Daniel McIntyre Collegiate Institute - Breezes Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

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D.M.C. I. BREEZES 29 shouting at the top of his voice. George hailed him, and asked him, in a deferential tone, for a copy of the evening paper. Glancing at his face, the hoy grinned, knowingly, and de¬ manded twenty-five cents for it. The intricasies of Canadian currency were still mysteries to George, and he brought forth his wallet, crammed with notes, and, selecting a five-dol- lar bill, handed it to the boy. At the sight of the wallet, the lad’s eyes opened wide, but, with an effort, he turned his attention to his change. Taking his paper and change, George commenced to read, leaning still against the pillar, but his atten¬ tion wandered, and he soon became absorbed, in watching the fussing crowd. Mentally, he compared them rather unfavorably with the friends and neighbors of his youth. Why, he mused, old Tim Shaugnessy, who owned the largest farm in the dis¬ trict, and who, had turned sixty-five last autumn, could twist any two of these puny weaklings around his fingers, while, if a man of sixty-five, who had worked hard and long all his life could do that, what could not any of his other six-foot, fifteen- stone neighbors do? Still ruminating thus, he let his gaze stray over the crowd. Suddenly he stared, incredulous. Were these people mad as well as weak? There was a small, insignificant-looking slip of a man, running up and down the platform, following first one passer¬ by, and then another. He would run after one for the space of a few min¬ utes, then leave that one, and follow another. Puzzled, George watched the man closely. Then he gasped. The fellow was a pickpocket! Un¬ noticed in the hurry and confusion, he was quietly and, methodically ex¬ tracting wallets and valuables from the pockets of the unsuspecting crowd. The flash of the silver and gold of the watches in the glare of the arc-lights could just he discerned by an intent observer. It took several minutes for it to dawn upon him that he had better let someone in authority know about it. Besides, the thief had probably seen the wallet as George had paid the newsboy, and would be over to get it in a few minutes. He would have to find a policeman immediately. He turned quickly, searching frantically for the familiar blue uniform, and, bumped into a tall, well-dressed man who was coming up behind him. “I beg your pardon,” said the stranger in a pleasant voice, “You seem in an awful hurry.” “Yes. I want a policeman. Where can I find one?” demanded George. “A policeman? Would I do? I’m Detective-Sergeant Archibald, of the force.” Surprised at his good fortune, George poured out his story in a few minutes, pointing to the suspect as he did so. “H’m. We can’t arrest him just on suspicion, because no one will be able to identify the goods, as none of the victims knows he has been robbed. We must find some way of catching him red-handed. Let me see. Ah! I have it.” Speaking rapidly, he outlined his plan. “You stand here, by this pole. Take out your paper and read it. You say this fellow saw your wallet. Then he’ll probably come and get it. Let him take it, and then I’ll arrest him. I’ll stay here in the back.” “But—” began George, when the other interrupted him. “Hurry up, you fool, you’ll spoil it all. You’ve got to help me whether you want to or not, I’ll have you ar¬ rested for obstructing a police officer in the performance of his duty.” The thought of being arrested upon

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28 D. M. C. I. BREEZES I tell my new friends of my travels. I have seen happy faces, casual faces, features lined with sorrow and grief, the wrinkled skin of the old, and the evil faces of the thieves. I tell them of the little girl who had wished to start a bank account with me, and— hist—what was that? Something is crackling, something is smelling. Then it breaks into the drawer. A long, red tongue is licking nearer and nearer. I see my brothers go up in smoke. I am very warm. The flame is nearer. Its hot breath is fanning my face. The edges of me begin to curl and smoke. So this is the way I am des¬ tined to leave the world I came to serve. Crackle! It is so hot Ohh! VIOLET BAXTER. EVERY MINUTE By O.O. The magnificent Canadian Pacific station at Montreal, West Side, seethed with life. Trains arrived and depart¬ ed in clangorous succession. Engines panted and struggled up and down the maze of tracks which crossed and recrossed in a bewildering pattern of shining steel. Trucks and carts of baggage, trundled by panting, sweat¬ ing porters, rumbled along the plat¬ form, the sound of their bumping and rolling resounding against the arched roof of the depot like distant thunder. Baggage men and conductors hurried about, thrusting their way uncere¬ moniously through the crowd. Pass¬ engers ran hither, thither, and yon, frantically trying to complete ar¬ rangements before the departure of their train. From his perch on one of the stools in the railway cafeteria, George Hurd watched the scene with open-eyed ab¬ sorption. He had arrived in Montreal only that afternoon, landing from the “Canconia” at three o’clock after an exceedingly rough passage. It seemed a tremendously long distance to his home in Ireland, to the farm where he had been born and raised, and where his father and mother awaited his return from this Canada, the land of plenty, whither he had repaired to make his fortune. Upon landing, he had made a gal¬ lantly pathetic attempt to enjoy the sights of the city, but had finally sur¬ rendered to the inevitable bout of home-sickness. Morose and depressed, he had, wandered to the station, whither he was to leave for the West. To his intense delight he had dis¬ covered this lunch-room, where he could get tea. To an old-countryman, tea spells the seventh heaven of rest and refreshment. Accordingly, he had ordered a cup, and, to his astonish¬ ment, he began to recover from his loneliness. The sight of the amber- brown liquid, steaming in the white cup, seemed to cheer him, and he began to look upon this new world through more friendly eyes. The scurry and bustle of this, the first large city he had ever visited,, confused and annoyed him, but the cup of tea worked miracles. He dis¬ covered that the people here were not at all dissimilar in appearance and manner to those he had always known, save for their faces. To him they seemed horribly pale and worn, con¬ trasted with the ruddy, almost scar¬ let, complexions he had always seen at home. Finishing the cup to the last drop, he glanced at the clock over the door, paid, his bill, and proceeded to the platform. Having no way of passing the two hours between supper and bed-time, and not wishing to go to the hotel too early, he paused, un¬ decided, leaning against one of the gigantic pillars supporting the domed roof. A shrill-voiced newsboy passed him,

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30 D.M.C. I. BREEZES his first day in Canada was enough for George. He obeyed, inwardly pro¬ testing, but outwardly with the great¬ est possible show of eagerness. He took his place in front of the pillar, holding his paper well up in front of his face, but lowering it every minute or so, to see whether or not the thief was approaching. Stop it, you idiot,” came in an agonized whisper from the detective. “Can’t you act natural?” George tried his best to look inno¬ cent, but the best he could manage was a cross between the attitude of a martyr and that of a society debu¬ tante upon her presentation. The thief, however, was too anxious to secure the wallet to bother about George. He had hardly got settled when the pickpocket approached him. “Have you a match, buddy?” he enquired. George dug down into his pocket and, produced a box. The stranger thanked him, and remained in con¬ versation with him for several min¬ utes. If George had not been pre¬ pared for it, he would never have known that his pockets were being rifled, for the thief was a past master. Having extracted everything of value from the pockets of his victim, the man moved off with a careless, “So,- long,” and was soon lost to view in the crowd. The detective followed him to the door, where he accused him of the robbery. With the wallet in his pos¬ session, and confronted by his victim, he could not deny his guilt, and he was soon manacled to the detective and led out of the station. George followed them out of the station to the taxi, which was waiting to bear the thief to the police station. The detective paused with his foot upon the running-board, and turning to George, said: “You’ll have to come down to the station with me and iden¬ tify this guy. Then you can get your wallet and watch and put a claim in for expenses.” Accordingly George climbed hastily in after the officer, and. the car moved off. It was hardly under way, how¬ ever, before the thief began to strug¬ gle. He heaved and bit and scratched, so that it was all George and the detective could do to hold him. The driver pulled into the curb and the three of them soon had him under control. When they had him subdued, the detective turned to George and said: “It’ll take more’n the two of us to keep him quiet until we get to the station, so you’d better run over to the drug-store and ’phone for an¬ other constable. Still panting, George hurried across to the store, and with some difficulty, managed to get the police station. “Hello. Police headquarters?” he gasped, “Send up a man to Mountain and Laurier right away.” After thanking the proprietor for the use of the ’phone, George croosed the street to where he had left the taxi. It was nowhere to be seen. Puzzled,, he paused upon the sidewalk irreso¬ lute. The driver of one of the cabs lined up by the curb volunteered some information. “That car drove off as soon as you left. It went down that way.” “But—he shouldn’t have done that. I’ve got to go down to the station with them. They’ve got my watch and wallet.” “Gee.” That’s tough. I’ll drive you down. Hop in.” “Oh, no.. They didn’t take it. You needn’t waste your sympathy on me. I don’t need it,” replied George, who was by now quite angry. The cab driver began to look ugly, but, fortunately, a policeman hurried up.