Taunton High School - Journal Yearbook (Taunton, MA)

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THE JOURNAL any more damage and placed him under the care of Nellie Simmons, the sheriff. The next case was that of Grace Woodward against the Parlow Pencil Company. Grace being an authoress, claimed that she could not write with the pencils furnished her as they spelled all the words wrong. I stepped into a news store to buy a ticket for the next boat across. Vi Rayment was talking to Helen Wiley. I want to get Skeet a book for a birthday present. What bind- ing is most suitable? Calf, I should say, replied Helen. I bought my ticket, and went aboard. About a day out the ship foundered. but as she carried a cargo of soap, we were all washed ashore. The strain was too great for me, however, and I have never fully recovered. The prescription of my physician had failed. All this change of scenery and of environment had availed nothing, nor had my human relationship. Nothing remained for me but pleasant recollections of renewed acquaint- ance with my mates of the class of 1921. May their shadows never grow less! 'if VQCN5 'Far 537 2 i' I 4 C tp L., 62

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'F THE JOURNAL I passed on remembering that Asbury lived nearby. I rang the bell and Dot Cahoon, the French maid, answered. Explaining my business, I asked her if there was anybody at home. No, she replied, this is George Bowman's residence, and slammed the door. I proceeded circumspectly down the boulevard. Could you direct me to the Salvation Army? . Masherl! shrieked Hazel Boutilier, as she hit me with her umbrella. I managed to find the way, however. It was no commonplace barracks that met my eye. At the head was Adeline Hoernlein, who with her assistants, Miss Haskins, Hallin, Hackett, and Hodges, was doing fine work. As it cost me nothing, I spent the night. Next morning, I found Asbury. How did your speech go last night? Finel VVhen I sat down, everyone said it was the best thing I ever did. ' On the way to court, where he had a case on trial, we stopped in a haberdasher's. VVhat made that customer walk out? shouted Kelliher angrily to Miss Botway. I don't know. It was Ciolkosz, the dentist, he asked for a hat to suit his head, and I showed him a soft one. What's this so great about your new umbrella? asked Will of Miss Cooperstein. VVell, you see, replied Sarah, nobody can walk off with it. When it is not in use, I keep the handle in my pocket. At court I saw Elsie Evans as judge with Misses Coyle, Fenton, Cas- sidy, Hart, McCormick, and Molden in the jury box. The other six were men. Miss Cooper was in the witness box. Pardon me one moment, said Elsie Young, counsel for defense, what was your last sentence? I object, interrupted Willard. Objection not sustained, said Miss Evans. Witness, what was your last sentence? Six months, replied Harriett, much to the amusement of Miss Silverman and Miss Teplow. Take them out, and Mary Rose took them out. The next witness was Ken Rankin. What's your occupation? asked the judge. I'm a pall-bearer in the post ofhcef' said Ken. I carry dead letters. Miss Reid, council for plaintiff, withdrew her witness before he did ll 61

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A DOMESTIC TRAGEDY ETHEL RICHMOND windless, dreary downpour beat upon the tin roof of the low farm kitchen, filling the room with its depressing rumble. At long intervals a single great drop seeped through the board ceiling and fell square upon the newspaper of the man before the stove, but he gave no sign that he noticed. Although his deep brooding eyes were fixed upon the print, it was plain that he did not read and that he was unconscious of everything about him. His whole attitude was one of gloomy thought. His powerful frame was slouched heavily in the chair, one foot elevated upon the stove hearth, the other stretched along the floor before him. His moody brows were drawn into a straight black line, and his jaw clinched the stem of a begrimed corncob pipe, at which he puffed explosively. The wrinkled edge of his newspaper was clutched in a knotted, hard, brown fist. A woman shuffled back and forth through the acrid haze of smoke from the pipe, but he neither spoke to her nor looked in her direction. He did not even glance up when she stumbled over his feet on her way to the woodbox for fuel. She was a woman nearing forty, still comely, al- though now her face was drawn and her feet dragged with weariness. She was setting a sponge of bread dough for overnight, and as she slow- ly stirred in the Hour, she glanced with a curious apprehension at the moody figure by the stove. Twice she seemed about to speak, but paused doubtfully. At last, as several drops of water splashed upon the man's newspaper, she said, in a cheerful tone which was plainly forced Your paper's gettin' all wet, Jed. I guess I know it, growled the man between his teeth. But he did not move, and the woman with a worried pucker on her forehead turned to her bread again. The only sound was the drumming of the rain on the roof and the scrape and thump of the woman's mixing. Merely to relieve the quiet she rattled her spoon and pan, and, as she finished,clapped the cover on the pan with a resounding clash. She pulled a little table raspingly toward the stove and set the pan with a thump upon it, mean- while attempting to hum a little tune, which died out vaguely in the oppressive silence. Sighing, she picked up a mending basket and settled herself in a chair beside the smoky lamp. 63