Burlington High School - Rarebits Yearbook (Burlington, Ontario Canada)

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R A R E B I T S 21 A illiihaummrr Exam Bream By A. SMITH IV . Scene:-The book-lined study of Jack Morgan on the night before the Upper School English examination. The room is lighted only by the green shaded lamp on the desk. Scattered over the desk and lying on the floor are new, unused copies of Lord Jim , David Copperfield , Henry IV , Longer Poems and Shorter Poems . As we watch, Jack nods once, twice, until finally his head sinks down on his folded arms. Slowly the room darkens until the silver rays of the moon and the fitful gleam of the dying fire are the only light. Very softly the door at the back opens and a figure clad in a white suit and sun-helmet enters and walks slowly to the edge of the desk. Jack's head rises with a jerk and he looks at the stranger in a dazed manner. Jack-frubbing his eyes and looking bewildered! Who are you? Oh, I know, you're the prince who found the Sleeping Beauty. I'd know you anywhere. Lord Jim-lindignantlyb-I am not! Don't you suppose I have anything else to do but chase around after princesses? I'm the person who killed Hotspur. Hotspur-lfrom the open doorway!-What is it I hear? Lord Jim-Why, I killed you. Don't you remember? Hotspur-Killed me? lproudlyl I was killed by a King's son not by an insignificant puppet in a white uniform. lLooks contemptuously at Lord Jim.J Lord Jim-fangrilyl-Is that so? Just let me tell you that I . . . Hotspur-timpatiently interruptingl-And once more I tell you that I was killed by a king's son. IA great commotion is heard off stage and as all turn wonderingly toward the sound, Falstaff comes in pufiing and blowing like a porpoisej Falsta 17-lwiping his face with a huge red handkerchief!-How now, how now, mad wag, did'st thou forget that I killed thee? It was at the battle of Holmedon Hill. Hotspur-4 angrily striding about the study!-Why you huge hill of fiesh, you old wool sack, you . . . Falstafi'-'Sblood you starveling, you eel-skin, you tailors yard lstops for breath, blowing his nose and trying in vain to sit down on a hassock before the fire! Unto the midst of this uproar comes Miss Betsey Trotwood, her bonnet askew. She holds up her hands in horror at the noise.j Miss Betsey-Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Don't you know how to act? Such language and such noise! Mercy on us, where's Mr. Dick! He'll show you the way to conduct yourselves. Mr. Dick, Mr. Dick! Jack-tall this time he has been looking from one person to another with a dazed ex- pressionl-Mr. Dick? I always thought that he was the guy who married Peggotty, but he isn't. Oh, I know, he was Katie Willow's cousin in The Brook . Mr. Dick-icomes in flying a kite and clutching a manuscript in his handg he is bewil- deredly shaking his head over the date of the death of King Charles IJ-I still can't figure this out how . . . Jack-Neither can we. Miss Betsey-Mr. Dick, the question I put to you is: Who killed Hotspur? M r. Dick-fconsidering and looking vacantly from one to another, then suddenly getting an inspiration?-I should say . . . Ulysses! . Jack-Oh Yeah! But . . . well, you might be right. Miss Betsey-lwith cold dignity!-Mr. Dick sets us all right. Ulysses killed Hotspur. l:During all this time she has been running repeatedly to the window and peering anxious- ly out. Snatching off her bonnet and swinging it by the strings, she rushes out of the door at right screaming: Janet! Donkeys! As she rushes off she almost collides with the shrink- ing figure of My Last Duchess who is coming timidly into the room.j Jack-fperceiving herl--Well, if it isn't Mrs. Hotspur, lturning to Hotspurb Here's your wife, Sir. Hotspur-Here comes my wife. I take my leave. lLeaves hastily at left.J Duchess-lcoldly, drawing herself up proudly?-The gentleman who so rudely withdraws from my presence is not my husband. My lord is bravely defending the bridge with Horatius. Jack-fmore bewildered than ever!-Well, if you say so . . . fHe is interrupted by Peggotty who rushes in and embraces Falstaffj Peggotty-Oh, my dear Master Davy, my own darling. How you have grown! Do you remember when you were little, how you bit Mr. Murdstone? Falstap'-Peace good pint-pot! Peace good tickle-brain. Good old Jack Falstaff never bit any Murderingstone. lshoutingl Bring me a cup of sack. Jack-Sack? Oh, you mean wine. Help yourself. Th81'6'S plenty in the wine cellar. fFalstaff, with Peggotty hanging on to his arm, waddles out followed by Mr, Dick, still fiying his kite, and Lord Jim. My Last Duchess trails sedately after them.j As we watch, Jack slides off the chair and lands with a crash on the fioor. Slowly he sits up, rubs his eyes, yawns and looks wonderingly about him. The room is completely empty except for his own much crumpled and untidy figure.j Jack-Well, I'll be dawgoned! CURTAIN.

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20 RAREBITS Every time he tried to begin Dr. Roberts whistled and the bear looked aroundg thus he had a great deal of fun at the bear's expense. As you know, Dr. Roberts is very distinguished ilooking and a very in- teresting speaker and I could hardly realize that two hours had flown by while I sat and listened. I know if you had been there you would have enjoyed yourself as much as I did and would have said good-bye to him with the same little inward sigh of regret. illlnthrr illlaria By PEGGY Dr-JWHURST IIIA A tall man trudged wearily along the sun-swept road which led through a tiny-cluster. of white-washed cottages. His clothes were good, but worn and stained with travel. His piercing black eyes glanced over the rows of small houses set in flowering gardens. The brilliant fruit of the orange trees made bright patches of colour among the drab, grey olive groves. Red tiled roofs contrasted pleasantly with the glittering blue of the Mediterranean. Dusky, plump urchins played in the dust and sunshine. Buxom matrons sat at their spinning-wheels, sewed or gossiped, while on the beach the tanned and sturdy fishermen occupied themselves with sails and nets. After years of wandering in distant lands since he had run away from home as a boy, Antonio Mazzini was once more in his native land. He was tired and hungry. His passion for roving had driven him away from his simple home and loving family in the north. But, after many years of roaming, he longed for a sight of familiar faces, and he had retraced his steps homeward to his native village. There, as a result of his inquiries, he learned that all his loved ones were either dead or gone to another town-none knew where. So, heart- sick and lonely, Antonio continued his wanderings, no longer from choice, but from a con- suming desire to see again familiar and friendly faces., This town he knew not, but he must have food and lodging. He had some money, for Fortune had deigned to smile upon him in his travels. Accordingly, Mazzini stepped through a gate into a tidy garden, and, addressing a corpu- lent kindly-faced woman, asked where he might receive food and lodging. Drawing her round-eyed brood closer to her voluminous skirts, the woman replied readily. At Mother Maria's, of course, signor. It is there that all travellers go in order to receive that which they need. See-it is but a stone's throw distant. With a word of thanks, Mazzini turned down the street, directing his footsteps towards the white house which had been pointed out to him. It was smaller than its neighbours- this haven for the traveller-but its garden was as well-kept and in just as riotous bloom. The stranger walked quickly up to the low green door and knocked firmly. In a moment it was opened by a wee. white-haired old woman whose cheeks were wrinkled softly by mellow old age, whose lips smiled a sweet welcome, but whose eyes were dimmed by sorrow. Antonio made known his wants, and in a gentle voice he was bidden to enter. The interior of the cottage was spotlessly clean. Stiff, green curtains were faintly re- flected upon the gleaming white-washed walls. Several hand-made rag rugs partially covered the shining beauty of the red-tiled iioor. In one corner stood a spinning Wheel, and the fire-place filled another. A large, gray cat lay purring on a square of sunlit iioor. You were well recommended to me, Mother Maria. I was told that one could find here all that one desired. I wish that it might be true in all things. Those are pleasant words, signor. My loved ones have either died or left me. I am alone. And it makes me happy to minister to those who are worn and hungry. It is my life -But you must be weary, signor. You will find water outside by the pump-and in a moment I shall have ready a meal to set before you. Feeling strangely comforted and at home, Antonio re-entered the house, refreshed and ravenous, to Iind a meal set upon a clean, Howered linen cloth. While he ate Mazzini spoke briefly of his life, and, in turn. Mother Maria spoke of her loneliness, meanwhile pressing upon him her fresh bread, fish, vegetables and fruit. The meal finished, Antonio sat down by the open window and filled his pipe. Almost it seemed that he was home once more, and there was his mother beside him.-But no. His pipe was lighted now and his chair comfortable.-and it was only Mother Maria who sat near, calm. and industriously sewing. Silence fell. The rays of the afternoon sun leng- thened and stretched themselves out of the reach of the gray cat which stirred, got slowly to her feet, yawned. and lay down on the remaining patch of sunshine. Twilight was gather- ing and peace filled the little room. Mother Maria broke the long silence by asking. What is your name, signor? You have not yet told me. Antonio Mazzini. the stranger responded. With a joyous cry the old woman stumbled to her feet, the sewing tumbling unheeded to the floor. Her eyes filled with tears and she gazed with awe upon the startled face of the man before her. My son, she cried brokenly. Then only did Antonio understand-and striding forward, he gathered his mother into his arms, and laid his head tenderly and thankfully against hers. g

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22 RAREBITS Uhr Minh 1HilnI By A. MITCHELL IV The white-winged ship swept proudly around the headland, slackened sail and stopped. The harbour was like a funnel, the wide end facing the sea, but directly across its mouth stretched a grim line of rocks, their cruel fangs concealed just under the surface. Among them a dark blue strip wound ribbon- like through the white seething turmoil. This was the only passage for the entrance of ships. Now the ship floated motionless upon the sea with busy sailors swarming in her rigging. Gracefully she towered up above her blue re- flection like a white swan ruffling her feathers just after she has settled into the water and is still peering curiously at her image below. The pilot flag shot up to her mast. In answer, the old pilot hurried down to his boat, which his two assistants were launching. Then, for the first time, he took a look at the ship. Instantly his shrunken old figure straightened and his faded blue eyes flashed fire. The Faery Queen, he muttered. That will be my brother, eh! Forty years! Forty years! It's my turn now. The morning sun glinted on the furled sails and black topsides of the great ship as the pilot boat skimmed out to her like a giant water spider on some stagnant pool. The Captain waited at the top of the companion ladder, his blue-gray, steely eyes shining out above his bushy black beard just beginning to be ruffled by the fresh breeze that was rising. Ahoy, Pilot, cried the Captain. Ahoy, Captain, returned the pilot. The two oarsmen skilfully brought the pilot boat to the foot of the companion ladder: the pilot climbed agilely upg the rowboat pulled away. Without a glance at the Cap- tain who stood beside him, the pilot took his place at the wheel. The sails iiuttered, filled, and billowed out in the fast freshening breeze. The boat sliced through the water with increasing speed, like a sea-gull taking wing. The pilot gripped the wheel, a fanatical light of hatred in his eyes. My God, man, where are you going? suddenly shouted the Captain. I'm going to smash you. your ship and all that's in her on the rocks, hissed the pilot, for one moment letting his glance, passionate with hatred, rest on the Captain's agonized face. For an instant he lost his grip on the wheel and the ship struggled like a bull being led to the slaughter. Are you utterly mad, Pilot?', cried the Captain. Not utterly-no thanks to youf' His voice rose to a shriek. You are my brother, John Linguard. But you stole my girl. Forty years! And it still sears like a burning brand! Now I'm going to wreck your fine ship. Ha! Ha! and he laughed iiendishly. Man, man, bring the ship about, implored the Captain. 'Tm not John Linguard. He died in Singapore. I took charge there. Heaven help me. What have I done? groaned the pilot, horror-stricken. Then he turned to his wheel. The ship came about slowly, slowly, graz- ing a rock, missing one by inchesg but she gained headway and won clear of the treach- erous fangs. The pilot straightened himself as if a mighty load had slipped from his shoulders as the ship darted through the pas- sage like a proud eagle which had just won its mate. Beminizring PEGGY DEWHURST, IIIA I sit and think in a deep armchair In front of a roaring fire, And watch the smoke curling through your hair, fYour pipe is a part of you.J I think of those I have loved one time- Those loves that are now long dead, Of friends I knew in that youth sub- lime- That youth that is far away, Of days I lived with the knowledge rife Of life being mine to take, Of dreams I dreamed in the dawn of life- Their fabric has gone with the youth. I sit and think in my deep armchair In front of the roaring fire, I've known the care and the wear and tear Of life in the worst of forms, But I know content when I look be- hind The curtain of years gone by- I've found the best that there is to find In life and the love of man.