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

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tions made by the light on the shiny rain-swept streets, Mario, escorting a soldier, came down between the rows of red-checked tables. Pleeze,” he said to Susan, do you mind eef thees young man seets at your table? Every place ees so much crowded.” I’m glad I could find a table—the place is so packed, said the young man smiling, been hearing a lot about this place in the past months. It’s really swell,” he acknowl- edged. She shrugged her shoulders in unconcern, still gazing out the window. You take these things for granted, but when you’ve just come out of the Pacific such places are luxury,” he said regarding her indifference. This was the chance in a thousand. Her heart raced, Who told you about this place?” she asked excitedly. My buddy” he said, and it seemed like years before he added, want to see his picture?” Sam smiled up at her from the picture. I’m mar- ried,” the soldier was saying, but my pal’s single. He met a girl the week he shoved off, kinda hopes she’s waiting for him.” Susan sighed and turned the picture over. There on the back was Sam’s address. She hastily memorized it and in a moment she was gone. She knew she must write it down before she forgot it. The soldier winked at Mario for he was in on this too. Then he smiled down at Sam’s picture, Mission com- pleted, buddy,” he said. —Dean Rowden ’46 LAST PERIOD STUDY HALL What am I going to write about? That question al- ways comes up when our English teacher, Mrs. Rowe, says, 11

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 But mother,” she protested, I’ve hardly begun and besides it’s disgustingly early. Whatever excuse will I make for having my lessons unprepared?” She had any number of questions ready, for all of which her mother had answers. Five minutes later Joanne swept into her bedroom, storming about the shortage of minutes that the hours nrovide. —Ilene Darling ’46 MISSION COMPLETED He took her to Mario’s the first night they were to- gether. When Mario saw Sam with Susan he immediately sensed a blossoming romance. He smiled, turning up the corners of his black mustache, For Sam eet ess spaghetti— for the young lady?”— ah?” Sam nodded, the same.” As Mario went toward the kitchen, Sam’s muscular hands reached across the table and grasped Susan’s soft white ones. I know it’s all very sudden, but when a man has gazed on the fair sex for all twenty-five years of his life he’s sure when he has met the right one.” Will you be my girl?” he said hesitantly. Susan was silent. Don’t say 'no’. Perhaps we can correspond and maybe next time we meet you’ll be convinced.” Susan was mild, I won’t write, but I’ll meet you again at Mario’s.” All through the winter she ate supper at Mario’s. The warm food and soft yellow lights brought warmth to her body but not to her heart. Spring came. It became hot and crowded in the restaurant. There’s no use waiting much longer she thought, for she realized that he had either gone overseas or had forgotten her. One particular night it was raining out, a soft rain, warm and life-giving, as only the fresh spring rains are. As she sat gazing out the restaurant window at the reflec- 10

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 I want you to write a composition for tomorrow.” How we hate to hear those words. After writing 6000 compo- sitions in the last six years, it’s the same old story—no ideas, no nothing. This is the last period in the afternoon and I never feel like working because school will be out in exactly 32 min- utes, and how those minutes drag. I look around the room and see Hunt scratching his ear and working very hard, Harry Bickford reading some digest, and behind us Everett Dargie writing with his new $1.00 fountain pen that sounds like a mowing machine. I can also see Stearns digging away on geometry. How can they work so hard in the last period, or look as if they were, anyway? Here I am just sitting here trying to think. Dargie just got up to sharpen his pencil and he tripped over my foot. Clumsy lout! I’ve been thinking now for seven minutes and school will be out in 2 5 minutes. If I don’t hurry I won’t get my composition done. Gosh, I can’t get over how quiet this study hall is. It’s not this way very often. Some- thing’s wrong. Maybe I can go to sleep. The sun shines into the study hall and it makes me drowsy. No, I guess I won’t tr 7 it Oh well! Twenty minutes to go. Looking around the room I see I’m not the only one taking it easy, for others now are looking around. I did- n’t think this industry would last long. It makes me feel better to know I m not the only one not working. Hunt just turned around and spoke to Stearns. I wonder what he said? Well! Harry Bickford’s got an- other magazine to read. That’s an idea. Maybe I should get one and forget compositions for a while. u teTamS jYSt quit Work and Picked UP a comic book. Maybe I can think up something to write about tomorrow and read a magazine myself for the last five minutes. •Lust the thing Scholastic Magazine, page 21, Boy Dates Girl section! —Robert Normand ’45 12