Evening High School - Owl Yearbook (Baltimore, MD)

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l F? ' J 1 . A flllgfiilfi f.f,-1.57 f .., if J, Mx.: ... - . 'ilaviz THE OWL I suppose you are right, but there IS some' thing missing. I seem to have lost my confif dence. Until today I felt as though everything would turn out all right. In practice our form and timing has been perfect, but the thought of that crowd makes me as nervous as a cat. And remember, tonight we use no net. After all, john, we have done this same act hundreds of times and thought nothing of it. My confidence in you is as unshaken as it ever was. A man's voice interrupted them with, You go on next, Mr. Flynn. liithey walked hand in hand across the space that separated their tent from the big show, the rain that had been threatening all evening started to fall in big drops, bringing with it a cool breeze that fanned John's feverish brow. The ring master in a sonorous voice was describing the feats of the Flying Flynns to tier upon tier of seats filled with humanity, upon whose flushed faces excitement and appref ciation were discernible. a 'LWe now present the Flying Flynns, the greatest aerial artists of the day, who will per' form at the top of this tent without the safef guard afforded by a net. I take pleasure in presenting to you the Flying Flynns, Florence and john ran lightly to the center ring and bowed to the crowd which was giving them a loud ovation. As John surveyed the panorama of faces that circled the tent, a cold sweat broke upon his forehead and his mouth seemed suddenly dry. Florence flashed him a comforting smile as she grasped the rope that was to lift her to the platform at the top of the tent. As she was being slowly pulled to her position, John started to climb the rope ladder that was his means of reaching their platform. They stood side by side on their precarious perch. Florence swung out into space. She flung her body over and over the bar, like the hands of a clock circling its face, until the count reached a hundredg then swung back to her place and bowed to the plaudits of the crowd. The dillicult part of their act was Florence's dive from the extreme top of the tent to where she was caught by John who was swinging by his legs thirty feet below. With a sound of rolling drums, she glanced down at John who took his cue and began swinging to and fro. As the drums beat a faster temp, Florence leaped. Falling, as straight as an arrow shot by a bow, she clutched john's hands, and at that moment a terrific flash of lightning accompanied by a clap of thunder seemed to shake the tent. That jar was enough to break their timing. John felt an excruciating pain burn through his arm, his hold on Florence slipped. He tried to regain it, but it was too late. With a shrill scream she fell, turning over and over like a grotesque bird. Seeing that broken body lying still and crumpled, john allowed himself to slip from the trapeze, into oblivion. Forty

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,Q -. H N. N.-f vw 4 N .-.-. N-ff fw '- vm few -fy N- . r t- as Q s Q Q52 Q Q a 11' H E M M gt T mgmwsasmssmg gmss gmwmgmwmgtagmgstmmmms Volume XII Number 4 Trusting Unto Death By ROBERT MCLAUGHLIN Dusk was enveloping the park that was serving as the temporary home of Caslin's Circus, billed as the Greatest Show on Earth. A mild breeze, carrying a threat of rain, brought relief from the sweltering heat of the day. Lights were beginning to dissipate the darkness. A steady hum, seeming to gain in volume as more and still more people jostled their way into the grounds, rose on the night air. The strange and diverse sounds of caged animals, the cries of vendors hawking their wares, the smell of food, animals, sawfdust, and earth all combined to form that rancid odor characteristic of circuses. All of these things seemed to blanket the park and, for the time being, made it a world apart. The tent, which served as the dressing room for the Flying Flynns, star performers of the show, was similar in appearance to the other tents in the row-a greyish White streaked with brown, caused by rains and frequent contacts with the ground. But tonight an ominous tense' ness seemed to hover above it. The interior of the tent was lighted by four or five unshaded electric bulbs, casting a glaring white light over its occupants. The Flying Flynns were known as the best of aerial artists. John Flynn and his wife, Florence, were ordinarily a happy con- genial couple. Their hazardous occupation had united them more closely than most married people. His humor and wit, coupled with her charming smile and gracious manners, made them Thirty-nine the most liked couple in the show. But tonight none of these things were evident. john, a tall muscular man, was seated on a trunk in the cenf ter of the tent, a black cloak flung over his shoulders and partly covering his red spangled trunks making a strange contrast with his white, drawn face. Suddenly he jumped to his feet and began to pace back and forth, alternately glancing from his wife, who was surveying her' self in the mirror of a dressing table, to the entrance of the big tent, which was visible through the open flap of their tent. Florence Flynn, a tall attractive woman whose raven black hair, olive complexion, and flashing black eyes proclaimed her foreign nationality, turned and admonished her husband. john, please restrain yourself. You are working yourself into a highly nervous state, and after all, dear, tonight of all nights you should have complete control of your emotions, I know! I know! But I keep seeing you fall-twisting and turning. Lord, if that net hadn't been there! Let's call it off for another week? This is only a minor stop of the company and I'm sure Mr. Caslin would consent. john, you have been saying that for three weeks. My falling this afternoon wasn't your fault. I started my swing too late. Your arm is as good as it ever was. It has been four months since you wrenched it and the doctor claims it has healed nicely.

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W' '0- ,yi 3 . , THE OWL Forly-one GWL ADVISERS IVAN RIGBY ELIZABETH L. CHINN VINCENT JANUSKA