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Page 6 text:
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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.
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Page 7 text:
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BLUE AND WHITE 5 The right hand of the leader rested in his pocket. His companion carried an ugly looking automatic. With mock courtesy the leader addressed Joan. “Lady,” he said , “we want your pearls!” Joan’s eye met her aunt’s. Their other visitor interpreted the glance and politely informed them that it was no use to delay. She opened her purse slowly and took out the beautiful pearls. Aunt Ella excl(aimed incoL herently. With a grunt of satisfaction the leader reached forward to take them. lie was interrupted by a crisp voice. “Just a minute,” and a man, apparently unarmed, entered the room. Joan and Aunt Ella started with surprise. They recognized him,—Dave. The robbers also recognized the man. After following his glance to the doorway they surrendered their weapons. On the threshold two more newcomers were standing. “Take care of them, sergeant,” said Dave, and soon the unpleasant intruders had been removed. “The pearls—,” . said Aunt Ella, “Where did you get them, child? They are mine.” Joan told her story very, very briefly. “ I he same place I bought them!” exclaimed Aunt Ella. “I can’t understand it.” For the first time Dave spoke to them. “I can,” he said. “We’ve been watching that place. This is the fifth time they have sold those pearls. Each time the gang has brought them back. They were stolen in the first place.” “We?” said Joan. “Who are ‘we’?” “Oh, so you didn’t open my letters then 1 ’m employed by Smith’s Detective Agency. This case makes me a partner in the firm.” “So you are a policeman, Dave?” queried Joan. “A detective,” he corrected. “1 didn’t open your letters, but I wish that I had. ' Letters from a detective might have been interesting after all.” WINTER DAYS Some winter days are dull and grey. The clouds hang low. the air is still, The hills are cloud-draped far away; We turn indoors with inborn chill, To venture out some other day. Another time the sun shines bright. The air is clear and crisp with cold. The snow is smooth for our delight, The brightness serves to make us bold And travel far, when hearts are light. A day of heat will bring a thaw And fill the streets with dripping slush. Hilltops are muddy, bleak and raw; The world once more has lost its hush. And noise is once again the law. Roger Wendell, ’31 WISHES Why wish for a world with just sunshine? Why wish for a world without rain? Surely you know that life’s treasures Always come after the pain. Why wish for the gold at the rainbow? Why think there is nothing in life? Surely you’ve something to live for, Even though troubles are rife. Why say that the world is a humbug When your spirits are weary and blue? Surely you know that tomorrow You’ll start at the dawn anew. Why give up the fight without effort To drive all your sorrows away? Surely you know without thinking Joys will the cares thrice outweigh. Lois Bristol, ’32 PHILANTHROPY, ETC. Roger Wendell, ’31 Jimmie McNealan, junior partner of the Guilden Freize Architectural Contractors, stopped his work suddenly with his pencil poised in mid air and
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