Tower Hill School - Evergreen Yearbook (Wilmington, DE)

 - Class of 1933

Page 32 of 80

 

Tower Hill School - Evergreen Yearbook (Wilmington, DE) online collection, 1933 Edition, Page 32 of 80
Page 32 of 80



Tower Hill School - Evergreen Yearbook (Wilmington, DE) online collection, 1933 Edition, Page 31
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Page 32 text:

The Tower Clyial TO THE MAIL-CLAD ONE When leaders of nations sit down and agree That they all want peace, we can't easily see Why one man alone will seliishly say, I don't want peace as I can't have my way. The poor little fool, can't he see when he's licked? He's a little child saying, Go 'way or I'll kick. In his fame-addled brain he is iirm as a rock, No war, then no peace. Meanwhile true nations mock: You thick-headed slacker, for publicity's sake, You set all the lives of nations at stake. EUGENE PLUMSTEAD, '34. SHOES AND STOCKINGS SHOES and stockings, what a story they tell, all shapes and all sizes, all colors and conditions, and all kinds of owners. Walk with me down the main street today, or to- morrow, or even yesterday, and let us, in- stead of scrutinizing the faces around us, look at the shoes and the stockings. A pair of woman's shoes, pointed, and high-heeled, with sheer silk stockings, smooth and sleek. They must belong to a young woman of means, a good dresser who likes her clothes well fitted and shapely. Another pair, again a woman's, but what a. tale they tell! Down at the heel, the black leather dull and cracked. Once they were good shoes and would befit the feet of a queen, but they were not of much use then, for they were dancing pumps, pointed and glossy. But their gloss is gone, and their once beautiful leather is marred by ugly holes cut along each side to make room for much larger feet than they were intended for. They are iilled by a cheap pair of gray stockings, wrinkled and twisted, dirty and unwashed. The poor woman asks me for a few pennies. A man's shoes, high and well polished, their black color augmented by a pair of blue silk socks with red clocks. A man of wealth no doubt. And perhaps, we may go on to say, a rather old man. He likes good clothes, but he also likes to keep his feet warm. Now three pairs of legs all together, sport shoes. Two of them are entirely white and the other pair is black and white. A trio of young blades out on a good time. Again a pair of woman's shoes, brown, sensible shoes, with low heels, and leather pleated laces. A good pair of silk stockings. A sensible girl, no doubt. A heavy, man's shoe blocks our way, thick soles and heavy leather. They are big, well-kept, and shined. We can see that he is slightly flat-footed. A pair of official look- ing blue pants emerge from the tops of the shoes. We raise our eyes and nod to Mur- phy, Number 57, the City's pride. A pair of doll's shoes run at us, hesitate, turn, and then run the other way. They contain a cute pair of pink and white legs, in snowy little socks. A large pair of pure white shoes, with white laces, and an inch and a half regulation rubber heels, meet them. We take them for a trained nurse's and her small charge's. Here, a blazing pair of pure yellow 1nen's shoes, shined to the nth degree, and just blowing self-confidence and insurance poli- cies, but we hurry on desiring no insurance from our Salesman Sam. Sensible shoes with sensible stookingis follow these. Undoubtedly they belong to a business woman to whom fancy floppery has no appeal. A pair of rubbers follow with hesitant tread, although it is a clear sun-shiny day. A pair of thin bony legs protrude from their ' -Q28

Page 31 text:

FLUSH'l-VIRGINIA WOOLF GHERE, Flush, is a lovely chicken bone for you and I do wish you would not put those beautiful golden ears right in front of my letter. It is quite impossible for me to read it. Flush took the chicken bone, carefully jumped to the iioor, and with the very best manners began to enjoy his tid-bit. Elizabeth Barrett lay reclining on her chaise lounge reading as usual one of Robert Brown- ingfs letters. The shades were drawn in her back bedroom in the house on Wimpole Street and it was very cool and comfortable there. This is one of the typical pictures one has while reading this delightful book. It is short and rather unusual in the way it is written. Flush is Miss Barrett's dog and close companion. The story is as though he is telling it. You live with him through all his thoughts. Of course in this process Miss Barrett is almost always present so that you get a picture of her life, too, her attitude toward her pet, and the treatment she gave him. Flush was a descendant of the old roving Spaniels who came from Spain. In his blood was the desire and thrill of racing through fields and moors, chasing rabbits, as his an- cestors had done before him, but after he came into London to live with Miss Barrett on Wimpole Street the used to live in the country with old Miss Mitfordl he never ran or played, but devoted all his time to his mis- tress. He stayed in her room all the time and never went out to race and tear with the other dogs. Whenever he did go walking he always had a leash and had to act very digni- fied and well behaved. It was a great sacri- fice on his part to give up everything for Miss Barrett, but I think he was perfectly happy to do so because of his great love for her. Once he was stolen by some rough men who lived down in White Chapel Lane. It 27llv Tower J'fill School was a business of theirs to steal dogs and then demand huge ransoms for themg if the price was not paid, the head of the dog wrap- ped in a package would be sent to the owner next day. Miss Barrett was frantic and very upset, as you can imagine. Mr. Barrett did not want her to pay the ransom, since if she did, it would only encourage the kidnappers to continue their cruel business. But Miss Barrett would listen to no one and went her- self to the dirty White Chapel Lane. She went through many diiiiculties but finally Flush, very much frightened, but exquisitely happy to be home again, was safely returned. Elizabeth Barrett was very fond of her dog and had many pet names for him. She caressed him and fondled him, told him her troubles, read him her poems and in every way loved him as much as possible. Flush was conscious of this, but after a few years of being with her, he felt a difference. Some- how in some Way things were not just the same between them. Then a new person be- gan coming to see his Mistress a great deal. Flush was terribly jealous and once bit Mr. Browning because of his intrusions. After Miss Barrett had severely punished him for this deed and remonstrated with him, he promised he would never bite Mr. Browning again and would try to like him a little. Here one knows exactly how the dog felt and can sense his feelings keenly. Flush accompanied Miss Barrett and Mr. Browning when they went away to Italy and he lived with them until he became very old. Finally after a beautiful day playing in the streets of Florence he came home to Miss Barrett and lay down at her feet as of old, but this time never to move again. The life of Flush was ended, for the gold silken-col- ored Spaniel had breathed his last. MARY ANN RANKEN. '34.



Page 33 text:

tops with a pair of pants much too short for the owner topping them off. I know him to be a henpecked husband with a great hulk of a wife. Clean-cut Oxfords follow them in long powerful strides. They are good shoes and well kept. A rising man, of whom we shall hear much, later. Now a small pair of wet muddy shoes skip blithely along. They support a pair of thin masculine legs inside of cheap black stock- ings. They show us that our urchin has spent the day having the time of his young life playing in the gutters and is now home- ward bound, happy and content. Side by side amble these next, very close together and absolutely in time. We will leave the lovers to their temporary heaven. A pair of black shoes topped with a pair of shiny black puttees leap on a bicycle, and are gone, in the twinkling of an eye. West- ern Union. And so it goes, the big parade, with its endless mass of types and conditions, kinds and shapes, and colors and contrasts. We CAN tell the kind of person by the condition of his pedal appliances. RICHARD G. WOODBRIDGE, '35 STRANGE DEATH IF ONLY Steely had killed him he would have understood. That death would then have fitted in with the rest of his life. It would have been part of himg but to be shot down by mistake by a New York cop was the last end Jim had expected. Almost a year ago I had first seen Jim. I remember now how the low grey touring car had caught my eye as it skillfully maneouver- ed its way past the bumps so common along the Western back roads. Somehow I knew then that that high powered purr of the en- 2915 Tower c.7'fill School gine as it sped past me brought something new and unusual with it. As I turned and closed the gates, through the dust I saw the car jerk to a standstill in front of the ranch- yard. I had immediately liked the young man who climbed from behind the wheel and smiled sheepishly at me as he removed the dust from his sombrero. From the other side of the car had emerged an elderly man who, as I remember, took several minutes to get himself all together and then, reassured, had cleared his throat as if to remind his companion to hold open the yard gate. Through this he had disappeared into the house. This was the first time I had seen Jim and the colonel. The next day found me again opening the gates for the grey car, but this time it wait- ed for me on the other side. It carried us to Tony's Ranch where the wildest bit of horseflesh in all Wyoming was kept. Black Steel, or Steely as he was more often called, was small in size but he made up for it in spirit. Jim liked him right off the bat and even three broken ribs didn't smother his en- thusiasm for the animal. Steely got the best of Jim that first ride, but that was the last time. After two months in the hospital Jim was able to go East with Steely and me. It was Jim's job to ride Steely in the Rodeos. This horse wasn't like some of the others that got used to the noisy cheering of the crowds, for every day, crazed by the glaring lights and roaring people, Steely would twist and writhe under Jim. It was an unlucky season, for many of the other boys were injured. Their horses slipped on the wet sawdust and towards the end, J im's nerves had started to wear. Fortunately the last night found him safe and sound and in the money. He was to have left for the West early the next morning. As he wandered along the streets that last night, he suddenly under-

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