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

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' The Blue fr VVhite 14 on his bed! W7 hat had happened to the costly silk covering? Yes, a feather bed, too-and himself in a flannel nightshirtl Where were his silk paja- mas and mattress? Then suddenly he remembered. How could he have forgotten that delicious sup- per and the memorable evening spent in that old- fashioned, seldom-used parlor, looking at old pic- tures of the farm and its residents which Johannes proudly displayed. Wfith a relieved and contented sigh he let himself back on the pillow. At half-past eleven Mr. Loi-entzen appeared shamefacedly in the doorway of the kitchen and explained, I just couldn't resist the real temp- tation of a good sleep without a business date at eight o'clock to worry about. Isabelle was standing over a bread board with her hands buried in dough. She smiled, saying, That's all right. Johannes is working in the gar- den Q he wants me to send you out so he can show it to you. You'll have to excuse us, but you know work must go on at a farm. During the conversation at dinner Mr. Lorent- zen asked, I suppose you know most of your neighbors P M Isabelle laughed as she explained, Land sakes, yes, Johannes can name any person that's lived around here since he was a boy. Isnit there a man and woman living near here whose name is Lane ? Johannes asked excitedly, XVhat's his first name? 57 W'hy, I don't know, but the initials are J. T. Johannes answered promptly, '1'hat's me. Mr. Lorentzen exclaimed, You must be jok- ing' me. But seeing their serious faces, asked, How soon can you take me to town, Mr. Lane ? Johannes answered the unexpected question rather unsteadily, VVell-er-why, any time you want to go. Right now ? y Right now. All right, go hitch up and hurry. But I don't- Mr. Lorentzen interrupted, Hurry, I have just remembered some important business that I must attend to right awayf' :of fa :lf ik as wk Pk 11: at 4: as is Mr. Lorentzen, seated in the office of his friend, Mr. Bishop, said, I've decided we don't need that new territory for the railroad. Mr. Bishop showed his astonishment, But- but-I thought you were the one who convinced the rest of us that we really had to have it. VV hy did you change your mind ? ' I think there are some things this world needs more than railroads. Such as ? Such as homemade quilts, feather beds, and flannel nightshirtsf' B. D., '3-L. THE END OF A PERFECT DAY Everything imaginable had gone wrong that day. Late to work, a call down from the boss, failure to get that contract, and now, a ticket at- tached to his car for parking. Well, he would settle that tomorrow. Slamming the door, Bill Moore seated himself comfortably and started the car. Everything was wrong with the world thought he. As he drove on, his mind was one whirl of hitter thoughts for that day. Only one thing was of any consolation to him and that was the quiet evening he was looking forward to at home. Slamming on the brakes as he came to a green light he let his gaze wander over the busy streets before him. He was quickly brought out of his trance, however, by the toot of a horn apparently belonging to the car behind. Suddenly it hap- pened, and before he knew it he felt his feet Hy from under him and his head bump the car top. Oooh! Gritting his teeth. Confound that driver. Might've known it would be a woman. Wait until I give her a piece of my mind. I'll tell her something she will never forget. With a dark scowl on his face he started for- Ward.

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I if 'I ' f .E 5 ,W U me 1.6 I .5 1 I - 'flax ' .. ,,.. ,Q '4 my N . seg.. Q ' 'Vi' 1 5 Q - A ef +.. :.,,,,,,fgf J., , THE CLASH Putting his arms about her and drawing her to It wasn't such a large farm but it belonged to them and of course it always would and yet- Johannes was jerked unceremoniously out of his musings by a clear voice calling from the door of the white farmhouse-''Johann-es, Johannes. Yes, yes, Isabelle. XVhat do you want ? was the reluctant answer. 'tEvery day for over thirty years I've heard you brag about the big results and easy plowing on this farm. I've been watching you from the kitchen window and you've plowed that row you're starting up three different times. Johannes released his hold on the shafts of the plow and walked slowly up the path to the house. As he reached the house, Isabelle asked, Are you still worrying about those railroad people ? lVell-er-ah. Don't lie now. Yes, I was thinking of them. But, Johannes, you said if we didn't want to sell, they couldn't make us. Yes, but I got to thinking and I don't know. That man that came to see us knows more than I do, and you know he said they could make us sell. Perhaps he said it to scare us. Let us hope so. The price he named was more than the farm is worth. Isabelle burst into tears. You know we couldn't get a price large enough for this farm. a seat on the doorstep, Johannes said slowly, No, there couldn't be another farm like this anywhere. For a few moments they sat in silence. Then Isabelle, who had been looking towards the road. stood up suddenly and cried excitedly, Look at that man coming up the road l The man was a short, sturdy type. His partly gray hair was rumpled. His perfectly tailored suit was wrinkled and dusty. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow. There was a streak of grease starting at the end of one eye and running down to the opposite cheek. I-Iis face was red and cov- ered with perspiration, and before him he care- fully extended two black, grease-covered hands. Ivith an embarrassed bow he said pleasantly, l'My name is Mr. Lorentzen, President of the Indiana Branch Railroad. Isabelle replied, My name is Isabelle and this is my husband, Johannes. Come right in and make yourself at home whi'e I heat some water for you to wash your hands in. Mr. Lorentzen looked relieved and followed Isabelle as she led the way into the house. Io- hannes followed, with a puzzled frown on his face. Isabelle said briskly. Bring the best chair out for Mr. Lorentzen and then start the fire. Mr. Lorentzen, you wash up while I get supper. Dk Pk Ik lk Pk Pk wk tk bk lk lk wk Mr. Lorentzen opened his eyes and stared sleepily around the large. airy bedroom. A quilt

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Westbrook High school is The occupant of the other car was somewhat stirred up also, and her temper was aroused as well for that car had just been delivered to her that morning as a gift from her husband, and to have a bent fender the first day was not very pleasing. Couldn't that man see straight? Couldn't he see the policeman's hand and hear his whistle? By now quite a crowd had gathered to witness the damage. A policeman made his way through the crowd. I tell you, officer, there ought to be a law against letting women drive. They can't see any farther than their noses. Fools! Their place is at home, not out riding. I tell you, officer, she's to blame. On and on Bill mumbled as he approached the object of this accident. Hey, why don't you--Heaven sakes! Jane- what are you doing here? All right, officer, this is my wife. I'll attend to it. Much to the amusement of the increasing crowd, Bill continued to mumble on and on, giv- ing ,lane only time to put in a word here and there. As they started to drive away, words of anger drifted back to the crowd. The war was on. So Bill and Jane went home but not to spend a quiet evening as he expected. 1 L. F. If., '33, CHOCORUA'S CURSE Once upon a time in the pleasant hills of North Conway, an Indian prophet and chieftain roamed through the forests with his young son. On one occasion he was obliged to go to Saint Francis, Canada, to consult his people. Believing this to be too long a trip for his boy, he left him with a settler living in a nearby county. This man was named Cornelius Campbell, and was a hardy hunter and an ambitious worker. The young Indian boy was happy in his life with the Campbells. He was interested in the hunting and in the home life of the family. It happened that Mr. Campbell had prepared some poison for a mischievous fox that had been troub- ling the settlement. This poison through some mischance was found and drunk by the boy. Chocorua, the boy's father, returned home and found his son dead. His mind was filled with un- reasoning hatred, and he plotted revenge on Cornelius Campbell. One morning, while Campbell was in the woods, Chocorua went to the hunter's home and brutally murdered his family, leaving evidences that showed only too plainly that an Indian had done the deed. A party was organized by the settlers to hunt down the Indian. After a long march, Chocorua was located on a high cliff, his retreat cut off. I-Ie had climbed the precipice to look for the return of his friends, who were away hunting. Mr. Campbell shouted to Chocorua to throw himself down into the deep abyss below. ' Chocorua, hearing his enemy's voice, replied calmly that the Great Spirit had given him' life, which he would not throw away at the command of the white man. Then raising his gun, Camp- bell told the Indian to hear this Great Spirit speak in the white man's thunder. So Chocorua fell, but in the falling pronounced a curse upon the white man: VVind and fire destroy your dwell- ings! Lightning blast your crops! The Evil Spir- it breathe death upon your cattlef' Uttering these inaudible curses, he sank. His bones they left to moulder in the sun. It is true, that his curse rested on the settle- ment. Tomahawk and knife were busy-winds tore up trees and blew down dwellings, crops were blasted, cattle died and sickness came to their strongest men. Finally the last remnant left the fatal spot to live in larger and more prosperous colonies. E. H. F., '33. A MOOD FOR EVERY SNOWSTORM It's queer how the snowstorms affect me. Each different kind creates a different mood. It has always been so and probably always will he so. Sometimes, when the snow comes tapping at my window, inviting, seeking a kindred soul,