Evening High School - Owl Yearbook (Baltimore, MD)

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THE OWL A Storm and a Story By G. W. MAUGANs The long, gray motor bus roared along the narrow, tree flanked road, climbing steadily through the foothills, up into the Blue Ridge Mountains. The snow that we had driven into three or four hours earlier had developed into a blizzard here in the foothills. The driver slowed down now and then as if to feel his way along the road, for the wind came in blasts that drove the snow in great gusts of white against the windows of the coach so that only at intervals could one see the white hills outside. Having been on the road since early morning Cand it was now late in the afternoonl I had fallen into a doze, interrupted only by a word now and then from my companion, john Harrison. Finally the violent blasts of the storm became so strong that any attempt at sleep became im' possible. I straightened up in the seat to dis' cover that my friend had made the acquaintance of a rather striking middlefaged man who sat across the aisle. Despite the slight gray at the temples, the man's tanned features and rugged physique further bespoke the strength and deter' mination that the strong character of his prohle displayed. And you have been through these parts before? I heard John ask. Oh yes, was the reply, but that was a good many years ago. And something in the slow and deliberate way in which he spoke caused me to take an interest in the conversation. Then I heard him ask: How long do you think it will be before we reach Baltimore? John turned to me questioningly. I had made the trip a number of times before so that I knew that in about an hour's time we would reach Mountfair View Inn at the top of the mountain where we could have dinner while waiting for the bus that was to take us on to Baltimore. This last stage of the journey usually had taken about three hours. I volunteered this informaf tion. As the man turned to thank me I had an opportunity to see him more clearly. Striking, something about this man. He seemed old and yet there was an appearance of youth in his gray eyes and at the corners of his mouth. He leaned back in his chair and, as if speaking to himself, said slowly, Strange,-but I don't seem to recall much of Baltimore,-but that seems so long ago. My inquisitive friend took up the thread. Fiftyfnine Were you formerly a resident of that city? he asked. Well,-yes, was the reply. I studied there for a while,-ah,-music, that is. That sounds interesting, said John, for he was quite an accomplished pianist himself. You have made it your career? No! was the quick reply, circumstance intervened, and I felt no desire for music ever again. I left the city, went West and have, for these past eighteen years been more or less sucf cessful in the fruit growing Held, in California. That is one reason why I am making this trip East. You see, there is a Fruit Growers Assof ciation Convention in Washington tomorrow. I missed the train at Pittsburgh but fortunately was able to catch this bus. Very little was said in the next halffhour and soon there was a slackening in the speed of the coach and a moment later we drew up beneath two large electric lights that were gleaming in the darkness falling outside. I knew that we had reached the crest of the Blue Ridge Mounf tains and had arrived at the Inn. The other pas' sengers moved forward preparing to leave the bus. There were only a half dozen others beside my friend and I. No sooner had we stepped outside than we got a faceftofface meeting with the storm. The wind was terrific as it whistled around the cor' ners of the Inn. The snow seemed determined to penetrate our coats. The Inn itself looked very much like the pictures one sees of the little Swiss chateaux hidden away in the white blanf ket of the Alps. However, led by the driver we reached the door and crowded inside. A cheerful place indeed. A large stone fireplace at the far end of the dining room seemed most appealing for the moment so John and I handed our overcoats over to the attendant and strolled over to take advantage of its cheering warmth. The rustic furniture that was placed about the room was quite in keeping with the rough conf struction of the Inn. Overhead, broad, sturdy rafters rose up to meet the ridge beam from the center of which was suspended, by a heavy long' linked iron chain, an electric light in the form of a large brass lantern. It cast its odd shadows upon the unfurnished pine panels of the wall and threw a bright circle of light on the dining table set beneath. My study of the surroundings was broken by the kindly voice of a rather elderly, whitefhaired

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THE GWL answers he realizes over and over that the brain of man developing such marvelous machines is wonderfully and fearfully made. It is doubtful whether we realize the extent of work completed in the machine course. In this class one acquires knowledge and skill on the Comptometer, Monroe, Dalton and Bur' rough Machines, on the Dictaphone and Edif phone, and in Filing Systems. Not only does one obtain legerdemain, but likewise nimbleness of the brain. The remarkable degree of profif ciency acquired by the students comes through the incessant practice and making the most of fortyffive brief busy minutes. Three quarters of an hour wellfspent in gaining a useful, practical skill is well worth the time and effort. In Self-Defense By CHARLES W. EACKLBS The train was leaving the station, and in a few minutes the conductor would be coming through the cars collecting tickets. John Wilson had no ticket and no money to pay his fare. He knew he had little chance of succeeding in his plan of blufling his way to New York, but he was determined to try. For nearly three months he had been in Boston, unsuccessfully seeking work. The small amount of money he had when he arrived in the city did not last long, and during the last few weeks he had often been hungry. He had pawned his suitcase and all his clothing, except what he now wore, to pay his roomfrent. He had no friends in Boston to whom he could go for help, and the only course left open to him was to return to his home in New York. After many vain attempts to get a ride in an automobile or a truck bound toward New York, John decided to board a train and ride as far as he could before being put off. He chose a train which had a fast schedule and a reputation for being on time. It made few stops, and he felt sure no stop would be made just to put him Gif, but that instead he would be carried to the next regular stop, which would be a long step on his way toward New York. He thought a great deal about what he would say to the conductor. He decided that his best plan would be to act with much more confidence than he really felt. He would be casual and nonchalant. He thought up an elaborate story, which he did not expect the conductor to believe, but which would have the merit of taking a lot of time in the telling. The more time it took, the closer to New York the train would be when he had to get off. As last the conductor stood beside John, who immediately began telling his story. He told the conductor his name and said that he was a reporter for the New York WorldfTelegram. He said that he had been sent to Boston to cover a story there, and had lost both his luggage and the railroad pass which his paper furnished its employes when on special assignments. If he could get to New York his paper would pay the railroad company for his fare. He tried to elabo' rate on this story but the conductor stopped him. john had tried to visualize the conductors reaction to his story, and he was prepared for nearly anything except what actually happened. The conductor said, Well now, that's quite a coincidence. In the car just ahead of this is Mr. Harvey, the editor of the WorldfTelegram. I know because he just handed me a pass such as you say you lost, and it had his name and title and all on it. If your story is true, he is your boss. Now if you will just come along up there with me, we'll see what he has to say about you. If he says you are telling me the truth, every' thing will be all right. But if he does not know you-well you won't like what's going to hapf pen to you. By an enormous effort, john managed to hide his surprise and chagrin. Of course this Mr. Harvey did not know him. His bluff had not worked and he shuddered at the implication in the conductors last words. Mr. Harvey was well dressed and dignified in appearance. The conductor simply said, Mr. Harvey, Mr. Wilson here says he works for your paper, and he lost his pass. Is that right? Mr. Harvey, with only a casual glance at John, replied, Why yes, that's right. Come and sit here with me, Wilson. We'll take care of this when we get to New York, conductor. Thank you. The conductor made a memorandum in his note book and left them. As soon as he was gone, John turned to Mr. Harvey and thanked him for helping him out of his difficulty. He confessed that his story had been untrue and he expressed surprise at Mr. Harvey's telling the conductor that he knew john. Mr. Harvey's reply was, Well, you see son, I had to do it. My name is not Harvey. I found this pass I am using. If you were really employed by the WorldfTelegram, and I had said I did not know you, I would have proven myself a faker. So you see, I had to do it in selffdefensef' Fiftyfeight

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THE ,,. OWL lady who introduced herself as Mrs. Graver, the proprietress of the Inn. You all are to make yourself quite at home here for a while, for you see as I have already told your chauffeur, a phone call came from Hampton, down the mountain, that is the bus depot, who explained that the bus which is to meet you here will be over an hour late due to the storm. So please be seated. We will dine, and then we shall see what can be done for your entertainment. ' ' There was a hurried general introduction all around and we were seated. john sat at my right and our new acquaintance, who had intro' duced himself as Mr. Carman, sat next to John. Among the other guests, my attention was drawn to the rather tall, darkfhaired lady who sat at the left of our hostess. She wore a dark blue traveling suit set off by a broad white lace collar that gave an enhancing contrast to the dark waves of her hair. A charming smile added still further to her pleasant features. Her blue eyes seemed to be laughing despite the perfect poise she maintained. At a quick guess, I surrnised that she might have been in her mid' dle thirties. Our host introduced her as Miss Allen, who was stopping at the Inn, having arrived earlier in the day. The lady nodded slightly as she glanced around the table. And then as her gaze fell upon Mr. Carman, I was certain I saw her start ever so slightly. Her eyes had a frightened look, but for an instant only, then she regained her composure and smiled again. Apparently, Mr. Carman had not noticed her. My friend and I became too preoccupied with the excellent fare set before us to take any fur' ther interest in the other diners. However, after a while I did notice that Miss Allen was looking our way and her gaze seemed to linger on Mr. Carman. John noticed it also. She seemed to be studying him. Soon, however, the hostess spoke and Miss Allen turned to conf verse with her. Coffee was brought in and we were soon chatting amiably. Then our hostess rose and we all prepared to leave the table. While it is unfortunate' that you are to be delayed by the snow, I believe you will be pleased to hear that Miss Allen, who is the music super' visor for the schools of this county, has kindly consented to play a few selections for us this evening, said Mrs. Garver. A piano was pulled forward from one of the corners of the room and Miss Allen took her place before it. Then she turned to announce her selection. As I remember, it was one of Bach's Concertos. Again she shot a strange look at Mr. Carman. But he had taken his stand by the Hreplace and was anxiously watch' ing the tall grandfathefs clock that stood at the opposite end of the room. The rest of the group had gathered at the side of the room where Miss Allen was about to play. The music arranged, she commenced to play. Softly, yet conhdently came the music as her fingers glided over the keys and now I saw her face was lit by a happy, rather expectant smile. She played well, and I think we all enjoyed the selection. Even our silent friend, Mr. Carman, had strolled over beside me to listen. Miss Allen made a grateful acknowledgment of our applause and then went on to say, I have a few light numbers here with me in my case and I am wondering if there is a vocalist among you who might render some variety to our program? She looked questioningly at the group around her, but no one spoke. Then Mrs. Garver spoke, Possibly there is a pianist here who will play for you, Miss Allen. I have heard you sing before and I know that we will enjoy it if you will render us a selectionf' At the mention of Miss Allen's name, I saw Mr, Carman start and shoot a searching glance at the lady at the piano. It seemed that it was the first time that he was conscious of her name. She stood up and spoke: Very well-that is if someone will play. I touched john and whispered, Go ahead old man, I want to hear her sing, for I knew he could do justice to practically anything placed before him. In a moment he was beside the lady and they were conversing in low tones. The music was apparently familiar to him for he immediately placed it on the piano before him. Miss Allen made a few comments and then turned and spoke to us, I will sing Chaikowsky's 'None But the Lonely Heart'-a number that I am sure you have all heard before. And again that lightning quick glance at the tall, lean figure beside me. He was leaning forward, every muscle tense. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that his eyes were riveted on the darkfhaired lady who was about to sing. In a moment, the room was hushed and she had lifted her fine soprano voice in the opening bars of the music. The beautiful composition seemed even more beautiful that night. For' gotten was the storm that raged outside the Inn. Even the fatigue of the day s journey had van' ished. The tense figure beside me seemed to have turned to stone-so still was everything in the room. On and on she sang-perfect conf trol, with the shading so delicate that the voice seemed to be something apart from the room and the surroundings. A perfect symphony in Sixty