Bloomington High School - Aepix Yearbook (Bloomington, IL)

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' Tjj-.-1-ff. 1- W. .. A Z , M , Q :Rv X :E .nciuvryc ,wh Quai! ,Eddy ..,..,..t,,. , ., -..-n,....,.,w.,,-.- mv... . ,N ,. Joe grinned. You might accept me if I inquired concerning your sentiments on the ques- tion, and so I shan't do so until I get enough filthy lucre to keep both of us from living as cheaply as one. Oh, I'm not so sure, Joie boy, they make fun of this 'love in a cottage' theory, but I'd just as soon try it. 4'Let's wait awhile, Lottie, I'm sure something will turn up. Well, I must be going. I think I'll take my reward now so come here and . . . ' ' But never mind that, you see how things stood. One morning Joe read the headlines advertising the New Oregon auto race, the prize for the winner to be twenty thousand dollars, nobody barred who could drive ninety miles per hour in the tests. Joe's eyes gleamed as he thought of the iiying wheels. the great crowd, and the slim bodies of the roaring cars. Then he smiled ruefully, the races were not for him who had no money nor backing. If someone would finance him he 'd try out his engine, he knew it would work, but -oh, what was the use? That evening when he went to see Crilotte, she met him at the gate, her eyes bright and her manner eager. Oh, Joe. You're going to enter, aren't you? You're such a wonderful driver. I know you'll win. Isn't it wonderful J! ' Joe smiled slowly. The best driver in the world couldn't win with an inferior car, Lottie, and no one would finance me with a good one, not knowing anything about me. H The girl's face clouded. It's too bad, Joe. How much does a car cost? About fifteen times as much as I've got, and I 've got two hundred dollars. Not a chance, Lottie, not a chance. t'XVell, how about your engine, persisted the girl. HOouldn't you buy a cheap body and put your engine in it?l' Joe looked up suddenly. 'tPerhaps therels something in that. Let 's see. Could we do it? I could buy a second-hand car and procure parts for the weak points. Gee, Lottie, I be- lieve we can do it. HOf course we can. Oh, Joe, if we'd only win. Have you enough money? Ilve get a hundred dollars myself, and if you donlt take it, I'll shoot you on sight. Far into the night the boy and girl discussed their great project , its superior qualities and its weaknesses. Sometimes they doubted, again they despaired, but their determination was strong and their hopes ran high. ' The next day Joe hunted for a second-hand racer. After much searching, he found one that he thought might be resurrected. It was cheap-only a hundred dollars-but its lines were beautiful and its constitution strong. True, its engine was as useless as coal at the equator, and it was minus tires, tank, brakes and steering wheel, but, on the whole, Joe considered himself lucky. It would answer his purpose very nicely and he 'd still have enough money to put it in shape. The race was scheduled to start in a month, consequently, Joe was obliged to work every evening far into the night. He installed his precious engine, bought and attached tank, steering wheel, brakes and rear axle , ground valves, straight- ened wheels, and greased everything that looked suspicious. He painted, var- nished, waxed, bored, riveted, nailed and hammered with indomitable zeal and each morning at two as he crawled into his bed, dead tired, he felt that he had accomplished something towards the realization of his hopes. Sometimes Orilotte helped him. She donned overalls, tied a bandanna about her head, and dived into the work like the good little sport she was. She pumped 26

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anatomy of engines because he enjoyed doing so. It was a delight to work out their intricacies, fascinating to figure out new ways of using them , and thrilling to work out new wrinkles in their construction. Tonight, however, these things failed to hold J oe's attention. A pair of blue eyes were continually popping up before his mind's eye and a head of dark bobbed hair kept coming between his eyes and the blue print. Joe walked down town to indulge in his second hobby: a movie. A few minutes in the theater proved that not even the picture could compete with a pretty girl in a young man's mind. Joe did the only thing left to do, he went home to bed. A week later, Joe again saw the girl. She was walking down the street, and the boy speeded to the first parking space to await her arrival. After awhile she came by-but she didn 't smile when she saw Joe. She did something better, she dropped her handkerchief. Perhaps it was an accident, perhaps it was the subconscious mind , and then again she may have dropped it intentionally. At any rate it was done, and J oe 's duty-or opportunity was clear. He restored the tiny piece of cloth to its owner and received a smile as his reward. Then, as they were about to part, each stopped by common consent, for what on earth can sep- arate a boy and girl who wish to become acquainted? In a remarkably short space of time they knew each other 's name, also that they were going to meet again. Very immoral for such early confidcnces, probably, but, on the whole agreeable as either of the principals would undoubtedly testify. The girl was Crilotte Franklin 5 she was white, unmarried and twenty. She had just finished high school, and she knew Joe was a nice young fellow , a rather startling statement to make considering that she had known the nice young fellow for only half an hour. . . . and I know we're going to be great friends, said the girl. Goodbye Joe went back to his cab. He was sure of two things: that he now knew the most wonderful girl in the world Cpeculiar how many of these specimens we havej , and that he was going to do something that would make him worthy of being Crilotte's friend. He was perfectly sure of his first idea-about the girl- but his second was rather vague. Doing worthy things is a beautiful thought, out where were the worthy things to do? He knew automobiles from license plate to dashboard, but that was all. His other accomplishments were mediocre or not in demand. He thought of his home-made engine in which the pistons shot back by recoil thereby giving twice as much speed for the same amount of gas. It might not work in actual practice, and he was leery of patents anyway. Any- thing else he might undertake would cost money, a commodity with which he was not on very intimate terms. Joe forgot that topic in order to think of one more agreeable: a pair of bluer than blue eyes that were like morning glories on a misty day, a trim little body that you knew could dance forever without getting weary, and a soft voice that a husband could listen to forever without getting riled. Joe breathed a long, blissful breath, the kind a small boy breathes when taking the last bite of a cake, or a fat man takes when sitting down after a mile hike. Many evenings after that Joe devoted his time not to his engines but to Crilotte, another example of the superiority of flesh over mental. They motored, strolled and movied together, and had a specialist glanced at their faces on these occasions, he would undoubtedly have diagnosed the case as incurable. I wish I could ask you to marry me, Lottie, said Joe one evening, but as the condemned convict quaintly said when a friend offered him a cough drop, 'What's the use?' Why don't you ask me, Joe? I don it promise a thing, but you might be surprised. ' ' 25 aa ....... .---s...J I '

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vlllll uid 3 ima. vllln up tires, painted, cleaned spark plugs and waded ankle-deep in oil, wearing a smile, always joking and never complaining. SF 3? if F351 9? 2 'Ks S3 56 :lk 5? Fate is relentless and inscrutable, too. We sometimes find it hard to believe that every cloud has a silver lining, or that all is for the best. The great race was scheduled to begin at nine a. m. and last until one p. m.-four hours of arduous driving. At seven a. m. Joe broke his arm. In putting the finishing touches on his racer he had fallen from the hood, and in striking the cement floor had doubled his arm beneath him. Poor J oe! Poor 'Crilottel All was in readiness for the contest to begin. Twenty cars had made the tests, among them J oe 's white racer. People from all over the country were in town, hotels were crowded, tents were pitched and thousands of automobiles, parked outside the city, bedded rabid face fans, willing to undergo any hardship to witness the sport of kings. At 11:00 a. m. twenty lithe racing cars rolled out on the track. There was Roy Kenton who won steadily. There was Jacques LeRoy, the 'tflying French- man, and yes, there was Barney Mason, known from coast to coast for his iron nerve. This would certainly be a real race with so many celebrities. Who could number 18 be? It says on the list, J oe Martin. What a little fellow he is. What you can see of him looks almost girlish. Look at that curly hair sticking out under the helmet-and that tiny mouth. Wonder who he can be? There goes number one! Two is getting her start. Oh, boy, he crossed the line at forty. Pretty good, two. Crouched in number 18 was Crilotte. Her hands shook, her heart beat fast and she wanted to cry. Joe hadnlt wanted her to go, but she had pleaded with him, scolded him and finally cajoled him into giving his consent. He told her how to shift gears, to hold the wheel, to sit properly and to take the curves to the best advantage. Could she do it? She was just a girl, and this wasn't a thing for a girl to be doing, but her heart was in it and she was brave. It was her turn to make a dash for the starting line. She received her signal, let out the clutch, and with swift acceleration flew towards the mark. She crossed it at fifty miles per hour, her hands clasped about the wheel, her heart beating fast. But no faster than the heart of a young man in the grandstand who, when he saw her cross the line, uttered a low groan and let his face fall in his arms. But not for long, the lean white streak now far down the track fascinated him. It was hard to imagine that Crilotte was at the wheel, was driving that roaring fiash of metal-gentle little Crilotte who was so modest and retiring. She was driving eighty-eight fiat now, and she was running fifth, but that meant nothing. NVould the car stand up under it? Would the engine work properly after that first gruelling hour? Could the girl endure four hours of tireless, nerve-racking driving? Look! already they had circled the bowl twice. None of the cars was yet running a hundred miles an hour. Yes, there was -Crilotte. VVas she frightened? Can't tell, because all you can see is her mouth which is drawn into a hard line, and the little firm jaws, already grimy and dusty. Again and again they circle the giant track. The roar of cut-outs and tires on boards is deafening. The sight of the racers, and the mighty mass of people is like nothing else. Look at those stands. There are fifty thousand people if there is one. Over there is a whole flock of camera men, and, yes, there 's a squadron of planes, but their motors cannot be heard for the roars of the speed- ing cars. How about Crilotte? Vilas she frightened? Frightened! She was scared stiff. Already her arms felt tired and numb, and the wind whistling by made her head ache. She knew she should go faster, the engine was running smoothly 27 ESF shun V rmmi 9 ima mm' ee lj