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

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6 YFRGEXXES HIGH SCHOOL looked at the buzzer on his desk expectantly. Suddenly it buzzed again. His ears had not deceived him, and his senior partner desired his presence in his adjacent office. Jimmie arose, straightened his tie, and walked into the other room. Mr. Howard, his partner, was walking the floor with his eyes on the button on his desk, ready to make further attacks on the silence. W hen Jimmie came in the door his partner picked up a piece of scrap paper which evidently bore a telephone message. ‘‘You’ve got a job, Jimmie. he announced as he studied the strip of paper. A Mrs. Van Sweldt just called up and wants me to send over someone to give advice on a room she is finishing over. She said that it was to be a very special work of art. which is why I am telling you about it. because I know you like a job where you can use your imagination and someone else’s money for a lot of fool effects.” Jimmie smiled. His partner was more interested in strong steel frames in buildings than beautiful interiors. He left the joy of such work to Jimmie. Mr. Howard went on. “It gets me. he lamented sadly; “some people are so rich that they do over a room, not because the wall paper is dirty or the ceiling is cracked, but because they want something new to look at. It’s a wonder that they don’t demand that the city change the street in front of their houses because it bores them.” Jimmie laughed. “You should worry. They pay you for it anyway, and this individual may have good reasons. Where does she live? I’ll run right over and see what she wants.” Twenty minutes later Jimmie stepped from an elevator at the fifteenth floor of the new high front apartments of upper Fifth Avenue. He rang the bell of Apartment Number Twenty-eight, as per advice, and was rewarded by the appearance of a grey-haired woman dressed in a large and flamboyant dress of thin material. When Jimmie had introduced himself she at once became both cordial and talkative. “It’s all for Flossie,” she was saying as she led him across a luxurious parlor to an outer room which was devoid of furniture. “We want her to feel that she has a room all her own, so we are having this one done over in miniature just for her. I want the door cut in half so that the bottom can be opened without the top. The windows will have to be made lower, and 1 think a fountain with gold fish would interest her.” Jimmie felt a glow of satisfaction. “Mrs. Van Sweldt,” he said. “I wish vou would leave this entire job to me. I know exactly what you want. With the measurements of that room I could make it a bit of outdoors, a bit of fairyland.” Mrs. Yan Sweldt beamed. “ ou may go as far as you like.” she said. “Nothing is too good for Flossie. She has been the same as one of the fam-ilv ever since we adopted her.” Jimmie’s heart warmed. These rich old dames were human after all. He would have something to talk about when he got back to the office. Supervised from the drawing board of Jimmie McNealan the work progressed rapidly. Nothing was omitted which would make a lonely child in a big house happy. Even Mr. Howard became thoughtful, and he made several helpful suggestions. Jimmie noticed that he became more interested in the happiness of his own children and that a play-room was taking shape on the drawing board of Mr. Howard, to be installed in his own home. At last the work was finished, and Jimmie called at the Van Sweldts’ to see the effect and to catch a portion of the joy of little Flossie as she played in the room. He was admitted by the butler, and was surprised to find Mrs. Van Sweldt before the little door, trying by various shoves and coaxings to make a small white dog go into the room. “It won’t go in,” she complained, almost angrily he thought. “Why don’t you have Flossie call it from within?” he said with a smile.

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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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BLUE AND WHITE 7 Mrs. Van Sweldt looked surprised. “This,” she said, regarding the dog disgustedly at arm’s length, “is Flossie.” THE CHIPMUNK WITHOUT A TAIL I saw him near the house one day— This chipmunk without a tail; This is a pun in an obvious way, Now you can follow the trail. But how in the world could he lose his plume? Perhaps he was caught in a trap; Perhaps he fought, then started to fume, And escaped with it there in the gap. Or maybe a man with naught to do Took only a souvenir And let him live, ’though I’m sure he knew He’d been cruel. The poor little dear! And those who guessed the sad mishap, And guessed his cause to wail, Felt sorry for the little chap— The chipmunk without a tail. Lois Bristol, ’32 DEER HUNTING I sit here in my seat today And picture the woods so far away. 1 picture the men all hunting for deer, 1 picture the day; it is nice and clear; But the prettiest picture I can see Is the mother deer and her baby, Afraid to venture out in the clear I’or fear some hunter is waiting near. 1 he little one seems so happy and free, But mother knows there will danger he— If the hunter sees so much as her head He’s sure to shoot. What a terrible dread! I wonder, dear men, what picture I’d see If you were the deer all ready to flee, And they were the men behind some tree. All ready to shoot the minute they’d see The least little bit of your body. Agnes McDurfee, ’34 ON THE SLOPE OF A MOUNTAIN GLADE On the slope of a mountain glade. Where the trees arch high above, 1 love to pause and hear the wind Sigh out its song of love. On the crest of a ridge of rock, That marks the height of a peak 1 stand and watch the world of men, And the view is barren and bleak. But the woods are cool and still, And you know no other’s woe. Shall human mind and human hand Be the force which bids them go? Roger Wendell, ’31 REALISM Mary Bourget. '33 It was a queer room, all green and black with a dash of orange now and then. The walls were broken swirls of orange and green against a black background, with no pictures. There were green velvet draperies, strangeshaped painted furniture and dimly lighted lamps. It was like some modernistic stage setting. Charles Van Wayne—a young Apollo—tall, slender and graceful, with dark hair and eyes, sat on the low couch before the fireplace. His dark eyes, intent on watching the flames, were thoughtful. Red flames, blue flames, yellow flames—all jumping. circling and changing, lie looked around. This strange gorgeousness was Sibyl’s sitting-room ! ‘Mother!’ Charles gave a hitter laugh, then— “Charles!” Jumping up quickly and holding out both hands, he drew Sibyl, a tiny, dark-haired, dark-eyed person, dressed in bright orange pajamas, to the couch. Tea and talk. Vivid talk from Sibyl, half-hearted from Charles.