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

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EASTERN E WINNERS H. Fullerton, H. Lembke, M. Romm, I. Lembke, A. Jones. A YOUNG MAN'S FANCY HENRY J. WORTHINGTON was happy. At last he had found a mission in life. He would care for the little birds that flew into his garden. A stranger, looking into Henry's ordinarily tidy garden, quite inno- cently asked if there had been an earthquake around those parts. What had originally been rows of neatly kept flower-beds, now resembled mini- ature golf courses, and in the centre, defying all the laws of beauty, stood one of those stone monsters, a large and immovable bird-bath. He talked, wrote and studied birds. until he seemed to resemble one im- mense robin and people seeing him in the distance, fled lest they should be obliged to listen to a monologue on birds. No use to argue with him that they were as nature made them, pesky little things designed to torment man in his efforts to reap what he had sown. As far as Henry was concerned, All went merry as the marriage EASTERN ECHO bell, until he was persuaded into fol- lowing a second hobby--Flowers. No sooner did he plant a line of seeds than swarms of sparrows would alight and commence excavations. Neverthe- less, he persevered, and was finally rewarded with some very fine speci- mens of flowers which he intended to enter in the Flower Show. He still called sparrows by atrocious names. however, and they were still the means of afiiicting his long-suffering flower friends. Tl1e climax came one fine morning when lIenry's pyjama-clad figure illi- peared at the door in time to see a plump little Sparrow pulling at the re- maining bloom of his carefully-raised plants. He let out a war-whoop, and re- gardless of conventions, bounded into the garden, and picking up the near- est implement, threw it at the offen- der, at the same time calling it by its rightful name. He is now normal. Forty-one

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THE PROFITABLE ACCIDENT HELEN KILLORAN, 453 THE period of prosperity had passed as far as old Jacob Crane was concerned. He had lived by himself since shortly after the death of his wife. And after his son, Jack, mar- ried against his consent and left home, he had been very lonely. The snow was falling heavily and he could see the people hurrying to and fro. He pulled on his ragged old coat, and went out into the cold to get his week's small supply of food. Please give me my groceries, he said to the storekeeper. The grocer cheerfully prepared the order which Crane came for every Saturday morn- ing. Old Jacob thanked the dealer, left the store and began trudging his way homeward. It seemed to him that in the dis- tance, he heard the screech of brakes. Where was he going? What was the noise? What was it that was flying in front of him? All these questions he unconsciously asked himself and then he knew no more. He opened his eyes, and gazed around the room to find he was in a bed in the Eastern Hospital. For a while he lay there trying to remember what had happened to him. Then a pretty nurse entered and he appealed to her for help. She explained to him that he had been knocked down by a car on Em- press Avenue and had been rushed to the hospital in a police ambulance. She also explained that unfortunately it had been her father's car which had hit him and that he was coming to see him this afternoon. The afternoon came and the pretty nurse entered to announce her father's arrival. In walked a middle-aged man. ' Dad! he exclaimed. . Old Jacob Crane shamefacedly begged his son's forgiveness. Perhaps, he said, this accident., was profitable after all. 'kink' PASSING OF A PLEASANT CUSTOM CATHERINE WALKINSHAW, 4GI FOR many years the people of Pleasant Street kept alive the old custom of calling on one another on New Year's Day. A pleasant feeling of fellow- ship was created among them as they drank to the health of their fellows during the coming year. Everyone prepared for this ritual with the choicest of Christmas cake- and cheer, and arrayed in his best clothes, set out to call. One of our number, an old English gentleman, always managed to excel' in the quality and warmth of his hospitality, his perfect manners and his formal dress. When the custom began to die out as the people found other interests in the busy city life, he alone kept up his calls. No matter how late or strenuous the celebration of New Year's Eve, it was an unwritten law that all members of our little community be ready to receive Col. Williams on New Year's Day. When New Year's Day once again came round, we were in readiness to welcome the last upholder of the custom. The day passed and he did not come, the last fort had fallen and New Year's Day Calling had passed on to the world of obsolete customs. 111 - EASTERN ECHO Forty .

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TIT was a chilly night in December. HAUNTED Woons JEAN WEST, 3C The north wind howled and whistled through the trees. The snow and hail beat ruthlessly against the window of the cabin. Suddenly, the heavy silence was broken by the clatter of a horse's hoofs on the trail. It came to a sud- den stop snorting and clawing the ground impatiently. A young girl jumped from the horse's back, and ran up the steps where she stopped. Suddenly her body stiffened as she cocked her head into a listening attitude. E-E-e-e-! A muffled sound, but runmistakably a scream. Her hand flew to her throat and her eyes started. She listened. The sound wasn't repeated, suddenly she laughed. Imagination, she thought. The wind most likely. With a quick, deft movement she unlatched the door, opened it and stepped inside. THE DOOR SLAMMED BEHIND HER! She jumped and sprang back towards it. Somewhere an owl was screeching, then a SCREAM. E-E-e-el The girl jumped again, she swung around from the doorg a hideous face confronted her. E-E-e-el Another blood-curdling scream rang out. The girl went into action. Her hand flew up, and her whip went hurtling at the face. But it grinned calmly on. Nearer and Fo r+y-+wo nearer, its contorted features in turn twisted, grinning and glaring. I awoke with a scream. Someone spoke to me. Was it the face? I was too scared to open my eyes. Slowly I opened them. THANK GOODNESS, ONLY A DREAM! 'kti' MOTOR INTELLIGENCE JOHN FITZGIBBON. 4GI A FRIEND has a rather strange be- lief in the Divine Right of Motorists . He called for me one morning and asked me to join him in trying out a new Abadaba roadster. Much against my better judgment, I joined him. We had got no farther than the first intersection, when we ran foul of a perfectly law-abiding citizen, who was attempting to make his way across the street. My friend decided that the citizen had no- right to cross in front of him, and so with a blast of his horn that must have nearly caused the buildings to wilt, cut in front of the man and passed him at a terrific speed. I still maintain that the poor man was a cross between a kangaroo and a barrel-jumper, for when I looked around, through divine Providence, he was still on his feet. The last I saw of him he was shaking his clenched fist after us-his equilibrium, dignity and peace of mind upset for the rest of the day. My friend turned to me and spoke in all earnestness, I often wonder that more people aren't killed while crossing intersec- tions the way some of them do. You are more right in that state- ment, John, than you will ever know, I replied. Before that ride was over, I firmly resolved to see if something could not be done to find homes for Perturbed Pedestriansn, and Friends of Nit- Wit Drivers . EASTERN ECHO