Central Catholic High School - Echo Yearbook (Fort Wayne, IN)

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THE ECHO 5 struck a woman knocking her to the ground. With a grinding of brakes the engine stopped. In an instant the gentleman had the woman in the car. He rushed her to his own home and summoned a doctor. While waiting he paced the room like a caged lion, pausing now and then to gaze at the wan face of the sufferer. Vlfhen the physician arrived he was astonish- ed at the behavior of the man, W was as insistent and careful though the woman were his motn- er. After a hasty examination the doctor announced, 4'The woman is starved. If I am not mistaken sne has not tasted food for at least two days. That, with the shock of the auto striking her, has placed her in a critical condition. Rest and good food for a week will see her well. IV. VVhen the woman opened her eyes she could scarcely believe her senses. There by her side was the husband she had thought dead and buried miles away in a lonely desert. She reached out an in- vestigating arm. No, he was there 5 this was really Harry. In a few moments she was explaining: 'fWhen I left you I secured work, and for awhile was content. After a few months I began to long for you. At last I could stand it no longer and I determined to go back. I hired a car and drove out to our old home, and here she told him what she had seen. The shock was terrible. Since then I have wandered around not heeding or caring where I went. But what of the revolver with the one bullet missing beside my note on the cabin table, and what are you doing here? ho as f'When you left I felt there was nothing to live for. In a rage I crumpled up your note and de- parted from the cabin. For a long time I was a wanderer. Then I reached this place and took a new grip on life, and I made good. I cannot say what has taken place at the cabin since I left there, but some day I intend to return and straighten things up in remem- brance of old times,', he explained, and a deep silence fell between them. Harry, can you forgive? , she shyly inquired. Forgive? Yes. Not only forgive but also forget. We will close that chapter of our lives and on this Christmas night begin to live only for the future. -J. Haley, '21. The Pledge of '23 A score plus ten and five are we, To leave the school in twenty-three With every member to a man A-doing all the work he can. We're proud of this old school of ours, We love its dear old battered towers. f We know it doesn't look like much, But we care not for looks, as such. We're here to drink-as morning dew- Our learning with religion too. For faith we'd fight, for faith we'd die, We'd do the same for Catholic High. -P. McEvoy, '23.

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4 THE ECHO A New England Christmas Out upon the harbor Ice-clad vessels lie, Flakes of snow fall thickly From a burdened sky, Carpeting the meadows VVith a glittering floor, Heaping in great snow banks By each cabin door. All within are cheerful, Hearts are light and gay. Each small voice cries joyously, This is Christmas Day. -R. Neeb, '21. The Return I. Far away in the arid, wind-swept desert of Arizona stands a small, prospector's cabin. As far as the eye can see there is no other sign of human habitation. The cabin stands alone except for the sage brush and cactus, the wolves that howl around it, and the lizards that bask on the threshhold. A little distance from the sagging door is a hitching post, at its foot, the skeleton of what was once a horse. The interior of the cabin is as drab looking as the exterior. Here a curtain, there a piece of lace give mute evidence that at some time a woman had made this her home. Perhaps these same bleak walls had once looked down upon a happy romance. Now, however, the scene is one of desolation. Everything is in disorder and con- fusion. Upon a dust covered table lies a large revolver, one bullet fired. Near by is a piece of time- stained paper, and if you bend close you can make out the message there. Good-bye, Harry, I've gone back to God's country. Don't follow me. I'm through for good. This loneliness was killing me. I still love you but I cannot stay. Evelyn. 1 II. As we gaze on this dismal scene a speck appears on the horizon. As it approaches it is seen to be a speeding auto driven by a woman. She stops the car about a hundred feet from the shack and alights. She stands, hesitating a moment as though waiting for a welcome. As none is forthcoming she advances. She stops suddenly as she sees the skeleton of the horse and seems to notice for the first time the gloomy appearance of her surroundings. One hand flies to her heart, she darts to the door and disappears within. As her eyes become accustomed to the semi-darkness she sees the revolver and the paper on the table. She advances slowly, exam- ines the weapon and reads the note. A shudder passes over her,and with a moan of agony she throws herself on the table, her shoulders heaving with the intensity of her emotion, calling again and again to him who she thinks has been the victim of her treachery. At last seeming to realize the futility of this she arises, and with one last look at the dreary room bows her head and leaves. III. A few months later in a far away city, a well dressed gentleman stepped into his private car, gave an order to his chauffeur, and the powerful machine started forward. In passing a cross street the ma- chine swerved in an attempt to avoid collision with another, and

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6 THE ECHO The Hidden Grave E It is midnight. A soft breeze rustles the pine needles, as the moon looks down on the dormant earth. Suddenly the silence is broken by the sound of footsteps plodding slowly through the brush. A grotesque form emerges from the woods, and starts to climb slowly up Murder Hill. It is a man. On his shoulder he carries a burden. Now and then he stops to look back down the hill. Evidently he has eluded his pursuers for his haggard features are dimly lighted by a sneering smile. Animals scurry from his path as though he were tainted. But he pays no heed. He stops to wipe the perspiration from his face, and one hears his labored breathing. As he again proceeds up the hill his step is more careful, for he is rapidly approach- ing the chosen spot. Several min- utes later he reaches the summit. For the first time he lowers the bundle to the ground. From his shoulder he unslings a shovel. Carefully selecting a suitable rest- ing place for the remains, he digs frantically. He hurries, for he has a feeling of impending danger. At last the grave is finished. As he raises the burden to deposit it in the yearning hole, he cannot re- strain a few tears as a token to his only friend. Each shovelful of earth seems to pain him, but he proceeds in spite of this. Having finished he marks the place so that he alone will know it, and with one last look he turns homeward. But, alas! he dies of sorrow on the way, and with him is buried the key to the resting place of the last keg of Old Kentucky. -J . Striefus, '21. One-Man Street Cars Oh, yes, we have a few speci- mens, you couldn't tell it by look- ing at them, and it would be a hard task to convince a stranger in Fort Wayne that those little yellow match-cases which run about the streets are street cars. Of course they aren't, theyre just samples. Here I am ridiculing a little, de- fenseless street car instead of de- scribing it, but I rode in one once, and if you ever do the same it's a safe bet that the descriptive adjec- tives with which you'll adorn your candid opinion will be censured be- fore they reach polite society, al- though everyone feels the same way about it. After carefully scrutinizing one through a telescope, we find that it has four wheels, one as a rule flat, a front and a back door, not used very much except for entering, the windows being much handier and less difficult for exit. Why? I'll explain later. On the front is a large number which is illuminated at night, probably an identification number to enable the company to recognize the little thing in case someone should forget to bid Satan to get behind him, and take one home for a souvenir pocket-piece or watch charm. A person has to follow the rules for stalking deer to catch one-man street cars, because they are as scarce as hen's teeth when needed, a trait they copied from policemen' Once I waited for what seemed hours before finally catching one, and after depositing the usual jit Cat present a seven-cent slug is in order? I took a seat, but as I never had much experience in one of Henryls shufHe buggies, I