Central Collegiate Institute - Analecta Yearbook (Calgary, Alberta Canada)

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26 The Analecta MARGARET SMITH ALISON JACKSON SCHOLARSHIPS One afternoon last fall the students of Central High assembled for the presentation of prizes won by the students of C.C.I. in the June examina¬ tions of 1929. The Hon. R. B. Bennett honored us by his presence, and after a short address presented one of the Bennett Scholarships to Margaret Smith, for obtaining the highest average in Grade XI in Calgary. Then Dr. A. M. Scott presented to Alison Jackson the McKillop Scholar¬ ship. This scholarship is offered to the student in C.C.I. obtaining the highest marks in Grade XI. Margaret Smith —Since entering C.C.I. Margaret has set an almost un¬ surpassable record. Not once has her average been below 90%. In Grade X she obtained the highest marks in Calgary and again has she upheld her standard in Grade XT by ranking first. Not only does she excel in her studies but she has been on the Senior Basketball team since her freshman year. Next year Margaret goes to the university and C.C.I., I am sure, wishes her every success. Her marks in the Grade XI examina¬ tions for June, 1929, are—Literature 3-84, Composition 3-88, History 3-97, Arithmetic 100, Algebra 2-99, chemistry 1-92, Latin 2-90, Geography 95, French 3-81. Alison Jackson is another excellent student whom the pupils of C.C.I. regard with enviable pride. Alison made a wonderful beginning by gain¬ ing the highest marks in Calgary in Grade IX, and in Grade XI she has been repaid for her many hours of study. This year Alison is only taking half her Grade XII and will be back to complete it next year. Whatever career she chooses to follow she is sure to be successful for she is a real student. The marks which justly obtained her the scholarship are—Lit¬ erature 3-82, Composition 3-85, History 3-89, Latin 2-93, Chemistry 1-92. Arithmetic 100, Geography 89, Geometry 2-94.

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The Analecta 25 THE FIRST DOLLAR I EARNED For nearly two hours of the previous day I had worked, trying to clean a particularly dirty yard—so filthy in fact, that I wouldn’t have attempted cleaning it, except that it was a big enough job to net me at least a dollar. When at last I had finished, the lady who had asked me to do the work came out, smiling sweetly, and said, “Thank you, my lad. Here is ten cents.”—I was mad. I had good reason, but that didn’t change things. I was still mad. And every gopher I saw made me madder. I would shoot one, and turn around to see another defiantly “peeping” at me, and the more I shot the thicker they came out “peeping” derisively it seemed. It made me see red. I tramped around throwing shells everywhere and any¬ where, as long as I thought they might knock the impudence out of some of those taunting gophers. Strange to say, most of them did. When I cooled down I discovered that I was in possession of more than forty car¬ casses. That settled things. I couldn’t help being in good humor when I found that for the first time since I had started shooting gophers, I had in one trip earned over a dollar more than my expenses.—J. G.—XC. FORSAKEN The night is dark, the path is long, The blasts rage fierce in a ngry song; With threatening swell from mighty sea, Look yonder how the billows roar, Rush in and break on darksome shore. 0 Traveller, come and rest with me! Far hast thou come from lands unknown, No friendly eyes on thee have shone, All lost, alone, where wilt thou be? With only moon and stars to guide Within some lonely dell to hide. 0 Traveller, come and rest with me! Wait not for now the storm is here, And little else there is to fear, I take thy hospitality. The great door clangs, the bolts are shot, The storm shrieks on but all for naught. 0 world-worn Traveller, rest with me! —F. Fraser. FARMER WHITEBEARD MUSES What a pity the chickweed don’t hatch out a chick. An’ the milkweed ain’t good as a cow; That the bull-thorne, tho’ running all over the field, Don’t fu rnish a beefsteak somehow. With prices as high as the air it’s a shame. I’d be as rich as old Croesus—but what’s in a name? —Dorothy McDougall—XA.

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I K WONG TUO’S FINGER-NAILS (First Prize) I Kwong Tuo sat peacefully in the doorway of his silk shop and occupied himself by looking at his finger-nails. They were long, sharp and yellow, and when he gracefully moved his hand in salutation to some of the pass¬ ers-by they clicked and rustled together with a sound like dead leaves whispering in the wind. He was prouder of his finger-nails than of the prosperous shop behind him. The sluggish Si-Kiang flowed directly past his shop, indeed part of the building stood on stilts in the water much like a woman holding up her skirts and standing in a puddle. He watched the boats with their queer bat-like sails float lazily down the river. Merchants in the street beside the stream occasionally called their wares—tea, rice, fruit, and all kinds of garden truck, and these cries mingled pleasantly with the sounds of play¬ ing children, donkeys, dogs and the shouts of the barge men. Kwong Tuo, yellow, bent and ugly, leaned back and pulled his stringy whiskers in great contentment. It was getting dark and Kwong Tuo called to him his assistant, San Foy, who had faithfully served him for five years. “San Foy,” he said, “it is time to close the shop.” “Master, that is true,” replied San Foy. He was an incredibly ugly man, very yellow and wrinkled and he squinted terribly. About his neck he wore a green jade necklace curiously carved, of which he was inordin¬ ately proud. They went about closing up the shop and Kwong Tuo put the takings of the day in the big old-fashioned safe he had imported from Sheffield. He had a great deal of money in his safe for tomorrow he was getting a special shipment of silk from IIong-Kong. San Foy knew this very well. That evening San Foy repaired as usual to the gambling den he fre¬ quented. He had a further run of the bad luck that had attended him for