Wethersfield High School - Elm Yearbook (Wethersfield, CT)

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fateful evening. He smiled with satisfaction as he walked before the tall looking-glass. After all, he was good-looking. Six feet and more in height, sparse and brown, with a tiny black chevron of manhood on his upper lip. Stewart had encouraged him to the last and, indeed, he felt quite confident as he jumped into his car and scooted toward her home. Ann was at the door when he leapt up the stairs. It's so perfect tonight, let's go for a drive,', she said when she saw he had brought his car. They went. Speeding along over the road, he wondered if he would lose courage at the last moment. Soon they stopped on a high hill where they could watch the late moon rise. As the moth-white orb fluttered up, Smith felt a queer sensation. He spoke softly to his partner, and in a minute it was over. He had proposed! He couldnlt remember what he had said, he only heard her sigh, 'lOh, I'm so happy! t Then he took her home and' lingered but a minute to say good night. When he awoke next morning, the scene of the preceding night came clearly to him. Not until then did he realize his folly. She had ac- cepted and now, what a hole he was in! He'd take Stewart's head off today for ever suggesting such a plan. No. He wouldn,t tell him any- thing, but would see Ann that very afternoon and explain everything. She would understand, he knew. They arranged to go for another drive, and when he called around, she was ready,-attired in deep sapphire, that reflected the color of her eyes. They drove and drove. Somehow Smith couldn,t seem to explain matters, for every time he looked at her he changed his mind. Oh, gollyf' he gasped finally, I thought I was only pretending to love you last night, but Fortune fooled me,-I really do. And there's no moon here now to kid me along, either!,' -Olive Symonds, ,29. TIME Time Is the only thing In this wide world Of ours Which, To be saved, Must be spent. -Gertrude Francis, '2 S.

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They were watching the girl, when suddenly she turned back, and recognizing the two men, she smiled and ran forward. A long white evening wrap hung carelessly about her, and Smith wondered why he had never noticed her extreme beauty. How fortunate to find you here, she cried as she reached their table. My car has broken down and canit be fixed tonight. Worse than that, I haven't a cent of money with me. Would one of you mind taking me home? I simply can't go alone. Stewart was all honey. He leaned forward and spoke confidingly in her ear-just loud enough, however, for Smith to hear. My friend here would be delighted, Miss Hough. Sorry I couldn't have the pleasure myself, but I'm taking a train for Philly in twenty minutes. Smith groaned inaudibly. Ann smiled. Oh, that's darling!,' she breathed. When Stewart had left, Smith called a taxi and took the girl home. She talked incessantly, and her escort, tired with the day's work, was relieved when she had said good night. The next day Smith was awakened at ten by a sharp ring of the tele- phone. He cursed softly to be aroused so early, and cursed more when he learned it was Stewart. Have a good time last night? his cheery voice came over the wire. If you ever try a trick like that again, I'll-if' Oh, forget it,', Stewart laughed. You need a little experience for this play of yours. By the by, I have a corking new idea. I'1l Write your love scene for you, if you will do something for me. Smith's mood changed. He liked to talk of his play. Thus, an hour later found him at his friend's office,-manuscript in hand. Listen, Stewart began, I've already written a new love scene. It's very simple. Now, what you must do is to try it out on some girl. Sec what effect it has on her and alter it accordingly in the final writing. Take Ann Hough. She'd never accept you, you may be sure of that. She's having too good a time racing around. What in the name of the seven mad gods do you think I am!', Don't be silly, old man. Your play is of great importance to you now. You must make it a success. This would be the only wayf, Smith pondered. He longed for success. Really, don't you think it rather absurd for me to attempt such a thing? he asked. That's the way all authors do. You must have local color. Come now, don,t be so backward. Before Smith left the office, he had determined to carry out his adviser's plans. That night he took Miss Hough to the theatre, and three nights during the following week, they were together. Then came the

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TICKLISH BUSINESS When Izaak Walton left his famous advice to anglers, he neglected to include in it all of the methods by which fish can be enticed to grace the dinner table. Ever since the day when, in the Fisherman's Guide, I read of the newest manner of catching fish, namely, of tickling them, it had been my desire to try out this novel method of the ultra modern sportsman. Last summer, it was my fortune to embark on an extended trip to the north, where a man's a man, peanuts are five cents a bag, and where three-foot trout spring out of sparkling waters just for the sole pleasure of being caught. Upon arriving, Jack and I pitched camp, looked to our tackle, and otherwise prepared for the big sport of the morrow. An early ,supper was planned, and what was our displeasure to find that everything but supper had been provided for us by nature. A trip to town was the only means of allaying hunger, and so we started along a path' which ran parallel to the bank of our chosen trout stream. It was near twilight time, just after the sun, like the actor of a great drama, had bowed his way to the wings and awaited the dropping of the curtain of evening. Near at hand the insects eheeped out their nocturne, while far off the calling of a night bird shrflly proclaimed its awakening. Proceeding along the trail, I chanced to glance into the stream, and there, not a yard away from the bank, was the largest trout I have ever seen, just awaiting to be caught. I had neither hook nor line, but, happy thought, as my hands twitched to touch the trout, I remembered the treatise on tickling fish! Carefully, I stretched out full length over the edge of the bank, which at this point was about two feet above the level of the water. With more care I slipped my hand into the water, and edged it out toward the trout. The cautious Indian, seeking to work his charms on his pet cobra, was never more apprehensive. Now I could almost touch the creature-and it moved, ever so slightly, but just out of reach. I stretched farther out over the brook. Again I tried, and failed, as the fish, alarmed by an incautious movement, wriggled away a bit more. I could not reach it now, but by having Jack sit on my feet, thus holding me to the bank while I reached for the fish, contact was again estab- lished. Now, to tickle the trout, I had only to move my hand an inch to touch him. It was going to be too easy! Then, with a mucky sough, the edge of the bank caved under our combined weight, and a moment found us flung into the brook. Believe it or not, the charm of that incident tickled the fish to death! -E. Malcolm Sftllllldflli, 28. T0 A TERRIER You're just a shaggy little mutt, A grey haired bundle of rags. Yours is a weeny bit of a tail, Spasmodic in its wags. Two eyes, a saucy, button-y nose, Paws turning in, out and up, But alas! I love you just the same, You adorable Irish pup! -Virginia Becker, '30.