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

Page 31 text:

i 4 1 1 'L 1 9 , 44-43 milf 141' ' .- 'r I. ' .'- .r HONORABLE MENTION 4. CAUGHT IN THE ACT. . . . . . Eclith Moscilum 5. MAN ABOUT TECH. . . . T .Icimc-s Hood 6. THE RECITATION. . . . . , ,Wcir Mitchell 7. TERM-END CARDS ...,. A,.,., M cirvin Luqoiicuir 8. THE SHOT PUT ..,.,. . . . . MciivinLc1qc-ncuir 9. THE EXPLANATION .,,. . . . Weir Mitchell gnlyn , 5315515

Page 30 text:

'C' V -......-......-. . -.-........j. r 5 1 -+ z 5 I 5 PRIZE-WINNERS: l. POTTER THE POLE Vf'XUI.TlIH 1'N1uxv:x1 Imqvzmur Vzrasr 1:2-.cl L LI mm: mxss CICIIHO A Glv1mMorxow 516021 2 3, MAY DAY Mmvm Lcxqoncmx THINK' VLACII i

Page 32 text:

UN IIN ell, I guess this is good-bye for now, Phil. One of the two occupants of the car broke the silence and flashed a quick smile at his companion as he made a tentative motion to open the door. The one addressed as Phil exhaled a long sigh of resignation to fate, then answered slowly, Yes, I suppose it is, Iohn. Iohn looked concerned, then said cheerfully, Look here, this dashed apprenticeship will soon be over. Then we'll be regular federal agents, given real as- signments, and-and everything. Don't let it get you down. I wish I were back in New York, Phil replied. Iohn feigned disgust. Come on, snap out of it. This is 1928 and we're in the hills of old Kentucky to clean up moonshining, remember? Don't remind me, Phil groaned. This is a fine kettle of fish! We'll probably mould down here for years and years, enjoying good old mountain hos- pitality until we are completely forgotten. Oh, it won't be as bad as all that, his friend observed brightly. Who knows, we might even un- cover a still! Yes, and get shot for our trouble, Phil added pes- simistically. Remember what they did to Robert Kingston! Even Iohn's buoyant spirits drooped momentarily at the mention of Robert Kingston. Well, anyway, we may get some good pictures since we're posing as photographers, he ventured as he climbed out of the car. Yeh, Phil retorted. These hillbillies ought to make swell models. Iohn was leaning against the door, beaming down affectionately at his friend. Aw, come on, he coaxed. You'll probably win first prize with your pictures at the exhibition next fall. Phil glanced furtively over his shoulder and an- swered, If I get out of these hills alive. He watched Iohn Daniels, his last link with civi- lization, walk jauntily across the street, pause for a moment on the threshold of a frame building marked Plaza Hotel, then disappear from view. Phil raised his hand in a grim salute at the doorway through which he had passed. With the sun at his back, and Iohn, the town of Denison, and the Plaza Hotel far behind, Phil la- boriously followed the mountain road to Wakefield. In his mind he was reviewing the kaleidoscope of events that had happened since he and Iohn had stood side by side in caps and gowns and received their diplomas on commencement day four years ago. They had come a long way since then. And now, after passing civil service examinations and enduring endless successions of target practice and lessons in modern criminal investigation, they had 30 ENESS - SHEET? found themselves as recruits of the Bureau of Internal Revenue, sent out on their first assignment. And what a fine place the chief picked to send his two best rookies! Phil thought sourly. This section of the country seemed a rustic oasis amid a cultured, civilized world. A year ago-a month ago, had anyone told Phil that such an iso- lated place existed within the United States, he would have scoffed at him. The roads were treacherous, the people were hostile, even the towns had an unfriend- ly air. Yet, the landscape had a wild and rugged beauty that could not be matched. Here, the pines smelled sweeter: the foliage of the hemlock and ma- ple against the distant mountains appeared greener: the transparent sky overhead was a deeper, more infinite blue: the air was fresher, cleaner: and the soft breeze whispered soothingly to the lonely stranger. The sun had just dropped from a saffron sky as Phil drove the Ford down the main street of the little hamlet of Wakefield, in the eastern part of Kentucky, some fifteen miles by a narrow, twisting mountain road from Denison. He parked in front of the most pretentious-looking building. A small, hand-painted sign proclaimed this two-story brick structure built on the style of a Southern plantation house to be the Mountain View Hotel. Armed with a single suitcase, his camera and tri- pod, Phil pushed open the door, sauntered across the lobby, and hesitantly approached the desk. The lob- by was heavily carpeted, had mirror-paneled walls, and artificial palms adorning the Corinthian-style pillars, giving the place a pompous, ostentatious atmosphere. At Phil's approach, an elderly, gray-haired man aroused himself from a fitful nap. He peered at the young man from over the top of his spectacles, then spoke in a rasping voice. How do, young feller. What would you be a-wantin'? Thrown off guard by this unceremonious greeting, Phil stretched his mouth into what he hoped was a friendly smile, and stammered, Well, you see, I- that is, I'd like to have a room. Oh, you would! The old man contemplated him further, then asked, What's yer bizness? I-I'm a photographer. I came down here to take pictures. Phil hoped he sounded convincing. Whur you from? Indianapolis, Indiana. To Phil's utter amazement, the old man broke into a chuckle and said, Well, I guess you're O.K., young feller. But we have to be mighty keerful, you know. There's been a passel of strangers down here lately, and we don't want none of them there federal men a-snoopin' around. No siree! Somehow, Phil managed to sign his name legibly