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

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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.

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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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4' THE BoREAs I l Yes, yes, he exclaimed nervously into the 'phone, I'll find him. His eyes searched around the room until they rested on Sanford. Then he said, Just one minute. He is here. You're wanted at the ,phone, Mr. Marks, he said, trying his best to conceal a yawn. Avoice came across the wire. It was a stern voice, but it sounded pleasant. That you, Sanford? it asked. Pm sorry, old man, but I can't build that railroad this year. Kern's bank has failed. That's what I got for trusting money to private banks. Sorry you traveled away down there for nothing, but come on back to Broadway. The Rosita and Ramon team from Paris is dancing here next week. Sanford walked slowly up the stairs. He went into his room and gazed dreamily out of the window. Every- thing in this town seemed so peaceful and quiet. He was just deciding to stay in Wakefield for a vacation when a gray touring car stopped in front of the hotel. Two smartly dressed young ladies, followed by a tall blonde man, stepped from the car. Of all the bad luck, cried Sanford 10 aloud, this is the worst! If here isn't Dick Gerald, his wife, and his sister from New York, the most an- noying people I know. He ha.d no sooner uttered these words than the door of his room flew open, and in came the three of them. All in one voice the three ex- plained that they had been in Canada and hearing he was in Wakefield, de- cided to stop off and see him on their return trip. Esta Gerald, who was Dick's wife, insisted on Sanford's going back with them as soon as she found that the railroad was not to be built. So it happened that a week later Sanford Marks sat in his study on the second floor of The Glooms at Long Island deep in thought. This time he had decided on a vacation where the Geralds wouldn't interrupt him, for he had already made reservations to sail the next day to Calcutta, India. He dared not go to Paris because he would surely meet some more of his so-called friends, nor to London where so many of his relatives lived. Some think it fortunate to be wealthy and famous, he was think- ing, but I am tired of it all! E. R. '31 -T' QJQQXEQJVQ ejfeeffe QJE