Wells High School - Crimson and Gray Yearbook (Southbridge, MA)

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OCTOBER 1932 13 here immediately or I ' ll go out there for you. Billy! This time the boy arose. He knew the voice of authority. With his hands in his pockets and a gloomy look upon his face, he scuffed out of the shed and across the yard. Are you coming? demanded his father. Sure, I am. Well hurry up about it. Billy entered the doorway. Well? he in- quired. Time for you to go to bed and hurry up about it. No dawdling tonight. Awright. The youngster slowly made his way into the hall and up the stairs. He sat down upon a chair by the window and gave himself up to morose thoughts again. Half an hour later when his father entered the room, Billy was still sitting by the window, but the ugly thoughts had left his mind and he was gazing absently at the moon. Why aren ' t you in bed? It ' s after nine o ' clock. I ' ll just sit here until I see you asleep. Hurry, now. The weary, yet patient look upon the face of the man caused Billy to feel a sudden pang of pity. Maybe I won ' t do it after all, he thought, He hastened to undress and was soon in the Land of Nod. The next morning when Billy awoke, the delicious odor of griddle-cakes reached him. Oh, boy, he shouted and jumped out of bed, was dressed, and downstairs in a jiffy. Griddle-cakes were the thing. After he had finished breakfast, he went out to the shed to hunt for a screw driver. A bundle of odds and ends tied up in a red kerchief lying beside a stout stick caught his attention. Gosh! he said. Gee! I forgot that. He stared at the bundle as if he had never seen it before. Then, suddenly, he grabbed the kerchief, spilled its contents on the floor and chucked it behind a barrel. The stick he broke and deposited in the same place. I guess I won ' t run away from home after all, he concluded. Mom and Dad are pretty good sports. And then he grinned. He ran back to the kitchen. Hi, mom, he greeted, want me to help you with the dishes? Elizabeth Sutcliffe ' 35

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12 THE CRIMSON AND GRAY tried to get out of taking a bath by hiding in the hay-loft. Willis proceeds to go into the bathroom to take his bath. After thirty or so minutes, Mr. Brown wonders why he hasn ' t heard any water running, when all of a sudden a whoop comes from the bathroom and Mr. Brown rushes in expecting to find Willis badly hurt, but, to his surprise, there appeared a much different scene. Willis is pretending that he is an Indian, and is jumping around with a towel for a breech-cloth, the scrubbing brush sup- posedly a tomahawk, and a pile of rugs for a tepee. The shouts stop the minute the door is opened, and there emits a sharp noise of flesh meeting flesh. Finally Mr. Brown emerges from the door with his right hand strangely red, while an industrious splashing comes from the bathroom. Three quarters of an hour elapses, and still no Willis. Mr. Brown again enters the bath- room; Willis comes out immediately, and goes quickly to his room. Mr. Brown comes back into the living room with a turtle in one hand and the remains of a cake of soap in the other. It appears that Willis wanted company in the bathtub and tried out his pet turtle ' s appetite with a cake of soap. Mrs. Brown goes to clean out the bathroom and after that is finished, father and mother sit down to have a good laugh, for, after all, he is only like any other redblooded American boy. Donald Karle ' 35 The Shadow The clock struck twelve: twelve slow, long, resounding gongs. The house was quiet and dark, almost sinister. The air even seemed stuffy. In front of the fire place old Mr. Snotton was sleeping in his brown leather easy chair. Crash! Something fell, but Mr. Snotton did not awake. The moonlight streamed across the room when a black, creeping shadow mar- red the gleam. Stealthy footsteps were heard, but still Mr. Snotton slept on. The shadow quickly approached the easy chair. He bent over Mr. Snotton, put a piece of white cotton on his face, and then crossed the room directly to a picture hanging on the wall. Slowly the shadow lifted the picture and found the safe. Success, at last! He put on his black gloves and soundlessly started work- ing on the safe. A queer buzzing sound broke the silence. Then, once more the room was quiet and sinister, and the air too tense. Five slow gongs were heard. Mr. Snotton stirred in his chair, put his hand to his face, pushed the cloth off, and dazedly looked at it. On the white cloth was the picture of the Black Shadow. To it clung the faint odor of the drug peculiar to The Shadow which made a person sleep for four hours. Then Mr. Snotton ' s gaze travelled to the picture. There was The Shadow, crumpled on the floor with a face distorted by pain, dead. He had been killed by the electric current run- ning through the safe which meant certain death to one ignorant of its presence. Rita Livernois ' 33 The Inconsistency of a Boy They ' ll find out. Just you wait! They ' ll be sorry. You bet. Just let ' em wait. They ' ll see! Such were the thoughts that passed through the mind of Billy Morris as he reclined on an old cot in the shed behind his home. I got $2.45. There ain ' t much I can ' t do with that! Oh, no! Dusk had fallen and lights had begun to glimmer in the houses up and down the street. Soon Mrs. Morris came to a window and called out, Billy! Billy, come in now. It ' s bedtime. Bill-ee! Silence. Billee! Still silence. I ' ll call your father, warned the voice. Billy did not stir. Let ' em call, he thought. Who cares? Another figure appeared at the window and, after a moment ' s low murmur, a masculine voice boomed out, Billy, you rascal, come in

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