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

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In the yard grew two gnarled giant willow trees, festooned with parasitic Spanish moss which hung in long ghostly strands like a maidenfs Hoating tresses. The moon disappeared and returned no more. The wind arose and the willow moaned. Two windows of the big house were illuminated by a feeble, flickering candle glow. Linda and Phil tumbled out of the car, and gripping their bags, they started up the grass-grown walk. Boards creaked as they stepped upon the porch. A sudden gust of wind tossed a string of moss into Linda's face. She shuddered. A full ten minutes they pounded on the door before it was answered. Finally a tall, handsome young man opened it. He was dressed immaculately in the style of about fifteen years before. Startled at the youthful man before him, Phil stuttered, HUh-is uh-is this where Frank Jeffries lives?', HI am J effriesf, returned the man evenly. Uncle Frank! It's me, Phil! Phil and Linda! Don,t you know us? '4Why, so it is. Do come in, children. Little Phil and Linda. Iave not seen you for so long!,' It,s so strangef' thought Linda as he ushered them into the living room. HI expected him to be so much older. And what a queer Welcome! He isn't in the least surprised 1 Interrupting her train of thought, her uncle said, I had just returned from a walk across the hill. Now I suppose you're tired, so I'll prepare your rooms. The ancient stairs scarcely creaked beneath his weight. He walked with an easy, swingy grace-seemed almost to float along. Linda and Phil looked about the room in which they sat. It was furnished comfortably enough al- though it was quite old-fashioned, and the room was lit by candles. Looking through the doorway and across the reception hall, they saw a tightly closed door. The music roomf' whispered Phil, where Mari- anne spent most of her time. I guess he keeps it closed off and never goes into it. The whole house smells musty and unused, doesn't it?,' returned Linda. Almost at once their uncle returned and escorted them to their rooms on the second floor. Under their f 79 - A 20 I fd' nes of an ancient cemetery showed misty gray? combined weights the stair steps groaned loudly. The candle he carried cast eerie shadows on Frank Jeffries' face. Linda,s room was directly across the hall from Philfs. Each room was scantily filled with odd old furniture. Each was lit by several candles. Linda retired at once. She was weary and sleepy. She heard Phil,s bed squeak and his long contented sigh as he lay down, then all was still. A long time Linda drowsily tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep. She lit a candle and looked at her watch when she first heard the strange noise. It was twenty minutes to one. She strained her ears to listen. Again she heard it, stronger this time! Low and clear, someone was playing a piano downstairs! At this time of night! thought the girl, angrily. What nerve! Almost immediately a new note was added, a womanis voice, pure, sweet, contralto -humming! Linda felt as if icy fingers clutched her throat! Realiza- tion struck her. '4There's no woman here except me!', Outside the rising wind screeched and wailed. Somewhere a dog howled once, twice, and was still. The song seemed to express utmost sorrow. It rose to shrill despair and fell to low sobbing lamentation- now louder with wild grief-now softer with subdued mourning-now questioning-now pleading! Unable to lie there another moment, Linda arose and slipped into her robe. Opening the door, she stealthily padded down the hall and descended the creaking stair. In the reception hall she paused at the music room door. Clear and lovely the liquid notes poured melodiously from that room. Fascinated, her heart pounding madly and her hands trembling, she reached for the knob, fearful of what she would see. The door squeaked harshly as she pushed it back, and a cool, dusty draft nearly choked her. Dimly out- lined against long French windows stood a grand piano. Seated there was a most exquisitely lovely girl, begging, imploring with her glorious voice and wordless song to Frank Jeffries who stood grimly near! A window was open and heavy draperies swayed gently, but the glow cast by a great many candles about the room was steady, even, and did not flicker. Then a dust particle caught in Linda's throat, and she coughed. Instantly, with a wild screech, a great wind blew through the window and suddenly the room was in darkness! The door crashed against the startled girl's face, and she uttered a shrill, piercing scream. Faintly she heard Phil clatter down the stairs. Linda,', he cried, what are you doing down here! You're white as a ghost! Do get back to bedf' As he helped her back upstairs, she told him what had happened. Nonsense, he laughed. You were dreaming. I hope you haven't awakened Uncle Frank. Nevertheless, he stayed with Ujonrizzuefl on Page 391

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BY HELEN PENNAK ENGLISH VIIIc THE MYSTERY UE THE MUSIC PIUUM A black sky was covered with huge patches of light clouds through which, at intervals, a full moon peered down on an old Ford chugging down a deserted country road. Inside the car a youth unskillfully steered into all the ruts. A young girl sat beside him, yawning occasionally and bouncing off the seat often. Phil, she murmured sleepily, I bet Uncle Frank will be surprised to see us. Why, he hasn,t seen us since Mother and Daddyf' she choked, since the accidentf, Her brother said nothing for a moment. Then, Nope, he replied, and we haven't been to his house since Marianne died. That was about fifteen years ago, for you were just twof' Marianne must have been very beautiful, mused the girl. Uncle Frank must have loved her very much. He did. The boy7s voice was low with feeling. I was only four, but I still remember the look on his face when he found she had run away with another man. They had been married only a year, you know. She came back to him later, but she was ill and died very soon. I wouldn't want to live by myself in that big house where she diedlv '4Why, Linda? I guess he feels nearer to her there. Her grave is just over the hill. '4That,s ust it! But Heavens, what spooky conver- sation! Let's talk of something else. Phil-, she maneuvered her left arm until the momentary moon- glow rested on her watch. Phil, do you think we'd better go on tonight? Itis almost nine oiclock. He doesnit know we're coming. He may be in bed. Couldn't we stop at the next little town for the night and go on in the morning? 6'We'd be there now if it hadn't been for that flat tire,'l Phil muttered. 'alt can7t be much farther. We might as well go on now. The roadway unrolled before them, tortuous and narrow. Each sank deep in thought. Orphaned by an automobile crash fourteen years before, Linda and Phil Jamison lived with their father's maiden sister, Nelle, in Creighton. In June, N elle ,I ami- son started on a trip, and a week later sent Linda and Phil word that she was extending the trip, so they would have to close the town house and stay at a hotel until she returned. The same afternoon Linda found a box of old letters. One was addressed to her mother and signed by her mother's only brother, Frank Jeffries. On the back was the address of the old ,lelfries homestead far out on Clairmonte Road. Phil had gaily accepted Lindaas suggestion that they visit Uncle Frank, so they had packed their bags and hopped into the Ford. There was no doubt in their young minds as to their welcome fre, if is l .. , , 4 i i' W '..' .. t .. 4 X fff -a tall handsome young man opened it-dressed immaculately in the style of about fifteen years before? although they had sent no word, and silent Aunt Nelle had never mentioned her sister-in-law's family. Linda was roused from her revery by the beauty of the scene spread before her. Before them a hill sloped steeply down to a stream, silvered in the moonlight. At one side, etched in silvery-gray against the sky, stood a dilapidated building, its broken-out windows a blur of deeper black. Across the brook the ground gently slanted up again. There, to the right of the road, the sunken tombstones of an ancient cemetery showed misty gray. Beyond them a tiny church stood, decayed and falling into ruin. All that moved except the car was its shadow that tagged so insistently after them. How beautiful, Linda thought aloud. '6We're almost there, sang out Phil. Marianne must be buried in that cemetery, and Uncle Frank must live just over the hill. As the car splashed through the shallow water, the moon went behind a cloud and stifling darkness closed in, leaving only the gleam of the headlights. When they started up the hill the moon reappeared, .showing again the weird scene. It was a land of the forgotten, wherein no thing lived or moved except themselves! Or was it! Even as they watched, a grayish object slowly disen- gaged itself from one tombstone and seemed to flit quickly into the denser gloom beyond the church. Linda clutched Phil's arm. He pressed the accelerator, and the rattling old car darted forward. 'fGuess Pm seeing things! Linda gulped. .Iitters! Phil glanced uneasily behind him. Five minutes later they stopped in front of a large house. Striking a match, Phil looked at a rotting mailbox. K and I-e-f are all I can make out, he called, but l'm sure this is the place. WW Q zWi if'?i'3 I T TT QQ f ' -1-L g p -it 5 F T ml 'tThere, to the right of the road, the sunken tc

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,, - BY DONALD WINTIN ENGLISH vue 18 RUN -AWAY HEIRESS fBASED ON A NEWSPAPER srorzrj Frank Howe Terril was pacing the Hoor. Left to right-right to left-he had paced floors for years in every sort of situation. He knew the ropes. He paced when his breakfast was late, when his valet did not run up the stairs four at a time, and when his daughter Nancy did not carry out his exacting whimsies. His present pacing concerned Nancy. Drat it! Why must she act this way? Wasn't it enough that he had to be both father and mother to her? She was old enough now to have a little sense. This wasn't the first time she had gone away like this. Oh, of course, the other times didn't really matter. His private detectives had been too quick. She should realize how he felt about it. She was going to inherit the Terril estate some day. But this was different. He somehow felt that this was serious. She was gone and would not return. He felt sick. Then there was that Frederic person. He had been loitering around the place for some time now. The study window on the second floor offered an excellent View of the yard below. Oh, he had seen them. Fred- eric would cross the field to the west and hide on the far side of the hedge. Nancy would come out in an amaz- ingly short time and busy herself with watering the fiowers. Of course, it was pure accident that her watering tasks took her nearer and nearer the hedge behind which Frederic, or Freddie as she called him, was hiding. If he were not near-sighted, he would have been certain that a hurried kiss was exchanged. But he preferred not to accept the horrifying testimony which his eyes offered. Then they would pass, hand in hand, from his vision, and he would go to his chair and fret and fuss. Ever since Freddie had unexpectedly glanced up and caught him looking at them, he had imagined all sorts of things, Freddie pleading with Nancy, asking her to let him take her away. What did Freddie call him? 4'Old Hawk-Eye, probably. As soon as he had discovered that Nancy was not on the grounds, the three Terril cars had been dis- patched on a now customary errand. Nancy was always running off like this. First it was with Harold, then with Vance, then Berkwell, then Tom, and now Freddie. His detectives had always intercepted them. Reverend Lane's wasn't far. Nancy had always been very, very certain that white-haired Reverend Lane would marry her. His traditional summer wedding gift was a tall, refreshing glass of lemonade, and he always kept pitchers of it on hand. Frank Terril went to the window. One of the cars was entering the drive. He could not tell if it held Nancy and Freddie. What if the driver had been too late? But he must not think of it. He could hear someone entering the house. Whether it was one person or more, he couldn't tell. A polite knock at the door, then Nancy and Freddie entered. Nancy was crying softly, and Freddie was manfully trying to hold back the tears. He attempted to speak to Nancyis father, but no sound came. He had prepared a little speech as they sped back in the car. He was going to tell '4Old Hawk-Eye that he had no right to interfere with Nancy's happiness. He was going to be bold and ride the proverbial white horse to slay his love's enemies. But his dry tongue and rebellious lips would not form the words. Franklin Howe Terril was a benevolent man. Thus it was that in a few moments the difficulty was smoothed over. Nancy, age five, and Freddie, age six, had promised never again to go so far for a glass of lemonade. UN TIME-1:10 The train despatcher at the Rochester, New York, depot stepped out on the runway apron of the station platform and glanced westward. The first sec- tion of the eastbound Twentieth Century Limited was due at 1:10 A. M. It was then nearly BY 1:09. He could not hear her yet, but ROBERT BURFORD he knew the tiny dot of light far down ENGLISH Vue the track to be the headlight of the Century. As the train advanced through the night, the spot grew stead- ily larger, and suddenly the railroader became con- scious of the roaring of the huge locomotive as she climbed a slight grade. The twin ribbons of steel began reflecting the beams of amber colored light that was then flooding the station platform, as a spotlight floods with light the stage of a theatre. Then the track began to groan under the steady beat of the swiftly approaching locomotive's mighty seventy-nine-inch drivers. As the great engine came nearer, the ground trembled. Down the heavy rails came the huge Hudson-type loco leaving the miles stretching out behind her and her precious load of Pullmans through Buffalo, Erie, Cleveland, Toledo, South Bend, and the La Salle Street Station in Chicago where she started. Since leaving Chicago at 3:30 P. M. the twelve Pullmans had rolled over six hundred sixteen miles of track. Accompanied by a deafening roar the long, heavy train bore down on the despatcher like a projectile out of the night. Every second brought the rushing levia- than of the rails ninety feet nearer until the wide con- crete runway apron suddenly spread out on her left as the train entered the station at Rochester. He instinc- tively retreated closer to the office door as the massive throbbing locomotive thundered past. He waved a hasty greeting to the lanky fireman leaning out of the cab window up above. In a split second the despatcher caught a blurred view of the Icgntinued on Page 391