Evening High School - Owl Yearbook (Baltimore, MD)

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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

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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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173-- I.. THE OWL itself. I believe we all felt more or less under the hypnotic spell of the singing. But too soon it ended. It was over, but the audience seemed as if in a trance. Not a sound was heard for at least thirty seconds. Then the stillness was broken by a low cry from the taut figure be' side me. Catherine ! Catherine l Yes, Paul, was the barely audible answer. In three gigantic strides, the man was beside the singer, had clasped her hands. Is it really you Catherine? he said. Yes, I am afraid it is, was the soft answer. And a faint tinge of rose glowed upon her cheeks. Aside, I made a mental note never again to attempt to guess a woman's age. She seemed so young now, so beautiful. Not a person had spoken in the interval. Then Miss Allen spoke slowly, Oh, Paul, I recognized you the moment you entered the room this evening. But I was afraid to speak. I couldn't believe it was really you-Oh, I'm so glad to see you. You haven't changed at all. Then Mr. Carman was speaking, Why it's-it's a miracle. I can't believe my eyes. You're still the same fine, sweet Catherine Allen I once knew. But your hair, you're wearing it differently. Oh, but I should have recognized you immediately, but I couldn't expect to nd you here. I-it seems impossible! After all these yearsfl Then you're not .... ? was the hesitating question. No, dear,-there has been no other, was the man's soft reassuring answer. The couple seemed entirely oblivious to the fact that anyone even breathed around them. Oh Paul, why didn't you wait for an ex' planation that night, entreated Miss Allen. Let's not talk about it dear, it seems so long ago, and I was so very foolish, the tall man answered, with a smile. Then they both turned, looked startled for a moment, and then Mr. Carman smiled broadly. Miss Allen blushed and as the rosy hue rose to her cheeks, her blue eyes seemed to 611 with something that made them fairly shine as she glanced up at the man besfde her. And she, too, was smiling. I am afraid we owe you an apology, said Mr. Carman. And I noticed his voice sounded much younger, and in his grey eyes was the sparkling youth. Strange indeed, the effect of this most powerful of emotions upon man. He was speaking, his eyes on the dark head at his shoulder. You see, Miss Allen and I were very close friends some years ago, but there was a slight misunderstanding between us, that I am afraid I must admit was all my fault. I see it all now -I was hasty in my actions and in my subsef quent decision. But I left Baltimore where we were both studying music and went West to start life anew. But it's all right now, were the quiet words of the girl at his side as she laid her hand reas' suringly on his arm. He tumed to Mrs. Carver, who seemed very amused over something, Mrs, Garver, can you put up a very old man for the night? he asked. I hardly believe so,l' she said, her motherly countenance shining and her eyes twinkled. You see-I am afraid my accommodations would suit only a very young man. Fair enough, was Paul Carman's laughing reply. I feel almost like a boy again this even' ing. Then I shall wire my regrets to the com' mittee in Washington. For you see, and his voice took on an air of mock sternness, I believe I shall have some very, very important business to attend to in the next few days. Is that cor' rect, Miss Allen? Yes, whispered the girl softly, but her gleaming smile and her glistening eyes spoke more convincingly. And his arms were around her,-and we all turned our heads for just at that moment came a long blast from the hom on a big motor coach that had just pulled up before the Inn. The Way to a Man's Heart By VIRGINIA B. H1zssoN The sun beamed brightly through the spacious drawing room of Colonel Lee's mansion which was situated on one of the highest hills in Virf ginia. Betsy Lee, the late Colonel's daughter, was sitting in the easy chair by the window Sixtyfone listening to the crooning, haunting but happy melodies of the darkies in the fields nearby. How happy they were! They had no good cause to be, for they were slaves, waiting for the day of freedom. The tears trickled slowly on Betsy's