Woonsocket High School - Quiver Yearbook (Woonsocket, RI)

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THE QUIVER 17 would wait a minute, he would share the contents with them. Off came the outside wrapper, which he folded and put one side. Some tissue paper came next, was carefully folded, and placed with the other paper. By this time I could imagine the boys having visions of home-made cookies, or perhaps of some of his mother s cake with an inch of frosting adorning the top. It might be fudge. Who could tell just at that moment when things were coming so slowly? Finally a waxed paper was removed. All heads came together to view a box of animal crackers! It was plain to see that this sort of “baby food did not appeal to those lads, who did not hesitate strongly to express their disappointment and displeasure. The “ticket-girl’s” time was up. The door was closed, shutting off my view of the corridor. I turned to join my companion with a feeling that these boys did not suffer from indigestion, as eating in such a cheerful atmosphere is a sure preventive against any such ailment. EILEEN V. M. GLEESON, ’23. GLEANED FROM BOOK REVIEWS When a boy, his mother died. David went to his aunt’s house, who adopted l}im. When going to lunch, the clothes get stepped on. When eaten in the shade of a friendly oak tree, the troubles which we have in the world seem to vanish. Thoreau’s foot, during twenty-six months of residence at Walden Lake, cost him but twenty-seven cents a week. I did not enjoy the book as much as I would a book of friction. “Great Scott” was the hero and most appropriate adjective. Beaucaire pulled a card from the Englishman’s sleeve, who had been cheating.

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16 THE QUIVER THE LUNCH PERIOD AT W. H. S. During one -of my visits to Woonsocket, I was walking in the vicinity of the High School about noon. My companion suggested that we have our lunch at the school. I readily agreed to this on remembering my other delightful visit there. After we had our lunch, I walked about exploring the lunch rooms. I entered a small room in which I saw a girl about to open a door. As I stood watching her, I found that this door opened into a corridor on the boys’ side of the school. Two rolls of tickets and a money box were on a table which the girl placed at the open door. About the time she was seated, a bell sounded and behold! a mad rush of hungry boys came from the upper floors and formed in line for their lunch tickets. It was most fascinating to stand back unseen, and watch the different ones. Some thoughtful youths placed the correct change in the money box. One lad, in his haste, opened his hand and from a height of a foot and a half, deposited twenty-five pennies on the table and passed on. Others came to the rescue and gathered them together for the “ticket-girl.” I could distinguish the Freshmen from some of the upper class-men, as they came for their tickets with please and went away saying thank you. A Junior demanded his tickets by pounding his fists on the table. I could see the effect this had on the girl and I have wondered if he has tried it since. One very tall lad came up to the table. The “ticket-girl” looked up, the muscles in her neck strained to the utmost. It was with much difficulty that she got her head back to its former position. The gaze had to travel far and quickly to be back in time for the next in line. The end of this line finally came, and the boys stood about in groups, eating their lunches. I made my way to the table and asked the girl if her work was ended, but found that she was to remain there to give the boys a chance to get more tickets, should they so desire. I stayed at the table, watching one group of boys being entertained by a lad who was demonstrating different ways of eating soup. First he extracted the “noise” and then finished in a most lady-like fashion. There was no end to the fun among them. I saw one lad fix his gaze on the coat pocket of one of the pupils and, as a cat watches a mouse, he very quietly made his way toward that bulging pocket. Immediately the rest of the crowd noticed him. That box looked good to them and it was with much difficulty that the owner took the bundle from his pocket. He explained that if they

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18 THE QUIVER ALL ON ACCOUNT OF “TOMMIE.' It had been a dreary Fourth for little Paul heeler, dreary both indoors and out. He had heard nothing but the steady drip of the rain, its pattering against the windows, and the continual scoldings of his father and mother; but now that he had been sent to bed, it had stopped raining, and the moon was shining. Paul, standing at the window of his room, reviewed the events of the day. Everything had gone wrong, the weather being a great cause, for if it had not rained, there would have been the picnic, with ice-cream, cake, and sandwiches; and then his family, including Baby Torn, would never have been so peevish. The little cry-baby,” however, was most to blame. Paul had tried hard enough today to stop Baby’s selfishness, but when he had tried to teach his brother by punishing him, his parents had punished him, too. “Not a bit fair,’ was his pouting comment. Could he help it if Tom had jogged his elbow, and made him spill his cocoa? Was that any reason why he should be lectured? Was it nice of Tom to keep saying every few minutes, “It’s still rainin’, Paulie.” And just because he had pushed the kid.” when told by his mother to play with Tom, he was sent to his room. “They’ll be sorry some day,” said Paul. Then he thought of his brother’s selfishness at supper, for Tom knew Paul liked that particular kind of cup cake; and when he saw Paul start to take the last one in the dish, he had said, “Muvver, please can I have that cake?” And of course “the baby” had to have it. But Paul had kicked Tom under the table, and that was some satisfaction, even though he djd have to go to his room for it. And now here he was, away up in his dark, old room all alone, and Father was telling stories down stairs. He threw himself across his bed and cried as though his little heart would break. “I don’t care,” he sobbed, “I’m jus’ cryin’ ’cause I’m mad.” And he certainly did cry—great tears splashed off his cheeks upon the counterpane, and left little “salt marshes” there. Paul lay still for a few minutes after this “cloud-burst,” and soon began to have a peculiar feeling, as if he were moving. He must be insane, he decided, and if he were. Tom was to blame. But was it insanity? His bed was moving slowly. Paul sat up with a start and rubbed his eyes hard, and still harder, for he did not recognize his own room. He could see a sheet of water where his carpet had been, and his bed and chairs were drifting about. “I didn’t think I’d cried so much. ’Spose I drown in my own tears!” But he had no time now for such thoughts, for he saw that his