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someone else and especially those which were sent by mail, poor Coby made a
visit to Mr. Thomas’ office, situated somewhere in the vast depths of the Upper
School, and returned to his classmates a somewhat paler but much wiser
young man.
Then too, there was the tragedy of Miss Anderson’s dress. About once a
week this teacher came in the class to help further our writing ability. Toward
the end of a particularly fatiguing period Walt Gardner dangled his pen over
the edge of his desk while awaiting further instructions. Miss Anderson, coming
briskly down the aisle, caught and ripped her dress on the projecting pen, and
her skirt was spattered with ink. She placed Walt in the corner for the rest of
the period, and was never entirely convinced that the accident wasn’t intentional.
As spring approached, rumors of the impending class trip to Boston began
to fill the air. Soon the joyful day arrived; accompanied by Mr. White and
Mr. Mills, we embarked in a big Greyhound bus for the wonders of the Hub
city. One of our members was thoughtful enough to bring along a half crate of
pop bottles. The contents of these we spattered in masterly fashion all over
ourselves and the interior of the bus. Later, while in Boston, we heaved the
empty bottles into the Charles River, and raced up and down the Bunker Hill
Monument. On the way home, we finished a glorious day by stuffing ourselves
with candy and by ripping Ash Wall’s raincoat to shreds.
Thus, noisily and happily, we brought to a conclusion our momentous
course through the Lower School. Now, buoyed up by hope and eagerness, we
looked forward to the Upper School and our ultimate graduating day.

I.
A certain Indian Summer afternoon in the middle of September 1928, was
an eventful one for the illustrious class of ’33. We were in the Upper School at
last! Walking up amidst the ancient elms, we proudly spurned the Lower
School entrance and entered the front door, where we immediately lost all sense
of whatever importance we had previously had. It was here we first started to
form our warm friendship with Mr. Thomas and O. J. B. H., but few of us
thought of such things then as we shook hands timorously, with wide eyes and
keen consciousness of our first wearing of our new pairs of long pants. Study
Hall seemed to hit us square in the face as we stumbled over its threshold. We
never would be able to wade through the acres of big desks, or tilt our heads
far enough back to see the tops of the long windows, or look the busts of
Webster and Agassiz in the eye! Hastily retreating from this inferno, we were
led up to our rooms by such kind gentlemen as "Bobby Hanscom or Hank
Shaw, our future "pals,” who tried to assuage our already increasing homesick­
ness by such remarks as "Do you think you’re going to like it here?” Of course,
we answered, we were sure we would! After the awkward silence of first meet-

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