Vergennes Union High School - Blue and White Yearbook (Vergennes, VT)

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2 YERGENNES HIGH SCHOOL EDITORIAL STAFF ...Robert Harrow, ’32 William Carter. Jr.. ’31 .Gertrude Fishman, ’32 .Charles Wilson. Jr.. ’31 DEPARTMENT HEADS Editor-in-Chief............. Assistant Editor...........; Business Manager............ Assistant Business Manager. Literary ................................................... Lois Bristol, ’32 French..................................Arza Dean. ’31. Gertrude Leonard, ’31 The Grinnery.................................................Harriet Field. ’31 rt ....................................-.....................Owen Griffin, ’31 Alumni................................................. Henry Richardson, ’34 Exchange.........................................................Roger Wendell, ’31 Athletics ................................Walter Ryan, ’33. Wilma Wood, ’31 School Activities.................................................Mary Bourget, ’33 Faculty Adviser............................................................Miss McGovern SUPERINTENDENT OF SCHOOLS Mr. G. W. Patterson Mr. W. H. Carter Mr. W. W. Smith. Miss All bee..... Miss Davis........ Miss Delaney...... Miss McGovern..... Mrs. Patterson.... Miss Wright ...... FACULTY ..................................Principal ........................Assistant Principal ..........Home Economics and U. S. History ..................-.............Mathematics ......................History and English ....................................English .......................French and History ..................Social Science and Latin TABLE OF CONTENTS Literary ......................Page 3 French ........................Page 10 Editorials ....................Page 12 School Activities .............Page 14 Athletics .................Page 18 Alumni ....................Page 20 Exchange ..................Page 22 The Grinnery ............ Page 23

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4 VERGENNES HIGH SCHOOL Lois Bristol, ’33, THE PRICE OF PEARLS William Carter, Jr., ’31 The sleek attendant delicately extended one more shimmering string of pearls. Beneath his bored shop-expression a careful analysis might have detected a keener interest than seemed plausible. Joan, however, was not accustomed to analyzing salesmen. Salesmen were servants. With a languid air she took the proffered string. In spite of herself she gasped. The beauty of the stones affected her! With surprise at this emotion she reflected that only pearls, probably, could affect her now. She hated this thought but said wearily. “I’ll take them.” Ten thousand dollars changed hands—It wasn’t important. A moment later a sporty imported green roadster shot away from the curb before the shop. Her languidness had partly disappeared. The attendant stepped to an anteroom. He reappeared almost immediately. Another car. a ’28 Packard, swung in behind the streaking roadster. It soon dropped behind, however. Men can’t afford to be held up for speeding. Joan wouldn’t be. Cops never noticed when a flash of green hurtled by. The city passed; Joan only increased the speed of her superb machine. It didn’t matter now. Yet she must wear the pearls. No—Pearls! It was nearly a year now since Dave had gone. She had cared for Dave. He would never know how much she had cared. Work—he had really gone to work. Yet she wondered what he was doing right at that moment! Confound his stupid pride! The man had been absolutely stubborn. Why hadn’t he accepted s job with Dad? Pie did have pride. It had been different before the crash. Then—but that was all past now’. Dave was working somew’here. His own job; no pull; no woman’s money; standing on his own feet, as he had said. She hadn’t answered his Literary Editor letters; she hadn’t even read them. He hadn’t written for months, and she had suffered, wishing that she had been willing to sacrifice everything to be with him. The wind rushed by her head faster and faster. Unconsciously she swerved dangerously near the ditch, twisted the wheel, went on and on. An hour later an old Packard was the only car in sight. With a sigh she snapped out of her revery. She remembered the pearls in the little bag beside her. She was surprised to find that she was near Aunt Ella’s. Aunt Ella understood one’s trouble. She would admire the pearls; she loved beautiful things. Joan soon swung up the crunchy gravel drive before her aunt’s colonial “cottage.” She ran up the big steps and into the hall. Aunt Ella, coming down stairs, seemed very excited. After a breathless conversation Joan gathered that her aunt’s safe had been opened yesterday afternoon and now stood with door ajar, empty. Aunt Ella had just returned from a weekend trip. Detectives were on the way. With a pang of regret Joan thought of Dave. In the old days—it wasn’t so long ago that he had been with her. This was the very kind of situation he liked. He loved detective stories. Joan didn’t admire this trait. She preferred to occupy his thoughts herself. They left the hall and were seated in the drawing room. Hearing the sound of wheels on the drive, Aunt Ella exclaimed with relief. “Probably the detectives! There will be no publicity and, of course. I hope to have my jewels back.” Almost immediately they heard the slamming of the big door. This was strange. Detectives who enter without ringing aren’t appreciated at such houses, and the servants rarely passed through the front door. The two friends stood up as steps were heard approaching. Both were silent when two men. well dressed yet too flashy, too sleek, entered the room.