returning to the scene of his crime, he bundled the girl into his noisy con- traption. A pair of very blue eyes gazed upon him in adoration. Whizzikers ! muttered Tappy, sputtering and choking. Aw, shucks, he mumbled and chewed fiercely on his pipe. Where are you taking me? asked the girl. To Doctor Stephen, growled Tappy laconically. Oh, but I ' m perfectly all right. Besides, she added, with a whimsical smile, I must finish my sales canvass of this particular neighborhood. Then, for the first time, Tappy noticed that she clutched a small package in her hand. Xow, what are you trying to sell? The girl looked up and remarked, I am offering a pair of my newly-invented Page Thirty

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Literary (Continued) JVLatter of Sentiments Are you ready, ] Iult? Yes, sort of, replied a quivering voice. A calm voice broke the dead silence. Breathe deeply, tha— t ' s it, just a little more now. Ice, water, juices, and more ice. Delirium, that was it. There was a lump in the throat, queer noises rang inconsistently in the ears. Eye lids were puffed and blurry visions came in shadow form, dancing from the ceiling to the floor, and from floor to the ceiling. Lift her up, put her down, just why didn ' t they make up their minds which it was? Then, parched lips opened unsteadily to receive the cool beverage that slid down the scorched throat. The body relaxed; the tired expression erased itself from the face — only for a moment, then the pain came again. High gray walls seemed to crush niercilessly in about the temples. Long white fingers gripped the white sheets, clutching for something that was not there. There she lay, the picture came to my mind again. Blonde mussed curls lay carelessly on the white pillow. Perspiration rolled down the forehead, tired lines made their place between the brows. Brown glassy eyes stared into the blanicness of space. Dark spots encircled the puffy lids. A nose with traces of pock marks and freckles was tilted upward. The thin lips were dry and chapped : the expression of pain cast its shadow over the gaunt face. Long white arms lay limp at her sides, no strength left to fight what was before her. The calm voice spoke again, wearily perhaps from the worry of it all, Temperature 108, we can ' t give up now, it will break at this point or — or, that w-as just it. Then the whole scene seemed to change. The girl ' s eyelids moved ; visions came back slowly : shadows at first, then the true objects came to Hfe. What a peculiar odor! This isn ' t my room, why are the walls so white? Why is that man holding my wrist? Why? Why? Why? All these thoughts raced through the mind of the young girl that had put up such a fight. The crisis was over, her temperature was receding. Every living soul in that room seemed to relax. ' Monev did not matter in this case. It was a young girl ' s life that this particular man in white had in his hands. She said, Thanks Doctor Joe , when it was all over and that meant more to me than all the money in the world. You see, tliis was my first case, and somehow I always wanted to write about it. Doc (Joe—.) hife s Tapest}y Brightly colored threads interweave, Slender fingers nimbly fly ' eaving dreams we hope to achieve With bright and sombre colored dye. Fingers of the Fates weave fast, Spinning the lives of one and all : And as each swift stitch is cast So a man doth rise or fall. CoNST. NCE BURRILL Page Thirty-tivo