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

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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.

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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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8 VERGENNES HIGH SCHOOL --------“Charles. I met that Mr. Roberts. the wonderful bridge player, today! He’s darling, and looks just like a count!’’ -----“Do you suppose he'll help you any?” -----—“Think of it, lie’s going to help me. and—I’ve invited him to dinner !” -----“Oh------------” Came college. Charles, now “Van.” was easily the most popular boy on the campus. He drove, he swam, he rode, he danced, he paddled, he played polo, was enthusiastic about golf, and was class president. Then came the Annual Masquerade Ball. Of course Charles invited Sibyl. --------“Charles. I want you to introduce me as your cousin. Don’t tell anyone that I’m your mother. Will you. Charles? Please!” He looked down at her. Sibyl dressed in a flowing red chiffon dress with velvet hearts scattered here and there, her tiny, high-heeled, red velvet slippers, her striking crown of rubies and red silk mask—she was undeniably a “Queen of Hearts.” There was a hurt look in Charles’ eyes but he said. “If you want me to—Sibyl.” Charles, gayly dressed as a highwayman. danced with Jerry, with June, with Hildegarde; he danced with gypsies, with ballet-dancers, with Turkish girls, but always with that hurt look in his eyes. It was three weeks after that when Charles’ dreams were completely shattered. On coming back from golf he found two letters awaiting him. On reading them his dark face became white with pain. Sibyl’s letter—hap-py-go-lucky. Dad’s—sympathetic. Over and over again the words echoed in his ears, “A divorce! Must choose Between Dad and Sibyl.” Bitter thoughts—Life, life was just a game, a game of hearts. Everyone must play his own hand. Plearts were trump. Look at Sibyl, daring, sophisticated. an expert at the game. Sibyl, always ‘posing.’ Sibyl, lazy, stretched on the couch in her bright orange pajamas. her dark head against a colorful pillow. Sibyl, smart in black and white, alert, laughing and interested, on the golf course. Sibyl, dressed in a pale evening gown, lovely, fun-loving and strangely wistful, at a ball. And Dad! Charles’ voice broke as be said, “You’re a trump. Dad!” He had made his choice. Slowly the curtains .closed, hiding Charles Van Wayne, the popular Broadway hero, from view. Silence. The spell-bound audience relaxed its tenseness and drew a breath of satisfaction. The play, “Realism.” had made a hit! A QUEER BOXING MATCH Wilma Wood, ’31 Come with me to one of the foothills of the Green Mountains. The time—noon in late November. The scene—a clearing in which a man and a boy. sitting side by side, are eating their noonday lunch. Nearby is a pile of wood which tells us that they are choppers. They finish their eating and are resting and smoking when we hear the boy say, “I’d like to know what that ’ere dog be barking about. He hasn’t stopped since ’round ten o’clock this morning, accordin’ to my hearing.” “Let’s go and see. Joe.” answers the man, whom we take to be the boy’s father. So the two walk in the direction from which they hear the dog’s barks. After they have walked about eighty rods they see the dog and also see what has caused all the noise. The