Evening High School - Owl Yearbook (Baltimore, MD)

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THE OWL in the hall, followed by the sound of someone fumbling at the doorknob. He had turned as the door opened and there, framed in the doorf Way, he saw the Hgure of a grayfhaired old man. For a split second the eyes of the latter rested right on Dawson's face. For a moment they both stood there thus and then Dawson with an animal snarl of rage once again lifted the revolver and tightened his grip on the trigger. But to his horror, the hammer fell on an empty cartridge. He saw the old man suddenly open his mouth and then, over' come by terror, he fled. But even as he sat here now, with tortured spirit, he knew that he had escaped too late. The eyes of that old man had stared straight at him. He would be sure to recognize him. And even now, perhaps, the whole countryside was being searched for him. He would be found, identified by the, old fellow. Then a trial, conf viction, the gallows! He could have screamed aloud in his mental agony. One thing, he knew: he could sit here no longer. He must be up and gone! They must not catch him! But the forest was so big and it was so dark. Could he get out before morning? He would have to get out soon, for perhaps they were getting bloodhounds ....... Panting, sobbing, unheeding the branches that obstructed him, he rushed on. The crackling of twigs, the sighing of the wind, he attributed always to pursuers. Men! and bloodhounds! They must not get him. And so, on he raced, through all the long hours of the night. And always the forest was before him, seemingly grim and defiant, endless. He cursed it inwardly, shook his fist at it madly. But never was there an end to it. At last, after countless eons, it seemed, the dawn came. He stood gazing off toward where the sun was slowly coming up out of the grey sky. The east! In that direction lay safety. But how far had he traversed during the night? He did not bother, but ran blindly on. And suddenly the forest came to an abrupt end. A meadow possibly two miles wide stretched before him, broken here and there by miniature hills and valleys. He started across it. Surely, he had evaded pursuit by now. The old man would never identify him after all. But he must get out of the country, and that quickly. He came to the top of a small hill ..... The smile faded on his lips. Scarcely a hundred yards away, standing in a small group, were a number of men. They appeared to be holding an impromptu conference. The star on the chest of one told him that the sheriff was superintending the hunt personally. He was speaking to someone beside him, apparently urg- ing him to go back. And then, suddenly, Dawson got a look at the other's face. His jaw dropped, and he uttered a terrified yelp. The old man, damn him! He started to run. Dimly he heard a cry of 'iHalt! He went on blindly, stumbled, went down ....... They were on him now. Rough hands grabbed him, jerked him to his feet, babbling in terror. NI did it! he gasped, I did it! He glared around wildly and saw the figure of the old man, who, oddly enough, had not stirred from the spot where the sheriff had been talking to him. He saw me do it, otherwise you'd never have caught me E Who, him? demanded the sheriff. 'iHim see you? Why, man, you're crazy. That's Jeff Peters, Canning's old servant. He's been blind for years. Wartime Buddie By CHARLES RABEL The articles in a particular jewelry store held my attention and admiration for quite a few minutes. While admiring these lovely gifts, I was confronted by a stranger who asked in a pathetic manner, Say, mister, could you stake a guy to a bite to eat? I ain't had nothing to eat all day. Nonchalantly, I turned to face the one who had addressed me with the expectation of offer' ing no more than a sympathetic word. How' ever, his manner was frank and honest and it was hard to pass him by. A three days' beard on his sunken cheeks, in addition to his untidy clothes, seemed evidence enough that this unforf tunate one was in need. Then as I examined him more closely, he seemed strangely familiar. My mind raced, trying to place him, but he was just beyond reach of my memory. You wouldn't mind telling me your name, would you, fella? I asked. Tim Mahaney, he answered. A full minute elapsed before I was able to F ifty-six

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THE OWL A thousand steam whistles and sirens full blast might have mingled in the scene unnoticed following the old man s speech. Hats and papers and everything movable went hurtling through the air. Chairs came crashing down from the gallery upon the diehard adherents of the little lady. That poor soul, need it be said, fainted, suffered a nervous breakdown, and in the future confined her efforts to more ladyflike activf ities, having fully but sorrowfully learned that uwhgit kills the skunk is the publicity it gives itsel The Man Who Saw By CHARLES A. FECHER George Dawson pushed aside the tall, gaunt bush that stood directly in his path and stag' gered out into the little clearing. For a moment he stood in the center of it, clutching his hair with trembling fingers that would no longer obey his will. Sweat streamed down his face. Alter' nately, he went hot and cold. Always he could see before him gleaming faintly in the darkness, the dead, bloodfcovered face of Randolph Canning. There was no moon and only a few faint stars shone in the heavens. His eyes, accusf tomed now to the darkness, could make out the figures of the gigantic, denuded trees all about him. To his excited and fearfstricken imaginaf tion, their branches seemed incredibly long fingers, all pointed accusingly at him. He made his way to a stump at one end of the clearing and sat down. Burying his face in his hands, he gave vent to a low groan. There was no remorse in that groan, no contritiong only abject fear that already the forces of justice were reaching out after him. Sitting there, a prey to all conflicting emotions, he mentally reviewed the crowded events of the day. He had been seated at his desk in the Second National Bank hard at work that mornf ing when Randolph Canning, millionaire railroad man, had come in to see Ralston, head of the institution. Because his desk was close to Ralston's oflice and because the latter, with his customary carelessness, had left the door slightly ajar, he had heard every word the pair had spoken. And as he listened, the evil idea that was responsible for his present predicament was slow' ly formed in his mind. It seemed that the big railroad purchase he had been hearing so much about was to be completed in a few days. Can' ning's company, the C. J. E-? W., was to take over the assets and liabilities of the K. Es? M., and the former firm had agreed to pay a truly stupendous amount for goodwill. The final transaction was to take place at Canning's palaf tial country mansion on the following night, and Fiftygfivc he had come to draw the last payment of seventy' five thousand dollars now to have in readiness. Ralston had protested. Seventyffive thousf and dollars left unguarded in a private house for even one night. Ridiculous! Unheard of! But Canning had laughed at him, saying that he would be a good burglar indeed who could get into his house. And the result was that Can' ning left the bank a few minutes later carrying a small, black leather bag in which were seventy' live thousand dollars in crisp new bank notes. Dawson had followed him with his eyes as he left, a maelstrom seething in the innermost ref cesses of his mind. Seventyffive thousand dolf lars! He kept repeating it to himself, dwelling on it. He reviewed his own life, a life of poverf ty and subjection, of dull and hateful monotony here in the oflice. Always he had regarded those above him with resentment, hate. And now, here was his chance! Seventyffive thou' sand dollars! He knew the location of Canning's country estate. Nearly everyone in the community knew it. And he was fairly familiar with its interior. A few years back when the building of it was going on, its princely luxury had at' tracted a great deal of attention and an article about it had appeared in the Sunday paper together with a diagram of the first floor. For some reason he remembered it perfectly and he was convinced that getting in would be an easy job. And it was. Even now he had to marvel at the ease with which he had accomplished his entrance. But the events that followed! He shut his eyes and once again emitted a tortured groan. Armed only with an old revolver, he had made his way to the library, entered it with ease, and started to work on the safe when Ran- dolph Canning had surprised him. Scarcely realizing what he was doing, he had raised his revolver, leveled it, pulled the trigger and the body of Canning fell dead at his feet. For a moment he had stood there, scarcely able to move. And then there were footsteps

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THE OWL say with a note of surprise, Sure enough. Well, I'll be! Don't you remember me, Mahaney? I don't believe I do, suh, he replied. 115th Division, Infantry B, I suggested to him. Gee, I know, he blurted, Captain Peters, and at this he reached out his right hand to meet mine. Yeah, I softly enlightened him in a sarf castic manner. Well, you sure have changed a lot 'Cap'. So've you, Mahaney. Remember those ter' rible days in France? Yeah, he answered, I think it was a great old war, everything from the women to the crap games. Remember that machine gun nest that our outht cleared out? Mahaney stopped here. He never was the kind who boasted or looked for praise. How' ever, I continued for him. L'And I was felled by enemy bullets and left for dead and who came along but good old Mahaney. Gee, I guess I owe you my life. You took an awful chance, you old scrapper! The sudden change in Mahaney's color was detectable as I reminded him of his bravery. He seemed uneasy as he said, Aw, 'Cap', that was nothing. We had a good time, didn't we? You bet we did, fella. I was anxious to know more about Mahaney and I suppose he felt the same way about me. Are you married, 'Cap'? My negative answer to this took a long while to sink in before Mahaney laughed and informed me how lucky I was. L'What makes you think that way, fella? Well, he said, I've had plenty tough luck and having a wife to look after makes it tougher. You know, since I've been married I haven't been able to look for a good job. I was forced to stick to the punk one I had. Then the depression came and I suppose I'm just out. How long have you been out of work? Oh, about a year, I guess. Huh, that's not so terribly bad. Well, it's bad enough, he answered. The tough part of it is that I've got a prospect for a job in Brooklyn and train fare is Four Dollars and Fifty Cents and that's Four Dollars and Fifty Cents more than I have. I've pawned practically everything I own except my shoes so far, and I'd sorta look funny without them. I guess I'm just beat 'Cap'. No you're not, Mahaneyf' I answered, as I reached into my pocket and pulled out a five spot and handed it to him. Here you are, and I hope you get that job. I've got to be going. Gee LCap', thanks, he responded jubilantly. Good luck, Mahaneyf' 'LSO long, 'Cap', and same to you. We parted. I walked down to the next corner and opened a large door to a redfbricked building. Well, Peters, what are you doing back here? rang out the voice of a sternffaced, elderly gentleman seated behind an old desk in the office of the central Relief Commission. Er, I'd like to get some food, Sir. Some food ! he cried with surprise. What did you do with the Five Dollars I just gave you half an hour ago for your week's allowance? I put it to a good cause. What kind of cause? he demanded. Aw, forget it, Sir, I only came back for a match. Have you got one? Office Machines By WALTEK CONWAY Perchance it may appear odd that the students in the Machine Class sit in front of their machines with a perplexed frown on their worf ried faces. This phenomenon is not difficult to explain. Usually the solution of a mathematical problem has presented itself. Nevertheless, the operators of the various contrivances are enthuf siastic about this class in which time flies by all too rapidly. Perhaps it is ludicrous to see the amateurs' fingers hesitate and waver on the unfamiliar keyboard, but to the amateur it is a serious Fifty 'seven business. He is striving to master this baffling assemblage of keys, gadgets and levers, he is striving for the attainment of some object. That object is to wrest out of a hidden maze answers to problems in the shortest, quickest manner man has ever conceived. Everyone is cognizant of the saving in time and energy that the machine accomplishes. Nevertheless, it is only after one operates the machine that the full force of this assertion is understood. As each student proceeds down the long valley of questions to the rising sun of