Eastern High School of Commerce - Eastern Echo Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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MURDER! A SHOT! A scream! Silence! I started up, my hair standing on end, and clutching the bedclothes to my neck, trembling in every limb I gazed fearfully into the surrounding darkness. What had happened? Who had screamed? Who had fired that shot? My temples throbbed, my heart raced, my blood ran cold. My spine became jelly and I collapsed on the bed a nervous wreck. What was that? The rapid pad of feet in the hall. My door burst open with a bang. A small pyjama-clad figure came hurtling toward me. It was John, my cousin. O-h-h Ro-o-by, I did it, he quav- ered. What? I showed Bill Uncle Tom's gun and he dared me to shoot it, now I've killed him. I just pressed the trigger easy-itialways stuck before. Killed Billy! I sprang out of bed. The gun was kept in the kitchen. In no time at all I faced that door. Just 'a touch and it swung open. There was the gun! Slowly I look- ed further. What was in the Wood- box? I lighted a lamp, stepped care- fully over an upturned chair and looked-into the dazed eyes of Billy! He crawled out very solemnly and nervously straightened the chair. Well, I said. I didn't tnink he would, honest an' when he touched the trigger I jumped back. The chair was in my way an' I fell into the wood-box. It made an awful noise. I kinda thought I was hurt, he iinished sheepishly. HCNOR LETTER WINNERS Bock Row: P. Richordson, V. Gibson, A. Lee, W. Gordon, J. Smith. Middle Row: Mr. Kecst fPrincipc:l!, W. McDermott, H. Swift, l. Boyd, J. Fidler, S. Norman, Mr. Spence fAsst. Principclll. Front Row: E. Lunney, E. Holbrook, N. McDermott, F. Menard, L. Morton. Thi rty-six EASTERN ECHO

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FISHERM N'S LUCK JACK MILLS, 4Gl LEIVI HARPER rose earlier than usual Monday morning. The weather was exceptionally fine and held forth a promise of good fishing. His wife Marie rose with him and got his meagre breakfast. Years before, when they lived on the banks of the St. Lawrence, there had been only one son, John, but he had left home fifteen years ago to make his own way in the world. It was ten years since his last letter had been received. In it he had said he had struck gold in the Lake Superior region. After a number of years, Marie had persuaded her husband to come north in the hope of finding some trace of their son. Day after day, year in and year out, Lem braved the perils of the icy lake in order that his wife and daughter might have food and shelter. Every Saturday he took his week's catch to the nearest town, returning late Sunday night. As yet the sun showed no intentions of leaving his bed in the east. Lem spread his nets and sat waiting for them to fill. The sun was well on its way to the west before he gathered in his nets and started for home. He was about half-way home when a strong wind blew up and with it came a sudden fall of rain. The wind blew up mountainous waves which virtually swallowed his small boat. After hours of struggling with the elements, he dropped back exhausted into the boat. The sun was just breaking through the horizon when he beached his boat on what appeared to be a very small island. He found some wild berries surrounding a spring which trickled off to the lake. After he had satisfied his hunger he started looking for some way to attract the attention of EASTERN ECHO any passing boat, for his own had been badly smashed. While he was crossing a bare ex- panse of rock he stumbled over the handle of a shovel protruding from under a large rock. Summoning all his remaining strength he pushed the rock over. There in the shallow pit were the remains of a human body. On what had been the left hand of the body was a heavy gold Signet ring with the letters, W. J. H. carved deep' into the surface. In the sides of the small pit were thin veins of gold showing bright in the sunlight. This was his son's strike! Two days later a passing boat sighted Lem's distress signals and 1'-'n'l-F-'- u'n - - -'-'-'-'-Fd'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'u'uFu'H s I :I The Gay Procession Q Eg To our friends we like to :E ,I holler :. i As we're passin' through the :E 'I :u But the features of our ,- teachers :i :I Show they don't approve 1: a-tall. 'fu'-F-'u'-'-l'-F-l'-Fu'-F-'u'-l'-F'u'u'J'u'n's'-'J'n'u'-'luF sent a small boat ashore to investi- gate. The sailors found him beside a pile of bones. It was two weeks before he could leave the hospital and go home to break the news to his wife and daughter. The W. J. H. is now one of the most prosperous mines in the north country. The employees wonder why the small pit where all the veins start from is never worked. The owner treats that as if it were sacred ground. Thirty-five

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ADVENTURES IN IMAGIN- ATION STAN NORMAN, SG THE sun is shining, no breeze stirs the sultry airg the only disturbing sound is the hum of distant traffic. It is a perfect example of June wea- ther-one of those days when the greatest joy life can offer is to lie out on the warm sand and gaze at the blue of the lake while being caressed by the warm rays of the June sun. And here am I, having finished my Literature examination, sitting at a desk, doing absolutely nothing at a time when all Nature beckons to me to come out and yield myself to her blandishments. And, as is usual in such a case, my imagination runs riot and I drift away upon the stately barque, Day Dreams .... ' The Coliseum of Ancient Rome pre- sents a ghastly sight to-day. Under the watchful eye of Nero Caesar the Christians are being sacrificed in the Arena. The roars of the hungry beasts pierce the air and the atmos- phere is heavy with the forbidding presence of the Grim Reaper. A new band of martyrs is coming into the Arena. Their beautiful hymn, Shep- ard of Souls , seems to hush even the rabid shoutings of the inhuman Roman mob .... It is many centuries later. The dauntless Crusader band march bravely on toward the Holy Land. Fear not, O Jerusalem! While such as they defend the Cause your sacred walls are secure. Sturdily I stand in front of the beautiful maiden. Unsheathe your sword, you villain! I cry to the for- bidding figure who stands with his hooked left arm menacingly held in the air. Over my dead body only. shall you touch one hair of her head. The pirate reaches for his cutlass .... EASTERN ECHO 1f THE MISSING PIECE IDA KAY, zo Our fingers were weary and worn, Our eyelids were heavy and red, But we all sat there, with a glassy stare, No one dared go to bed. Six long hours we had been there, Till the long day finally closed, I had stuck a pin in my brother Jim When he had closed his eyes-and dozed. We had wrung our hands and pulled our hair, Till our brain was beginning to swim! We had glared at the thing on the table Till our eyes were heavy and dim. But the more we thought it over It wrung our hearts the more. I glanced again at my sister Jane, Who in agony was pacing the Hoor. O! Men who invented this torture. Just think of your sisters and wives! It's not the table you're wearing out, But human creatures' lives! I cast my eyes to the table But it didn't help a bit- Oh! There must have been something missing, 'Cause the Jig-Saw wouldn't fit. What is that ringing noise? Oh-h-h! the school bell brings me back to every-day reality---back from the realms of charm to which Wilson Barrett. Jeffery Farnol. and my othci favourite authors have borne me. As I put away my books my eyes instinctively seek out a poem on the examination paper .... Oh Lord! some pray to Thee for gold. Some for a woman's smile: But all I ask is a breath of life, Once for a little while. Thirty-seven Q