Westbrook High School - Blue and White Yearbook (Westbrook, ME)

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26 Qiibe Blue :mb white shoot these rapids, but up to the point of our story, no one has suc- ceeded, and those who have attempted it have either been drowned or killed by being dashed upon the rocks. O. S., '16. Tolly, the Amateur Detective JUNE 17. Now that school is closed, perhaps, I'll have time for my diary again. There's one thing about diaries-after you have kept one long enough, you see that things really do happen to you after all, even if you seem to be having a sort of dull time as you go along. And it's still worse when you have such an awful name as I have-Tolman Oourtenaye Smith, called Tolly for short. My mother got it out of a book. I suppose that's why none of the other boys have such names, but are just plain Tom orJim. I was twelve years old last week. QOne must always write numbers out in words, unless they are very big. Teacher says so.l I think it's about time I decided what Pm going to do when I grow up. I've thought of everything. There's dentists, and cowboys, and sailors, but I guess I'll be a detective, and what's more, I'm not going to wait till I get awful old. 1'm going to begin now, and hunt for clues and things, like Sherlock Holmes. A JUNE 20. It certainly is funny, but just as soon as I decided to be a detective, along came a mystery! To be sure, it wasn't like having a mur- der, or lots of diamonds stolen, but it's most as bad. Our big dog, Jip, has disappeared! Now, of course, Jip was kind of bad sometimes. Aunt Clare hates all kinds of dogs, and she always hated Jip, who felt a a similar dislike for her. He always barked when he saw her, and one day a while ago, he ran off with a whole leg of lamb which happened to be in the kitchen. But otherwise, Jip was a fine dog, at least we boys and Uncle John always thought so. We never would let him be punished, nc matter what he did. Jip and I were great friends. It seems kind of lone- some now. It has been two days since we have seen him. I thoughtl might as well begin practicing being a detective, so I looked around fo: foot-prints, but there so many every where in the road, that I gave it up Jip wouldn't wander away by himsel anyway. Probably somebody stolf him. JUNE 21. A clue at last! I wa out this morning with Tom Randal and we had a great time. He had half a dollar to spend, and there's on thing about Tom, he isn't a bit stingy Tom is fourteen, so he always ha more money to spend than I do, bu fifty cents, all at once, is a lot eve for him. But he said this wasn't any thing--it was only the remainder of whole dollar he earned three or for days ago. He absolutely refused 1 tell me how he earned it, even whe I said cross my heart and hope ' die. That was queer, for we haw always told each other secrets. B1 I don't care, I paid him back by n- telling him about being a big d tective. We were having a fine tin and then I began to tell him aboi poor Jip. I told him how Uncle Jol said held have the one that stole killed Jip arrested, if he could iii him. Just then Tom ,said he had

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The Blue sub white 25 hastened toward the camp. A shower of sparks met them and they were driven back. The bear had scattered the coals of the cooking iire among the dead leaves! Make for the raft I' made for crossing the river! shouted the guide to the hunters. He himself hurried again towards the camp, to get some necessary things, but it could not be reached. Quickly abandoning this attempt, he followed the other men, and crossed with them to the other side of the stream. No sooner had they landed than the trees began to burn on that side, sparks having blown across into them. Then Joe pushed the raft to the mid- dle of the stream, and let the current take it. Bump! bump! The raft swayed dangerously. Lay down flat! ordered the guide. The raft then began to go from one side of the stream to the other, plowing into rapids, bumping into rocks, and each time nearly tipping over. How long can -- Crash! went the float against a rock. Steer it ashore: we're nearing the Bend? The guide tried it, but the pole that he was using was not stout enough. Crack! and it was broken short off! Catch hold of the edges! cried the Indian, as the frail craft entered the Great Bend with the speed equal to an express train's. At times it bounced completely out of the water, and at other times it sank out of sight in the whirl of water. Thus it had made its way about half through the Bend, when it struck a snag, lurched to a. perpendicular position, and stuck solid. The three men were hurled into the water with great force. The two hunters were dashed upon the rocky shore, unhurt, but this good fortune failed the guide. Now unconscious, he continued his wild course down stream, shooting over rapids into the whirlpools at their base, rushing on until he finally was hurled ashore half a mile below the Bend. After a long hunt, his companions found him and restored him to health. To this day, he is the only man who ever went through the Great Bend, and lived to tell the story. I Thus the name Hazy-River Joe was bestowed on him, and even now he is known by no other. uf as It an s an In south-western Canada, about a hundred miles from the border, there is a very treacherous stream called Hazy River. Before power plants were established along its banks this river was noted for its very swift cur- rent and enormous stretches of rapids. The most dangerous part of the stream is at a place known as Great Bend. It is the most northern point of the river, and the point at which the stream turns and ilows southward. This place is made up of a series of tumbling rapids, uearlyhalf a mile in length, where the dark waters pour over immense rocks with a thunder- ing roar, throwing continuous showers of white spray many feet into the air. At this point the river is about a hundred feet in width, and its shores are lined with jagged cliffs, while its surface is dotted with snags. In parts of the Bend the water rushes over boulders so large that the roar can be easily distinguished long be- fore the stream is sighted. For the greater part of its length, this river ilows through endless forests which are inhabited by wild animals of all kinds, and the country is so wild and rugged that for many years it was visited only by Indians and a few of the more daring white men. Many times have men tried to

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Uribe Blue ani: white 27 go home, because he remembered his mother wanted him to do some er- rands for her. Look here, he said, I bet that dog got lost or something. I don't believe anyone killed him or anything. But he looked queer and hurried off. I wonder if he does know anything about Jip. I am going to watch out. JUNE 25. I had a queer dream the other night. I seemed to see Jip coming along toward me, wagging his tail just as he used to, and trying to make me follow him. I did so, and he led me out behind the barn,where the old Baldwin apple tree is, and began to paw the ground and bark, as though he knew something was hid- den there. Just as I began to dig, I woke up. All day I couldn't help thinking about Jip and the dream. Finally, I took a spade and went out by the tree, and I had just made a small hole when Iheard Tom shouting for me. I answered l1im and he came around the barn, but when he saw what I was doing, he turned awful white. Then he said, O, Tolly, please don't tell on me. Your aunt Glare gave me a dollar to do it, really she did. After that he told me the whole thing. How Aunt Clare hated all kinds of dogs, and was afraid of Jip, and so she hired Tom to kill him, but made him promise not to tell. But you found out, anyway, he said, so I had to tell you. Your aunt Glare knew your uncle would be mad if he found out, and so when you had all gone to the County Fair, I happened to find Jip asleep under this very tree. I ran home and stole some chloroform, and as soon as he was dead, I buried him right here. He didn't suffer any, truly. I told Tom I would never tell, I guess sometimes detectives do let their victims go free, anyway. Tom and I wrote an epitaph for J ip, beginning- Every dog must have his dayg Jip had his and passed away. We would have put up a board with this on it, but we knew it would be seen. and so we hid it in the hollow trunk of the tree. And now I am looking for more mysteries to solve and more clues to detect. MARIAN S. Hasmmon, '16. THE MAJOR'S ,BATTLES In a small New England town, there once lived a man called Major South. No one was aware that he had ever shouldered a musket, but, when he arrived in town, he told the stage driver about a great battle in which he had figured as major. So the stage driver introduced him as Major South, and Major South he re- mained. Now, this man had two hobbies. The first was to tell of his marvelous battles, and the second was to appear young. His hobbies soon became well known, for, as is the custom in all small towns, when they had noth- ing to do, all the men and boys sat around the country grocery store. Thither the major came every day and told of his great adventures. Oh! the many, many battles that man had engaged in! His recitals were interesting at first, but in time they grew monotonous. Yet no man, woman, or child would have dared breath a word of doubt concerning