Biddeford High School - Olympian Yearbook (Biddeford, ME)

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THE OLYMPIAN ing left but a flute. wailing in the un- utterable sadness. Silence. Then a hesitant. slow, but gradual rebuilding upon the one note left. The melody grew, and depth and beauty were added, which had not been there before. The song whispered. crooned, and ascended into a paean. not of joy. but of content. The audience burst into wild applause, renewed again and again, but Ixlore sat as if in a dream throughout the rest of program. VV hen it ended, he arose and made his way past the excitedly murmur- ing groups of admirers, past the con- gratulatory groups around Josef V al- yanov. and behind the stage to the dress- ing room. He opened the door and went 111. She was sitting there in the half light of a small lamp, with her hands 'folded in her lap, and her face turned away l'Ellen-oh, Ellenlu he cried. from him. Turning her face, she whispered, Nicky, After a long silence. in which she seemed to he gathering up her strength, she said: How are you. Nicky? It is long since I last saw you. I suppose you are married and have a family by now. I-le shook his head, and tried to interrupt. but she went on: No? That is a pity. One must he lonely. without a family. I have one. Papa Josef is a whole family wrapped in one. You must come to see us sometime, Nicky. We are in London for a fort- night. then we go to Australia. for an engagement in Melbourne. So you have composed a symphony, said More. stiffly, checked hy her reserve. l never thought you would inherit any of your father's genius. But one learns, and grows up to it, she answered. lt is my first, and you must be sure to say nice things about me -you are a critic now, are you not? I want to do a great deal more, but I :tm afraid l shall never be as great as Papa joseff' 1 can't stay any longerf' said More, desperately. I have an appointment, but perhaps I will come to see you again. Good-bye. Nicky, she calledg but all she heard was the door softly closing. The room. and her whole world, were dark. and must always be dark. Her head drooped, and the slow, bitter tears fell from her sightless eyes upon her fold- ed hands. Esrnizk Kl:INNIiDX', '40 'WVASH DAY The wind is making toy balloons of Dotty's printed frocks, And kicking up the saucy toes of twenty pairs of socks And pouring into pillow slips and stretch- ing every sheet And filling empty sleeping pants with puffy legs and feet. lt bulges out the tugging arms of shirts that want to Hy. Vtfhere trailing clothes of snowy white are blown along the sky. lt's washing day in Heaven, too, for On billowed line the angels robes are hanging out to dry. H. FRANCES PARISEAU, '42 l50l

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THE OLYMPIAN SYMPHONY The street lamps glowed dimly through the misty fog drifting in from the Thames. as London began to stir with the usual night life. Glittering women alighted from limousines, Hanked by the severe black and white of their compan- ions. while the air seemed to be filled with their light chatter and the trailing scents which followed after them. Everyone in l.ondon seemed to be go- ing somewhere, even Nicholas More. But he seemed curiously alone as he paid the cabby. and mounted the broad steps of the concert hall which was already fill- ing with people. A tall, well-formed man in faultless evening dress, he paused on the threshold after checking his hat and coat. then walked quickly down a side aisle to a seat in the dimly-lit wing. and sat there. waiting. The great hall was now filled to over- fiowing. and the high chatter of the wom- en, the buzzing undertone of the men, and the general movement, had increased to a small. roar. for all had come to hear the great -Tosef Volyanov conduct. The members of the large orchestra had slipped into their places. and had tuned their instruments. Suddenly a hush fell over the audience. as a short, white- haired man walked quickly across the stage. up to the small raised platform. and bowed to the applause. Turning, he rapped sharplv on the stand, raised his baton. let it fall. and the room was swept away bv the stirring strains of Dvorak's New VVorld Symphony. At first sight of the energetic little man. the thoughts of Nicholas More turned back, back to a rose garden in the south of France, where he had known Josef- and his daughter, lovely Ellen. The sun had shone down from brilliantly blue un- clouded skies in the day. the moon had shone softly down in gleaming radiance at night, and there he had loved Ellen- Ellen, who had had dark, laughing eyes. the blush of the roses in her cheeks, and a heart encased in an ivory shell! Painfully, he went back over the af- fair, from the first breathless beginning, to thedisastrous climax. .-X poor, young music student at the conservatory, he had met the great Volyauov, and the master had become interested in him, often inviting him to the villa in which he and his daughter were staying. More had met Ellen in the garden, and there he had carried on his shy courtship. Then one day, he heard that she had gone with an officer of the regiment. the night before, to gamble at the Casino. He rushed to her, filled with fiery indignation, to tax her with the truth. She admitted it, said that he. Nlore, was too poor to give her everything she wanted, and laughed in his face. Something broke within him, and cold and sick at heart, he stumbled away. XYithin an hour, he was on his way back to l.ondon. But he never knew that in that hour after he had left her, she had met with a grave accident, and had lain nearly dying for many weeks. After a time, when he had partly re- covered from the heartache, he had ob- tained a small position on the staff of a London paper, and since then had risen to the position of a music critic. Suddenly. More woke from his reverie with a start. Volyanov was speaking in loud. yet thin. tones which seemed to try to reach out over the audience. l have here a composition by this, as yet unknown. composer. She is my daughter. Ellen Volyanov, and I take pleasure in introducing her first sym- phony. More started violently, then shook his head in disbelief. Now the music began to steal out, dancing and tinkling, like the shallow brook: suddenly he saw Ellem in the garden. laughing. Higher and higher chattered the music, then a poisonous un- dertone of discord crept in. and grew and grew. until the music was not laughing any more. but was harsh and grating. Suddenly fell the crash of disaster! and he saw the tumult of a soul shaken to its foundations, and cast in ruins, with noth- f4 9

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THE CLYMPIAN IMPGSSIBLE Gathered around an old stove in a small general store in the town of Bear Creek. Canada. was a group of trappers and traders. Everyone seemed intensive- ly interested in the story an old half- hreed was telling. Everything about the old fellow pro- claimed him a veteran of the wilderness. his heavy fur-lined jacket, his worn moosehide mocassins, and even his wrinkled, weather-beaten face. Among his listeners were two young men who, by their dress and actions, seemed to be more or less tenderfeet. Strangely contrasting were the 'features of the two boys, for they were hardly men. hut both. had something about them that was the same, It would he hard to decide just what. but something. They were dressed much alike in heavy boots, corduroy trousers, and leather jackets. One was a lad of about medium height, dark, and muscular. Thei other was tall. fair. and slender. just the opposite. Both were as intensively interested in the story as were the rest of the group. As the old half-breed finished his story there came a silence. it was broken after a few moments by another old trapper, who said loudly. lmpossihlel The two boys did not speak but it was evident that they were thinking. VVith the end of the story the group broke up. The hoys put on their jackets and stepped out into the starlit street, the main street and only street of the town. They walked silently toward their shack on the edge of the town. Both were silent as they undressed and climbed into their hunks. After about half an hour, and neither was asleep. the tall fellow said, slack, do you believe that story ? I don't know, Dick, returned jack sleepily. He might be telling the truth but I think he's stretching it. Again all was silent for a few moments. then Dick said, jack, let's find out for ourselves ! His answer came in the steady snoring of black, and a moment later he, too, joined in. The next morning was cold. crisp, and sunny. A perfect day. The boys iinished their breakfasts and started for the frozen river to inspect their plane. As they neared the landing they saw their red Bellanca gleaming in the early morning sun. They examined it carefully, then went up to the store to get a few days' supplies. The storekeeper was rather curious as to where they were going, but found out nothing except that they were going north. An hour later they took off under the admiring eyes of most of the town. The more I think about that, the less l believe it. said Jack. T can hardly believe it myself, re- plied Dick, hut we'll lind out for our- selves. Say. jack, get me the map will you? It's in the locker over there. 'W hen jack returned with the map. Dick spread it out on his knees and traced their course with his hnger. Wie ought to he at Hudson Bay by noon. if nothing happensf, he said after a moment's hesitation. just at noon the Bellanca circled down to a perfect landing on the ice in front of the trading post. The hoys had a lunch and took off again at one o'clock. This time. however, Tack Hew and after gaining altitude headed' northwest toward Alaska. It was about four o'cloek when the motor began to sputter and finally stopped altogether. Below was nothing but a barren ex- panse of snow with groups of trees and bushes clotting it here and there and off toward Alaska, mountains were visible in the last rays of the sun. jack held the plane in a steep glide toward one of the small open spaces. The plane came down fast and just as it was l51l