Danforth Technical School - Tech Tatler Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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62 Cl-IIUH BOY Ay gmac.. ragga, fuse The Se-Kiang crawled by, thick and slug- gish, while the oriental sun beat down on a land of brown mud and yellow water. From the steaming fields came a hot, moist breeze peculiar to the interior of China's Southern Provinces. lt was noon, and miles away, over the shimmering purple Peling Moun- tains, a black line of clouds was gathering. Only the fat buzzing flies and tiny wriggling water spiders showed any signs of life. As the afternoon dragged on and the heat and humidity grew worse, even the flies became still. Then, far up the river, a tiny object appeared, dancing in the heat haze and moving downstream with the lazy cur- rent. lt was a small native sampan carrying a Chinese peasant and his bundles of mul- berry leaves. Sweating, naked to the waist, he toiled on, wielding his long oar in effort- less rhythm. His big round hat, hand-fash- ioned from the river reeds, was tipped down over his face. shielding his eyes from the fierce glare. He chanted a strange native tune as he paddled on. This, and the dip- ping of his oar, were the only sounds dis- turbing the perfect quiet. The native stopped long enough to turn and look at the skvg then he resumed pad- FISH HUD CHIPS iq fqmze agadlan, Mqlrq Grandpa , said Barney, looking up hope- fullv from his porridge and milk, c'n I have a dog? This was the question put before Captain Hank by his six-year-old grandson. Ever since Barney's parents had died, he and the boy had lived on the old fishing vessel, the Sally Anne, anchored in Bass Bay. All the sailors knew them and were forever bring- ing little presents to the curly-haired, blue- eyed child. They had given him a fishing pole which had never, never caught a fish, a parrot, a couple of turtles, candies, and other such gifts. The captain had agreed to let the turtles stay and even the parrots, but now a dog . . .! Well now , said the captain slowly, just what kind of a dog were ye expecting to get. Oh, maybe one that likes the water see'n as he'd have to live on the boat, said Bar- ney thoughtfully. One that wouldn't get seasickf' Now that's too bad, son, said the cap- tain, 'cause I don't reckon there's any such dog as likes the water. Maybe he could get used to it, Grandpa, and I'd clean up after 'im if he did get kind of sick, said the boy. TECH TFITLER dling at a quicker rate, for the black clouds were almost overhead. As the clouds shut out the withering heat of the sun, the Se- Kiang lost its yellow colour and became a foreboding black. Along the banks of the river a buzzing arose as millions of insects moved off in search of shelter from the com- ing rain. Then, with an ear-splitting clap of thunder, the buzzing was forgotten. The thunder crashed and echoed from the Peling Mountains, and here and there jagged forks of lightning plunged into the ground. Terror stamped on his face, the superstitious native began paddling fiercely into shore. Reaching the south bank of the river, he leaped from his sampan onto the mud-flat. As his legs sank knee-deep into the sticky mire, a scream of horror came from his lips. He thrashed about wildly, reaching out with straining arms for the bow of his boat. The brown mud reached his waist. Shouting and twisting, he sought escape from his awful captor. The mud closed around his neck, and he screamed forth a prayer to his gods. Then he disappeared. Only his hat remained, but that too, under the relentless beating of the rain, soon vanished beneath the brown mud. That's all very well and good, lad, but just where do ye think I'll be gettin' the money to buy ye a dog. Besides it's liable to fall overboard and get itself drowned and then you'd be unhappy, the money wasted, and no good would come of it all. How about me gettin' you one o' those stuffed dogs? You wouldn't have to feed it and it wouldn't fall overboard? But it wouldn't run or bark, pleaded Barney. Please, Grandpa? l Ifll think it over, muttered the captain in his. sandy beard and considered the matter c osed. Barney was about to say more when the Nancy Lou drew alongside and Mike and Joe came aboard. Mike began telling Cap- tain Hanks about a new sure-fire bait while Joe went over to Barney and learned all about the hoped-for dog. One night about a week later, after Barney had gone to bed, the captain inspected his catch for the day. It was the largest he'd gotten in some time and he felt quite proud of it. After checking the moorings and mak- ing sure the boat was safe for the night, Captain Hanks went below to his bunk to dream of the profits he'd get from the catch.

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Qi,HNfC i lk .il 0 Its LITERFIRY

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TECH TFITLER The next morning when Barney came sleepily above, the captain was pacing the deck furiously. What's wrong, Grandpa? Barney asked excitedly. tfDid pirates come or something? No, roared the captain. My catch was stolen by some low-down thieves. Best catch I ever got! Stolen! Humph! , If I'd had a dog, Barney stated fiercely, he'd have caught the fish stealers, I bet. Have you thought it over Grandpa? About the dog? No, you can't have one. But Grandpa, sobbed . Barney, he'd guard the boat and everything. I Now, just a minute, said the captain, becoming a bit calmer, . I'l1 get ye a dog, lad, and mebbe those thlevin' devils 'ill try to rob me again, and then we'll see. Hmm! So Barney and the Captain went ashore sized mongrel for fifty cents. The excited boy finally got the dog, whom he called Chips, to the Sally Anne, after dragging him from every tree and promptly being dragged to the next. I When they boarded the boat, Captain Hanks let out a bellow that must have been heard at Sunny Cove, half a mile down the 63 lake. There, safe and sound in the hatch, lay the fish. On top was this note: Dear Capt. Hanks, Seeing as Barney wanted a dog so badly and you weren't likely to be getting him one, we took your catch to let you think it had been stolen. When we saw you and the lad leaving the Sally Ann, we were pretty sure you were going to get a dog. Here's your catch back again and you best be keep- ing the mongrel for protection. Yours, Mike and Joe. Captain Hanks read the note aloud. He wasn't sure whether to laugh or be angry. Finally he said, All right, he can stay. Barney breathed a sigh of relief and then asked anxiously. About christenin' 'im, Grandpa. We'll call 'im Chips, but do you hit him over the head with a bottle like Mike did the Nancy Lou, or what? Well, said the Captain gravely, I don't rightly know, but we'll have to look into that. Yep, that we will. my ecrmo DEBUTH A., ea Meow, ,usa lt is said that actors are made, not born. I am a product of a maternity hospital which is, I suppose, reason enough for my being a theatrical failure. In the rear portions of my head, I always nourished the notion that some day I might be a great actor. The pros- pect enthralled me. Perhaps I had fallen under the charm of Hollywood movies. Per- haps I was living in a delirium. No matter. The fact is that when approached by the drarnatics director of the young people's club of my church, I accepted a part in a skit. During the week prior to the first practice my imagination became extremely fertile. l envisioned myself as John Barrymore, stirring audiences to the point of hysteria. l saw myself as Henry the Fifth urging his armies on to the siege of Harfleur. I once even caught myself portraying Lady Mac- beth, but my mind had been overworked that day, for after a good night's sleep I was back to normal. However, my imagination and pride re- ceived a shattering blow at the first re- hearsal. To my intense disappointment, I found that my part consisted of only one line, to be exact, seven words. I buried my dignity and assured myself that to become great one must start at the bottom. I would learn my role perfectly, I resolved. I would study it till I knew it forwards, backwards, and upside down. I later realized that that was a tremendous error. My part in the skit was really quite in- significant. The production was a satire on radio broadcasting. The section of the play in which I participated was devoted to com- mercials, a very fruitful field. A budding Stis Skinner was to ask the familiar ques- ions: Ladies, do you feel tired when you get up in the morning? Do your arms ache after doing the weekly wash? When you stay out late at night, do you get bags under your eyes? You need a stimulant. l Then came my big moment. I announced in a voice oozing with friendliness, Try Pankhurst's Pink Pills for Pale People. Those dynamic words were to form my debut in the theatrical world. The night of the performance arrived. As I-had vowed, I could recite my line in any direction requested and after much painful practice, I had achieved the correct tone of voice. I was ready for the theatre. There was no question as to my success. My few words received more applause than any other part of the play. For weeks afterwards my friends congratulated me. They said they had never seen or heard anything like it, and I never once doubted them. But it made no difference. The theatre and I there and then parted company. I had definitely made a place for myself in it, but I could not get myself to occupy it. Perhaps I should explain why. Maybe you wonder at my leaving the theatre at the verge of an apparently magnificent career. Let me return to that fateful night. With the time of my entrance rapidly ap- proaching, I stood in the wings shivering violently. My colleague began his spiel and my moment was only seconds away. My teeth started an extremely realistic imitation of a machine-gun. Then I heard my cue. After a last desperate attempt to compose myself. I stepped onto the stage. This was it, the climax. I strode up to the microphone and to my absolute horror said in a thin quavering voice, Try Pankhurst's Pale Pills for Pink People .