Branksome Hall - Slogan Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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The Branksome Slogan 21 ti Jane Part I. Generally speaking, a handkerchief is not considered one of the most import- ant or interesting articles of apparel. Of course, it is decidedly useful, but one would not attach much thought tb so very prosaic an object. At least, this was the attitude which Robin Andrews held towards the subject; and he ought to know. Being six foot two inches, and having a body like a young god with face to match, Robin felt that he did know, rather a lot. His eyes were clear grey, and his hair had an inclination to kink a little, much to his daily annoyance. In- cidentally he played polo rather well, rode like an Arab, and .was amateur tennis champion of Greyfriars. At present he was staying at his club in London, having motored up from Greyfriars for the polo matches. On the afternoon of the twelfth of June his Herculean body might have been seen slowly ambling down the Strand. Suddenly his eyes focused on a small white object lying by the side of the street. On examination, it proved to be a small, lace affair, which he guessed to be a handkerchief. It was exquisitely fine and in one corner the name Jane was delicately embroidered in charming lettering. His heart quickened — Jane had always been his favourite name. The dainty creation smelt faintly of orange blossoms. The young man ' s pulses throbbed. He was ridiculously roman- tic. So small and dainty an affair must surely belong to some ravishingly lovely creature, he thought. Would she be dark or fair? He did not know — he rather hoped she .would be a blonde. He had always admired fair curly hair. Jane sounded like a brunette though. Her eyes would be brown, of course. A Jane always had dark brown eyes . , . At this point in his soliloquy he bumped into an elderly lady who was hurrying in the opposite direction. He laid the handkerchief tenderly in his vest pocket, next his heart. He must find the right Jane — he must, he must I She was sure to be perfect — a Jane always was — Part II. That night he was going to a dinner party — fool things, dinner parties — vwhy had he promised to go anyway? But he might meet Jane. He grew slightly nervous at the thought. Eight o ' clock found an immaculate Robin, cordially shaking hands with his host and hostess. Robin, dear, Lady Nanton was say- ing, this is my niece, Jane Langmuir — Mr. Robin Andrews. How-d-d-do you do? he stammer- ed, almost forgetting to bow. The girl ' s eyebrows elevated — oh — just such a tiny bit — but Robin didn ' t notice that — Jane! — a Jane with green eyes and black hair! It was unthinkable! Surely there was a mistake somewhere! He couldn ' t believe his senses — In a daze he found himself at the dinner table beside her. He glanced at her sideways — she wasn ' t bad looking — but, green eyes! Horrible! Oh, Mr. Andrews, I believe you know my — Good heavens! The girl had an awful twang. Surely she would never use such a handkerchief; but it might be — Slowly he produced it and spread it on his knee.

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20 « The Branksome Slogan The Swimming Pool. Spring Sunshine and blue sky and buds on the trees. The odor of daffodils scenting the breeze, Grass soft and green springing out of the mould. Crocuses peeping up, purple and gold; Robin ' s song, bluebird ' s wings. Little, green, growing things; Brooks running full and fast over the stone. Violet sky, and gay Lilacs arc on the spray; All the world ' s singing, for Winter has gone. Squirrels are chattering ' mongst the green leaves. Swallows are building a nest ' neath the eaves; Little .white clouds in the blue azure sky. Crows in the pine tree tops plaintively cry. Fairy folk in the glen, Robin Hood, merry men, Through the green forest their gay voices ring; Peter Pan ' s here once more. Dear folks of fairy lore — All the world ' s singing — again it is Spring, M. HOPKINSON, Form IV.

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22 The Branksome Slogan I beg your pardon, Miss — er, but I wondered if you lost a handkerchief like this- — I — He waited, scarcely daring to breathe. Then he heard her speaking in her nasal tones — Why, no, Mr. Andrews — what an extraordinary question — I never use lace handkerchiefs. ' Ah-h! He was saved! With a sigh of relief he replaced the handkerchief and started to eat an appetizing chicken salad — it was very good. Part III. Two days later Robin found himself balancing a teacup in one hand and a small cake in the other, at the same time making polite conversation with the Duchess of something or other. He breathed heavily — he loathed garden fetes. Oh, there you are, Bobbie — a silv- ery voice sang out — We want you to come and help in the relay races — they ' re beginning now. You will have to let him go. Duchess, dear. Whew! What a relief! Robin hur- ried across the lawn and was greeted with shouts of laughter from the gay group gathered about the drinks booth. Atta boy, Andy! Doing his stuff like a gentleman. Come on and roll eggs with your nose — it ' s great fun! Robin was prope lled towards the race- tracks — but — Robin, wait a minute — I want to in- troduce — Jane, dear, this is Mr. Robin Andrews — Miss Jane Dawson. The world spun dizzily about poor Robin — blue eyes — fair curly hair — this was more like it Gosh — she ' s a ripper! This must be the right one! Won ' t you come and have a lemon- ade? he said coaxingly. No one could resist Robin when he looked like that; certainly this girl couldn ' t. O ' oh — I ' d love to — Mithter An- dre wths — its tho hot — ithn ' t it? Robins ' heart sank at least two feet. The baby-doll type — he knew them — the clinging vine — this was worse than the last — but — oh, well — I wonder if you lost a little handker- chief like this last week? I picked it up and it had ' Jane ' on it — I thought — Ithn ' t it thweet! No-o-o— I didn ' t loothe it — Don ' t you juth love lathe hankies? Yes, said Robin. Part IV. Next week — at night — the moon — sound of jazz, throbbing through the garden — cigarette smoke — balloons — and Robin. The dance was nearly over — but for Robin it was just going to begin. His hostess was speaking — Why, Robin, I don ' t believe you met Jane, did you? Jane, my dear — Mr. Robin Andrews — Miss Jane Webster. The girl looked up at him and smiled. What a smile! Her eyes .were a dark mysterious blue and her hair was tawny with golden lights in it — a faint smell of orange blossom reached his nostrils. Rob- in ' s heart beat faster and faster. Jane! The Jane! Oh — May I have this dance? he asked huskily. They sat out in the garden on a rackety bench. The handkerchief was produced. Why, where did you find that? ask- ed the girl. Her voice was low and thrilling. Is it yours? Robin questioned rap- turously. Why, yes — I lost it last week — in London, I think. Then you are the right one, he whispered. I ' ve been looking for you every- where, M. BOYD, III. A.