Arsenal Technical High School - Arsenal Cannon Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

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,W A ,ff COURAGE GUTWITS DEATH TOM ROLLINS, a young airplane mechanic, lived in a small Nevada mining town. His one ambi- tion was to make a new record in flying. The small plane of which he was the proud posses- sor, he had named Old Faithful for she never failed him when he needed her. He took great pride in going over his baby thorough- ly. At first he had called the plane Silver Bird because of her silver color, but he had presently discarded this for Old Faithful as more nearly typifying the steady, dependable way in which she served him. One could hardly blame him, for the little plane was truly faithful. Then one night after Tom had carefully locked Old Faithful in the dilapidated shed which served as a hangar for the plane, he went to bed, noticing as he prepared for sleep that a storm was coming up. About midnight he was partially aroused by a persistent knocking on his bedroom door. What is it?l' he sleepily called. The only reply was a frantic continuation. Fully awake now, Tom sprang out of bed and into a worn dress- ing gown, and then opened the door. There stood his landlady and a squalid foreign wom- an who lived with her husband and son in a rotting old house on the outskirts of town. 7 The greasy-looking woman tearfully explained OLD FAITHFUL By VIRGINIA VOLZ that her husband had left a small phial of poison on the table, intending it for himself, but that their little son had swallowed some of it. She had come to beg Tom that he go to the nearest town, which was a hundred and fifty miles away, and bring a doctor. The only doc- tor in their little town had been called away on a case which he could not leave. Tom gave one glance at the woman's plead- ing face and another at the storm brewing out- side. Then he nodded. All right, he said, and began pulling on socks and heavy shoes, amid the tearfully guttural thanks of the for- eign woman. Dressed and ready, he went down to the shed where Old Faithful reposed. He took down two dusty parachutes, strapped one on himself, and placed the other in the plane. As he took off, he shook his head dubi- ously at the ominous thunder. However, every- thing went well on the way. Tom and the doctor were soon ensconced in the snug little plane, prepared to do battle with the heavens. Meanwhile the storm had grown more fierce and the plane less steady as she met the rush of air currents. Finally, Tom was forced to make a landing, but it was so near their destination that the doctor was able to arrive on time. Tom, after seeing the woman clasp her darling in her arms, went out in the graying dawn to his darling, Old Faithful. He paused, gazing wistfully upon the battered wings. You have certainly served me well, old Pal, and even though we didn't break any records, we saved a life, and that's worth something. just then the doctor came across the field. I want to be the first to congratulate you on your courage, my boy. Say, your planes pretty well damaged, isn't it? the doctor very good-naturedly asked. Yes, she's pretty much battered up,l' ad- mitted the boy. The doctor, as he walked away, wondered if he had really seen tears in the boy's eyes. He turned and hesitated with friendly concern. What's the matter, boy? he asked kindly. Oh, uh, er, nothing. Must be the cold, Tom replied as he gazed regretfully at his be- loved plane. i'Old Faithful to the last,'J he muttered and walked away.

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TIMCDTHY SAVES THE DAY By KATHERINE HERBERS PERCHED HIGH in a crotch of the tall maple, Timothy scanned the surrounding country with a proprietary air. He blinked his eyes in pleasure as he noticed the long, smooth stretch of green grass against which the trees in their outrageous autumn garb of red and yellow made a flagrant contrast. In front of him was the house, an immense and noble structure in brick with stone trim- mings and numberless French windows, dear to Timothy's heart. He, as countless others of his tribe, could not resist a comfortable window in which he might doze in the warm, benevo- lent eye of the sun, and dream, in the im- mutable manner of felines, of plump, white mice which crunched ever so delightfully be- tween the stiletto-sharpness of pointed teeth, of rich, thick cream which flowed ever so slow- ly down the long, warm pinkness of a throat, or of that pungent prize of Catdom, catnip. Timothy's musings were rudely punctured as from behind him came the sound of gravel crunching under the weight of large, firm feet. Now, though cats are not supposed to reason, Timothy knew very well that this particular hour of the afternoon was tea-time when all the family, guests, and servants would be busy inside the house. So, with a wicked gleam in his large, green eyes, he rose, balanced him- self upon the narrow branch, arched his back, and hoisted his tail to a vertical position. Helpl Help! A cry of anguish was forced from a tall, debonair young man. He lost his balance and toppled to the ground as a twenty-five-pound sandbag armed with dia- bolical steel claws smote him upon his unpro- tected head, The Honorable Timothy had arrived! I-Ielp! Aunt Anne! Celeste! Help! He raised both hands to his head. A yielding soft- ness met his touch. O-o-0-w! Whatexfer it was, he thought wildly, it could scratch! There was a tiny trickle of blood in his eye. Carstairs! Celeste! Help! At that in- stant the front door burst open and a crowd of rescuers surged forth. Oh, Aunt Anne! Itls that wretched Tim- othyf' shrieked an indignant feminine voice. Seat, you brute!'l The Latest Fashion in Detectives With that, the mysterious assailant bounded from the grasp of the bewildered and bloody young man and disappeared with a triumphant flirt of his tail around a corner of the house. Good grief! It's old Robin! USO it is. 'lRobin Dunforth! What are you doing here like this? Oh, his poor head! I say, Robin, a juvenile voice accosted the dazed Robin, how did you happen to tangle with Timothy? Timothy? He gazed blankly at the speaker. Who's that? Aw, let Celeste tell you. She's so crazy about him. Celeste will do nothing of the sort,'l said that young woman. Robin, you're coming along with me to let me doctor those terrible scratches. Ugh-h-h! That Timothy! The rest of you might do something besides ask senseless questions, and she grasped Robin by the arm and headed for the house. Sometime later when the semblance of peace had been restored, Robin told his tale to the clinking of tea cups. KCOnlinued on page 322 6

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LM .Www-,-m,,,, . , WY.. TO THOSE who now might be interested, concerned, or otherwise afllicted, this information is directed: that we, the class of 1933, in individual and distinct parts, preparing to pass out of this sphere of education in five months, in full possession of crammed minds, well trained in memory and almost superhuman understanding, do make, publish, and declare this to be jointly, as well as severally, our last will and testament, hereby revoking and making void all former wills or promises by us at any time heretofore made, or mayhap, carelessly spoken, one to the other, as the thoughtless wish of an idle hour. Be it known that we severally bequeath the following to be disposed of, either burned or junked, perhaps, as follows: To Mr. Morgan, our esteemed principal, sincere thanks for steering our class ship safely into port. To the faculty, with due respect, our thanks for the D's we did not receive. To the freshmen, the bell in the Arsenal tower. To the sophomores, space in front of the lunch room. To the juniors, or future seniors, the Arsenal steps and the walks in front. jerry Holman, to each and everyone of you, the franchise to use his patented remark of dis- gust-- sour grapesfl james Collins, to any and all freshmen, his power to conjugate Spanish verbs in the wrong tense. Marjorie Mason, to the girls, the right to adopt her magnetic grand-lady smile. Claramae Callaway, to any bright-eyed junior, the big white buttons on her coat. Isabel Sommer, to be polite and conforming, a fond farewell to all the boys in her Physics I class. Don Breedlove, his pencil-written essays, to more fortunate English classes where they are accepted. Dorothy Cheezum, an emergency fund of one hundred field goals, to girls taking gym. Doris Brady, a snappy tap dance, to May Winkler. Margaret Breitenbach, her ear-rings, to Rose- mary Damaree. Ethel Cook, her excess giggles, to a down- hearted freshie. TO WHGM IT BEING UNSPARINGLY OUR Asa Bines, his privilege of acting the jester, to anyone who can do the same with immunity. Ruth Bubeck, her secretarial position, to the next best red haired stenographer. Mary Frances Chester, her history book, to Mildred Bond and other idolizers of George Washington and Napoleon. Mary Burk, a studious concentration as a short cut to success, to the freshie who makes poor grades. Ralph Terrell, his orange ties, to any aspiring Rhinie who may consider his appearance en- hanced thereby. William Fox, a high B flat in 'lMoonlight Sonata,'l to any trumpet player who can play it. Robert Slaughter, his conservational material, to anyone who can use it. Louise Mitchell, her fiddle, to the person who can keep it from squeaking. Clifford Hewitt, the pencil behind his ear, to an earless student. Don Money, his yell-leader's jersey, to any other contortionist. William Szatkowski, his name, to all who can pronounce it. Richard Hittle, a solution of the X's, Y's, and Z's of life, to the confused in mind. r Frank Nauta, some sharp commands, to the rookies-notice-not without a military flourish. George Templin, his black curly hair, to one of his many lady friends. Martha Hofmeister, her paintings and sketch- es, to brighten a dull world. Madeline Bock, her hair, to the discouraged users of curling irons. Dorothy Morris, her make-up kit, to the owners of apple faces. Thelma Brown, her secret of catching the boys' eyes in study, to those less skilled. Mary Ellen Clark, her fair complexion, to one not so lucky. Ruth Hinchman, her blond hair, to those worshippers in the dark. Dorothy Meyer's freckles that are fastly go- ing, to a new freshie, Evelyn Miller, her flashing eyes and the gum that will never be quiet, to a beginner in Amer- ican history.