Guelph Collegiate Vocational Institute - Acta Nostra Yearbook (Guelph, Ontario Canada)

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0 V --- A-if . ,ACTA NOSTRA 5l Urcleal By A111 rgrl re It was hot. Toronto was in the grip of the longest heat wave of its history. A tree toad sang and the dust, where grass used to be, burned Christie's toes as he idly traced a pattern in it. A few children played and quarrelled fitfully on the otherwise deserted street. Christie's mother, a thin, homely woman with graying hair and a tired defeated way of walking, had made nine- year-old Christie wear a hat to protect his fair features. But in spite of all her maternal watchfulness. his turned-up nose had become that bright pink which always seems to accompany light blue eyes and blonde curly hair. Christie! came a shrill voice from the kitchen. Then a head appeared at the screen door. Oh, there you are! X'Vhy d0n't you run out to the front and play with the boys? Christie looked up uninterestedly. Then slowly he got to his feet and startf ed to amble towards the front. Now be a good boy and don't go on the road! his mother's voice followed him. He picked himself up from a tumble and doggedly went to the front. He didn't like playing with the boys. They could run faster than he and play ball well. They poked fun at his clumsy at- tempts to hit the ball and jeered when he couldn't catch an easy fly. Here comes Christie, said Lionel, who seemed to be the leader. He was a bit smaller than the others, but twice as quick on his feet. He had a sharp tongue that knew how to sting and his small bright eyes never missed a trick. He'll do for a fielder until someone else can play. But he never catches the ball and you'll get all the home runs and you'll always be up to bat, and the rest won't get their turns, and that's not fair, ob- jected Tommie all in one breath. Tom- I Leslie XIA mic was a bit stout and this exertion made him breathe rather heavily until his fat nostrils heaved and gasped like the gills of a fish in a rapidly moving stream. I will not get all the runs. You're just afraid he'lf put you out. Come on, Christie, field the ball. Christie nodded his head and took his place. He tried to concentrate on the ball for he knew he must catch it. It seemed to be alive and tried to avoid his slovv-moving fingers. Then he heard Tommie's disgusted voice. There! I told you! You got a home run just because that stupid Christie missed the ball. 'Z-Xw. vou just can't take it. that's all. You get your turn. But he'll never catch the ball. I'll quit il I don't get my turn pretty soon and you need me. Christie knew it was his fault and once again with an effort concentrated on the ball. This time he just had to catch it. The ball rolledifitfully to Christie's feet and he bent down and picked it up. At last he had the ball. Now he could play like the other boys and take his Ill1'll at bat. Shouts of scorn broke through his reverie. He looked up wonderingly at Tommie and Lionel. Hadn't he caught the ball? XVhat was wrong any way? He looked down at the ball in his hands and then at the angry faces of the boys. Lionel glared at him, XVhy didn't you throw the ball? YVhat did you hold it for? XVhat's the matter with you? I caught the ball, said Christie slowly. Yeh, retorted Tommie, but you didn't throw it. You don't even know how to throw a ball. Go home and play in your sand box, crazy Christie. The boys tittered and then picked up the refrain Crazy Christie, Crazy Christie.

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Slowly and clumsily, Christie started for home with his head hung and big tears glistening in his hurt eyes. He didn't understand. YVhy didn't he go to school like other boys? X'Vhat did their taunt mean? He felt alone and so un- wanted. Christie stumbled over his feet and fell. He didn't want to get up. No one cared anyway. Christie opened his eyes and listened. He was drawn to his feet as if by magic. Alerted by interest he hurried down the street and then stood in rapture before a tall dark-haired boy of about sixteen whose loosely jointed frame leaned against the post while he was waiting for the bus. A mouth-organ was at his lips and a twinkle in his eyes. Although he wasn't playing a tune, the music ACTA NOSTRA 53 from the instrument was sweet and clear. Christie's hand went forward and a voice whispered Please, Startled. the boy looked at him close- ly and then said, You might as well trv 1 . Christie fondled the thing with glow- ing eyes and then sat down and put it to his lips. A look of pleased wonder crossed his vacant lace and happy tears rolled down his sun burnt cheeks as the sweet chords swelled from the tiny mouth piece. The older boy turned quickly away and said huskily. A'You take it. I don't need it. Then he walked rapidly away. leaving Christie in a cloud of happiness. The Cane-Bottomed Chair Robert Moreton XIIB. Veronica entered the shabby little house at mnnber fifty-five Coke Street. Her housekeeper, Amelia Goodchild, a little lady of seventy, opened the door. Hello! How was Orville feeling to- day? He's better, Veronica replied. Doc- tor Caine says he can come home in about a month, but that I'll have to look after him as he won't be able to move around much at all. Orville Moore had been in hospital for six months now. He suffered from tuberculosis and a weak heart. Veronica, his wife, visited him practically every day. but lately she hadn't been seeing him as much, as she said that she had charity work to do. As a matter of fact, her charity work consisted of going to horse races with male friends of hers. She had come from a rich family and had married far below her station against the wishes of her father, with the result that he had disowned her. Amelia had been Veronica's mother's housekeeper and now she was looking alter Veronica. IVas t-here any mail for me? asked Veronica. No, but there was a telegram. I took the message over the telephone. It's good news! It said that your ticket on the Irish Sweepstake has brought you . . . fifty . . . thousand . . . dollars! Fifty thousand! she cried out ex- citedly. It's too wonderful for words! I'm so pleased that you won. said Amelia. lVhat will you do with all of the money? Veronica thought a moment. I know, she said, I know what I'll do . . . I'll build the house I've always wanted .... You know, Amelia, that my marriage has not been successful, but I think I ought to patch it up for Orville's sake. Perhaps I can have the house built before he comes home. Oh, that would be so nice, said Amelia.