Woonsocket High School - Quiver Yearbook (Woonsocket, RI)

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THE QUIVER 23 sanity, and stared. Soon a rough voice called out, “Hey, there, don’t block the traffic.” However, the crowd did not disperse, and the policeman came to see what the trouble was. “See here, you old clodhopper, what’s the idea? Escaped from Cranston? Go on home, put some clothes on your back, and get a shave!” “Clodhopper, Cranston, shave!” Good God! Where in the world was he? “See here, if you don’t vamoose, I’ll have to land you in the coop. Come along!” Not knowing what to do, Rip followed the man with the blue coat. In the station house, Rip’s tongue loosened and he told his story. Why, it was only last night that he went to sleep in the mountains, after he had played and drunk with the dwarfs. The commissioner coughed, whistled, hemmed, hawed, and sent Rip into the next room. This certainly was a peculiar case. Could the old man be insane or was there truth in what he said? The chief decided to question Rip. No sooner said than done. When the chief had heard his story, he told Rip that he must have slept for two hundred years or more! Rip did not know what to make of this; he only gaped. Rip’s story was printed in the papers and he became the eighth wonder of the world. People came to see him and he gained more popularity than any “movie” star ever did. Soon things calmed down and Rip was placed in the Old Men's Home, where he amused the inmates with his stories. ANNE M. DUBINSKY, ’20 —In Memoriam— Esther Darman—“Nov lost, but gone before.”

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22 THE QUIVER RIP VAN WINKLE’S AWAKENING IN 1920 As I was reading Irving’s story of Rip Van Winkle, I wondered how old Rip would feel and look, if, having gone to sleep when he did, he had awakened in January, 1920. This is what I think would probably have happened: Poor Rip stretched his legs and whistled for his dog, Wolf, but no Wolf answered. Rip thought he had strayed away and would retuin in a few moments. B-r-r, it was cold! The air must have changed since last evening. It had been warm then. Rip yawned, stretched, and decided to go home. He got to his feet slowly, and was surprised to find that he felt stiff. Poor Rip! His rheumatism must have returned. Again he whistled for his dog, but no dog was visible. Rip decided to go home. He looked around for the path which he had come up the night before; but was he bewitched? Why, the very ground looked different. It must have been that wicked flagon of wine! He went down a path and found himself in a street. He did not know which way to turn. Soon he saw something walking toward him. It had a person’s face, but it was different. What was it? That wine must have been drugged. The figure came nearer, and Van Winkle saw that it was a man; but how different! His clothes were so queer and strange. The person looked at Rip, then stared, finally smiled, and walked off. Soon Rip began to look around him. What was that on either side of him? Great, big, tall red things. Rip looked. Why, they must be houses! In great confusion, he began to walk. He tried to detain people and ask them the way to his home, but they would not stop. Why were they busy? It seemed queer for them to be in so great a hurry. He walked and walked until he was interrupted by a shrill whistle. Something passed him, and Rip nearly dropped in his tracks. Surely he had died and been sent below by the Almighty God. Oh, this was terrible. His conception of the lower regions had been vastly different from what he was seeing. There was Rip, an old sorry-looking man, his clothes in rags, an old gun on his shoulder, standing utterly bewildered in the middle of a great street in a great town. Oh, if he could only meet some of his friends! He knew that they all could not have gone to Heaven. Soon a crowd began to collect around the unfortunate man. They looked at him, stroked their chins, made remarks about in-

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24 THE QUIVER “AND THE LEAST AMONG YOU SHALL BE GREATEST” The chorus of exclamations and shouts of laughter that arose after Tom Meredith finished his story died down and the group of men seated about the fireplace of the club den, smoking and telling yarns, became silent. Some gazed dreamily into the flames; others, plunged in thought, blew occasional smoke rings into the air, but none spoke. Suddenly, Dick Prescott’s pleasant voice broke the stillness and every man listened eagerly, for Dick always told a good story. “Speaking of kids and war orphans, let me tell you a true story that impressed me deeply. When I was invalided home from the front, after having chased a few Germans and lost one leg and been gassed as a consequence, I was pretty glad to get back to this land of peace and quiet, believe me. Since I could not take long walks very well, I used to limp around the grounds at home. We had a little summer house out oh the lawn where I liked to rest and write my stories and articles for magazines for it was so quiet and restful there. Not very far off was a low stone wall, which divided our place from a vacant lot where a gang of youngsters often gathered to play. “One afternoon as I sat in the arbor writing, I heard the kids talking and shouting. They seemed to be having an argument about something, so I went over and climbed up on the wall to see what it was about. I have always liked youngsters. I like to watch the kids play and have their ‘squabbles’ and get over them all in one breath. Well, these kids, it appeared, were going to play they were a regiment of American soldiers. Two or th ee little girls with aprons and Red Cross caps were to be the nurses, I judged. The boys had guns, or sticks to imitate guns, and paper or real soldiers’ hats, but they couldn’t decide which was to be the captain. One of the boys was saying. ‘Well, I ought to be captain, ’cause my father is a captain in the real army and I know all about it.’ “ ‘Huh,’ another little shaver scorned, ‘Gee, my dad’s a colonel. Guess that’s higher ’n an old cap’n.’ “Another put in that his big brother was a lieutenant in the aviation; another, that he had three brothers, one a sailor, the other two lieutenants; and still another, that his father was a major. “ ‘Quite a mix-up,’ I said to myself, and wondered how they’d settle it. “Just then, one of the boys noticed a little fellow who had just come into the neighborhood and who had been standing a short dis-