Woonsocket High School - Quiver Yearbook (Woonsocket, RI)

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THE QUIVER 27 Finally, uttering dire imprecations and biting his lips in passion, he stormed the door—but all to no avail. Seventeen minutes after three o’clock (which was one hour later), he left. Would he ever return? Ah, yes. gentle reader, as much as we regret to— Hark! What was that? The door was gently pushed open, an inch at a time, and a youthful voice shouted, “Hey, Mom! It's all right to run the new cleaner again—the installment collector’s gone at last!’’ II THE STRUGGLE. Our hero clenched his teeth and struck. Clouds of dust arose, but the offending object was still there. He must—he must, for the sake of his home, his honor, his title—. He brought his club down again—this time with more power. His club was shattered. With tears in his eyes, he chose a stronger one, and with one ixnverful sweej)-. Five minutes later he was saying, “Caddie, haven’t you found that confounded ball vet?” II! CHA )S Impenetrable darkness! Showers of burning cinders! Choking fumes! ()n Iwth sides, groaning and clattering, the Stygian blackness rushed past. The child whimi ered and nestled against the mother, whose calm face-showed no conflicting emotions. When would this nerve-racking trial cease? Ah! a pin-point of light! Now—wider! wider! At last—“Mother, wasn't that a long tunnel we just passed through?” IV THE MOM The crowds thronged the sidewalks and street in front of the Daily News. The editor of the newspaper stared madly down upon them and clasped his hands nervously. “Let me explain”—but his words were interrupted by a deep growl from the assembled jieople. Where now was his power—the power of the press? The throng increased—a wave of human beings was surging against the very doors of the building. Could nothing save the j oor editor? Was he doomed to—At last! At last! A calm, clear voice from the center of a horn-shaped projecture from the doorway— “Sorry to be a little late, folks—this is Grey and Mack n’ Me. broadcasting the final game of the World Series. The score is now—.” Louis Genf-rf-vx, ’27.

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26 THE QUIVER THE GIRL ASSISTANT AT THE LOAN DESK IN THE LIBRARY It was with a haughty air That she stood by the desk there. Stamping and passing out books With many condescending looks. ()h, that calm, superior smile! N et. who is this girl. Who, charging Walt Whitman, Will Shakesj eare. and Milton, Smiles, smiles, all the while!' Who is she, who, this wav, With winning, drooping grace, sends away History, poetry, novels, and a play. Without a thought as to what they say? What does she know about books, anvwav ? Lksi.ik Arnold, '17. STORIES IN PROSE IN “STOP-SHORT” STYLE ( With apologies to the Chinese poets) I THE GRIM INVADER HE afternoon sun shone warmly upon the cosy little cottage. With its prim holly-hocks and fresh green lawn, the front yard was very attractive. To complete a scene of true domestic happiness, several care-free cihldren were romping outside, and from inside could be heard the vibrant hum of a new vacuum-cleaner. Ah. how little unsuspecting of trouble were the care-free children! Suddenly a cloud darkened the sun. With a glance down the street, the youngsters ran pell-mell into the cottage—and the sound of the vacuum-cleaner was at once stilled. Now there was no sign of life about the house—all seemed sad and desolate. A heavy step sounded upon the gravel walk, and a thick set. bullnecked man strode to the door. In his hand he bore a yellow paj er. He rang the l ell impatiently. He rang again—he knocked—he walked around to the rear of the house, and. failing to get admission there, came back.

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28 THE QUIVER THE GREATEST OF ALL 1 strolled one day at soft twilight To a cliff, overlooking the sea. And there I sat on the mossy hank To indulge in reveries. As 1 gazed on the restless water. The moon rose over its rim; And 1 dreamed of the fortune that would he mine W hen, at last, my ship came in. Then out from the very heart of the moon. A wonderful sight to behold, t ame a fairy ship of moonl eams made And flying her sails of gold. ()ver the waves flew the fairy craft And l eached on the silver strand. And out of it sprang a little old man. W ith a heavy chain in his hand. ( ver the sands and up the bank And into my cosy nook. Came the odd little man with his wise, old face. Like the dwarfs in a storv-hook. At my side he jxiused, and with courtly U w. He laid in my lap the chain. My heart turned cold and my hopes all died. ()h. where were my wealth and fame?” Come back ! I cried, as he sped away. “Of what value can this gift l e? When my ship has returned from far away shores Is this all that you bring for me? The sleepy wind, which stirred the waves That lapi ed the shore at his feet. Caught on its wings and brought to me His answer, low and sweet. “That is the fairies’ gift to you. It is greater than wealth or fame; It brings to you more than either one. For it is called Friendship’s Chain.