Upper Kennebec Valley High School - Boreas Yearbook (Bingham, ME)

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THE BOREAS 'L f 8 I 4' regular cave man plunge into the water over the trout. The trout, which must have thought that the world was coming to an end, started on another rampage around the pool. After several minutes work, I had the trout ready for the net again. This time my friend, who was in my mind at that time, anything but a friend, grapped the leader and pulled the fish into shallow water. The tense mo- ment had come. After missing that fish about a dozen times, my com- panion finally succeeded in getting the net tangled up in the dropper fly. Being unable to get the net untangled he resorted to another amateurish stunt, he began winding up the leader on the net frame. He wound about three feet of the leader before he stop- ped. Then, getting a solid grip he lifted the net, fish and all out of the Water. Perhaps you think that that trout liked this treatment, but he did- n't. He bucked, plunged, turned a tail spin, and took a nose diveg but still my friend held him over the edge of the water just to see if he was hooked solidly. After becoming con- vinced that the fish was hooked solid- ly, my friend laid the net and fish on the ledge. Just as soon as the fish touched the rock the hook was out of his mouth, and he was slowly slipping down the ledge toward the water. Something had to be done immediate- ly, and before my companion had de- cided what to do next, I had crossed the ledge and throttled the trout right before his eyes. When the excitement was all over my friend exclaimed with pride, I landed him, didn't I? C. C. '29 RAIN DROPS There's something sad and plaintive, Yet fills my soul with delight. About the patter of rain drops Upon my roof at night. Ah, how sweet are the memories, Revived by the dropping rain. How dear were they, the faces My eyes see once again. The images once so beloved Overflow my heart with pain As slowly before me they march In time to the pattering rain. In solemn review they pass Before my saddened sight, And with heavy heart, I pray For the ceasing of rain at night. A. W. '30 MAIN STREET OR BROADWAY Main Street with its funny little stores is so different from Broadway. This was what Sanford Marks was thinking as he walked into the post- ofiice, which was tucked away over at one side of a tiny grocery store. The grocery store boasted the name 'Carl and Son'. It boasted of this name because Enos Carl was the most im- portant man in the small town of Wakefield. Sanford Marks laughed softly to himself as he said to the tall, lanky girl with hair combed straight back over her ears, Box 24, please . He was not laughing at this girl. Oh no! Sanford Marks would not do such a thing as that. He was laughing be- cause he was making himself believe that he lived in a tiny toy town, where

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BINGHAM HIGH SCHOOL young sheik in the third grade, the pride of his mother, and envy of the boys. For three days now he had scraped up enough courage to walk home with Gertie Pretzle, amid the hoots, howls and cat calls of his fellow- men. Before, he had always worn dirty overalls to school and had his hair all mussed upg but for three days he had appeared as though he had just stepped from the latest fashion magazine. Saturday it was reported that they were all to go to the town hall to pick out the characters and practice for the play, The Gallant Knight , which they were to give the following month. That night Snooty prayed as he had never prayed before that he himself might be The Gallant Knight , and Gertie Pretzle the fair heroine whom he marries and lives happy with ever after. Saturday afternoon the third grade had assembled and the teacher was reading the list of characters and their impersonators. Snooty's heart paused an instant as she read, The Gallant Knight, - William Desmond . Then witha whoop he went sailing around the room. He stopped in mid air as he heard the fair heroine allot- ted to Ethyl Doolittle, the freckled face girl in long pigtails and a finger in her mouth. Then came the practicing part and Snooty, very reluctant, was forced to put his arm around Ethyl and kiss her stubby fingers. With a sigh of relief he bounded to the door when it was over to walk home with Gertie, but Gertie sailed by very haughtily with the Harris boy. Witha lump in his throat, he turned homeward. His bubble of happiness was broken. The following Monday he again appeared in his dirty overalls until another divine inspiration should come along. P. C. '30 1...-. HOW MY FRIEND LANDED A TROUT There I stood on a smooth sloping ledge, overlooking six feet of foaming black water, trying to keep that trout I had hooked from tying up all the sticks and rocks in the river. I was having all I could do when my friend offered to assist me. ' Now, when a person weighs about one hundred and seventy pounds, and wears a pair of hobnailed boots, he has some difficulty in crossing a slip- pery ledge as smooth as glass. After three or four timely escapes from a cold bath, my friend finally reached a sandy point on the farther side of the ledge. He secured my patented dip net, consisting of a crotched alder stick with a fifty cent net attached, and was ready to land my fish. There is a right and a wrong way to net a trout. By the right method the trout is slowly pulled in until he is within reach of the net. The man handling the net then very slowly and carefully siips the net under the fish, making sure to have the fish enter head first. My friend was evidently an amateur at this trick. As I worked the trout within the reach of his net, he grip- ped the handle of the net and made a

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BINGHAM HIGH SCHOOL .x I 9 1 4' all were tiny toy houses, and tiny toy stores,--the kind of place he had made with blocks of wood when he was a small boy. Somehow the little houses he used to build back in those far away days always used to make him unhappy. Mrs. Caroline Marks, Sanford's mother, was ,a very prominent woman in society. If one should find her wearing short yellow socks over white silk stockings, a green hat, and a yel- low coat, possibly with a red dress, one could be sure that all the ladies of her class would wear practically the same ensemble the next week. But of course Mrs. Marks would not wear red and yellow, for she knew what colors were right for brunettes and what were right for blondes, in fact, she ought to know because in the autumn one often found her with brown hairg in the spring, with blonde: and in the winter, with red to liven things up a bit, you know, winter is so dark and dreary it really needs a little color , she would say in a drawl- ing voice with the slightest English accent. Her son's boyhood had been lonely, as she was always too much interested in clubs and parties to spend much time in caring for him. As far back as Sanford could remember, he had always been left to himself in the stately old mansion at Long Island, which had been named The Glooms by his father, shortly before his sud- den death. Many people wondered why Tudor Marks had given his beau- tiful home this strange name, but his most intimate friends believe it to be because of his unhappy marriage. Today, as Sanford Marks walked from the post-office, he drew from a large white envelope a letter faintly scented with perfume. It was from his mother. He wondered what had happened that she should write to him for he very seldom received a letter from her. He hurried down the nar- row street and into the hotel. As the office was empty, except for the clerk who was nearly asleep, Sanford sat down to read his letter, which was as follows: Dear Son, I returned from the Williams' four days ago. I was down there for the week end, and I never had a duller time in my life. Really, that Mar- garet is getting plainer every day, and her husband is simply impossible. It must be awful away up in that hick town where you are. How is your job coming anyway? Do they intend to build the railroad? It seems silly to me that you should insist on working, when you might be enjoying life. I sprained my ankle the other day on Fifth Avenue. I was just coming out of Best Kr Co. It was raining as usual. CWe are having the worst weather here.J I am in bed for a week, the doctor says, so as I could do nothing else, I decided to write you. Oh of course, said Sanford to himself. I might have known it would be something like that, or she would not have written. He read the rest of the letter hur- riedly. Most of it was gossip except one paragraph about Dolores Arden, who, his mother believed, would make a good wife for her son. As Sanford folded the letter and put it into his pocket, the telephone rang sharply. The clerk jumped from his chair and sprang to the 'phone.