Wells River High School - Chatterbox Yearbook (Wells River, VT)

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THE CHATTERBOX 9 zan” attracted much attention. From there you could see most all of Lake Champlain, and the country for miles around. We hiked about seven miles through the woods to the Mt. Mansfield Trout Club, and just behind the Trout Club reservations we camped for the night. We made our supper of roast beef, tomato soup, bread and butter. We were up early the next morning because we want- ed to catch the trolley to Waterbury. I said trolley; it seemed more like a boat. It was a ride of about ten miles. We stopped at Waterbury to wait for the train for Montpelier. Of course, “Bing” was up to his tricks again, riding on a pass from Waterbury to Montpelier, which was marked Montpelier to Wells River. We ate supper at Miller’s Inn. You can imagine how we looked, as we shuffled in there, after hiking all day. Plainfield was about ten miles away. We hiked half- way and camped for the night. The next morning we got up and hiked an hour before breakfast, which helped us to work up an appetite, for our four cans of beans and the coffee. Then the word was, “On to Plainfield.” We arrived there about eleven-thirty, to wait for the ‘mud and water” home which sure did look good to us. for all its starts and jolts. We admired the up-to-date way of putting people on the train at South Ryegate; there is more snap to the conductors than there is to the train. When the group got off at Wells River, we were the same happy bunch only a bit the worse for wear. —L. Willis CURING THE CUT-UP “Al” Hicks was a natural born cut-up. He would think it a great joke to walk up to you and smack you be- tween your shoulder blades with enough force to make

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8 THE CHATTEFJBOX with money he was supposed to save, and would have bought eight more, if the money had held out. After getting our provisions and baggage together, we started for Mt. Mansfield. The day was warm, and each one of us had something to carry, for we had with us two pounds of beefsteak and four loaves of bread. We hiked until we arrived at Bingham Falls, one of the pret- tiest places I believe I ever saw, and you can’t imagine how cool and refreshing it was after traveling in the hot sun nearly all day. To tell the truth, we were pretty well ’‘tuckered out.” There at the foot of a twenty-toot fall and beside a stream of water that wound around in all manner of shapes and turns, and clear as a crystal, we cooked our dinner. Then we all felt so much better we looked the place over, and again started for Mt. Mans- field with four miles to go. We arrived at Barnes Camp, at five-thirty (about half way up Mt. Mansfield). There we left our luggage and went up in Smugglers Notch and explored a while. There were caves of all sorts and description. One espe- cially interesting thing was the elephant’s trunk. That being so much of a change after hiking all day, we actu- ally ran down to camp. We made our supper of beefsteak and bread and but- ter, and as we were all very tired, went to bed early. “Tarzan” got excited two or three times, but we calmed him down. We were up bright and early the next morning, ate our breakfast, washed our dishes in a nearby brook, and started for the top. The sign board said three miles and one-half, but before we got there it seemed six. At Taft Lodge we asked what he had for cold drinks and he said. “Plenty of cold water in the spring around the cor- ner.” We got to the top about one o’clock. We cooked our dinner and went to the tip top house, where “Tar-

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1« THE CHATTERBOX you lose your breath, and whoop how glad he is to see you are back again. He is the kind of comedian who re- marks when anything falls on the floor, like a pile of dishes, “You’ll find it on the floor.” He always said, “What can I do you for?” instead of “What can I do for you.” In short he wore the bunch of cowboys’ nerves to a frazzle, who had to put up with this sort of humor, which was really about as funny as a wooden leg, though he couldn’t be shown this. He broke into ranch life with a dead joke the first day. As he rode up and dismounted he remarked that, “I see they ain’t had no communication from Washing- ton by mail or telephone for over two weeks.” “No?” Pete Bohn bit. “And why’s that?” “Why, Washing- ton’s been dead more than a century,” the coot shot back at him. Then he doubled up in laughter, slapping his chaps with antics fit for a circus. For one solid hour af- ter that he kept his mouth going, firing one joke after another in an endeavor to keep up the reputation he fig- gered he’d made with us. He dug up the joke about an Englishman who was told that death is like a tin can tied to a dog’s tail, “because its bound to occur,” only he got it mixed and got it off by saying “it’s bound to a dog.” We did laugh then. By the next evening we had our minds completely made up about the popularity of “Al” Hicks. He was not serious a minute. For instance, someone would ask him if he thought it was going to rain. He would look up into the sky, as if studying, and feeling around in his pocket, remark, “Why, no I don’t feel any change in my pocket.” Or again, while we were eating he would be asked to pass the butter. He would nod without making a move for the dish. “That’s what I always do,” he’d declare, “you see I had an uncle once who was killed by a goat.”