Isaac Newton High School - Newtonian Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

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46 ISAAC NEWTON HIGH SCHOOL Davis shook hands with the editor and hurried to his apartment to pack his belongings. At 8.30 that same even¬ ing, the east-bound express bearing Davis pulled out of the station and the next day found him aboard the Queen Mary headed for his destination. There followed a pleasant ocean voyage which finally came to an end at Southampton. Three days later, Davis was already surveying the city which was to be his home for some time. It did not take him long to adapt himself to this strange, new land. His one great disappointment was the lack of excitement—everything was routine —it seemed that nothing out of the ordinary ever happened. Before long, however, a renewed interest in a life would be his. It all began on that bright Sunday morning as he was cycling along the Champs Elysees. Rounding a bend, he raised his eyes in greeting to a robin chirping lustily from above and then . . . Crash! . . . he went hurtling from his bicycle to the side of the road. “You clumsy fool, now see what you’ve done!” Davis got up from the ground and saw that he was being addressed by a very beautiful young woman, a cyclist like himself, who, at the moment was occupying a very undignified position on the boulevard. Awkwardly, he stam¬ mered apologies and despite her pro¬ tests, insisted that he escort her home. By the time they had reached their destination, they were conversing in a very friendly manner. The young wo¬ man introduced herself as Pauline Morin, an employee of a large Paris radio plant. That evening the two had dinner together. It proved to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship and the following year they were engaged to be married. The happy couple were visiting the zoo on that fateful day when the Ger¬ mans marched into Paris. To Pauline, it seemed like a horrible nightmare— her beloved Paris—gay, carefree Paris had come under the yoke of the Mad Master of Berchesgarten. The blow fell heavily on Davis too, for with this turn of events his plans for marriage were ruined. The events that followed are well-known. Before a month had elap¬ sed, Paris was in the iron grip of the hated invader. But the French che¬ rished their freedom too dearly to give it up without a struggle. Because of this deep-rooted love, there grew up the Paris Underground Movement. Davis and his fiancee, both of whom shared the desire for a free France, joined the movement and subsequently, they too, were directing all their efforts to sabotaging Nazi installations in Paris. But Fate was to deal Davis a terrible blow. Henri Duprez, one of Pauline’s co-workers at the now Nazi-controlled radio plant, had become suspicious of Pauline’s activities. On a mission of the greatest importance, Duprez in the desire to show his loyalty to the Ger¬ man conquerors followed Pauline to her destination and, a Nazi escort having been summoned, she was taken into custody and executed. With news of Pauline’s death, what¬ ever was left of Davis’ world crumbled into dust. From that moment there grew within him a violent hatred for the traitorous Frenchman, Henri Dup¬ rez. Several days later, kneeling on Pauline’s grave, he took a solemn oath not to rest until her death had been avenged—until he could wreak ven¬ geance on the hated Duprez. Following that incident, Davis did not remain in Paris for any length of time. When the next week had elapsed, an opportunity presented itself for Davis to return to America and he took advantage of it. Throughout the trip, he could not tear his mind from the thought that had become an obsession with him. Revenge for Pauline’s death. He was back in the office. His return to the staff of the Times had been marked by the renewal of old acquaint¬ ances and the resumption of old habits. On the day of his arrival, he had gone

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NEWTONIAN 45 were listening. They would be ready. Good. And now Cartwright slipped back to his bunk, highly satisfied with his night ' s work. Another day was born. Cartwright quite nonchalantly strolled out to the tarmac. He wanted to see Eardheart heading for his fate. There was the plane, its motor quietly ticking in the cold morning air. But where was Eard¬ heart? He should be about ready to leave. Cartwright looked around. Out of the operations shack came the O.C.’s adjutant. He greeted Cartwright with a cheery good-morning. “O.C.’s compliments sir. He wishes to see you immediately.” A faint twinge of misgiving plucked the spy’s mind. Something was wrong. With casual steps, he entered the O.C.’s office. “Good-morning, sir. Pilot Officer Cartwright reporting.” Then his eyes took in something that made his heart falter. In a corner of the office sat Eard¬ heart, his foot in a bandage. “Cartwright,” broke in the old man, “I’d like you to take over Eardheart’s assignment. His foot was crushed in an accident last night and he suggested you take his place.” Cartwright sweated. So, Eardheart had shared his suspicions with the O.C. What could he do? If he accepted, their suspicions would be groundless, but he would be blasted by his own country¬ men in a marked German aircraft. If he refused, their suspicions were con¬ firmed. An official investigation would follow and he would go down under wrathful British guns. He ran his tongue over dry lips. His finger nails bit into the palms of his hands. His face paled slightly. “Well,” said the O.C. Cartwright looked up, saluted stiffly and said in a strained voice, “Yes, sir. I’m agreeable,” and turned on his heel and walked out into the growing day to meet his doom. His own diabolical plans had back-fired. Back-fired to finish him by a strange twist of fate! —BOB MacKAY ‘iR.et ' it cittoa SECOND PRIZE The Times Building was shrouded in darkness save for a solitary light visi¬ ble from the fifteenth storey. Its ori¬ gin was one of the many offices of the great publishing company. On the door was printed in gilt the name, John Davis. In the swivel chair behind the office desk sat a man, meditatively smoking a cigarette, pondering the headlines of last evening’s edition. Be¬ low, from the brightly-lighted streets of New York could be heard the sound of honking horns and shouting news¬ boys. However his mind was oblivious to this clamor. Then slowly turning in his chair, he faced the open window, a strange, far-away look in his eye . . . On that day five years ago, John Davis had turned the knob of the door marked “Managing Editor” with a feel- of apprehension. Since the moment he had been told the “Chief” wanted to see him, his mind had been filled with the terrible premonition of being fired. Now, as he stood in front of the mas¬ sive mahogany desk, the editor looked up from a manuscript he had been reading. “Oh, its you Davis,” he said, “I have an assignment for you. Our Paris cor¬ respondent has just tendered his resign¬ ation and I want you to fill the vacancy. How about it?” To Davis, ' this meant the culmination of his dreams—at long last he was as¬ signed to the much coveted post of foreign correspondent. His reply came without hesitation. “Be glad to, sir.” The editor was conscious of the tone of elation in his voice. “Here are the tickets. You leave for Paris at once.”

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NEWTONIAN 47 to see his editor and declared his wil¬ lingness to write a series of articles on “Inside Nazi-Paris.” The editor had been overjoyed at the suggestion. Davis had begun the series immediately . . . s s 4c ♦ Bong! Bong! the chimes of the wall clock jarred him from his reverie. Once more he scanned the headlines. Now It Can Be Told! Inside Paris with John Davis, Ace War Cor¬ respondent! Davis tells of the un¬ dying spirit that is Free France and pays special tribute to Henri Dup- rez, the heroic and spirited leader of the Paris Underground Move¬ ment. There was a steely glint in his eye. “Guess it’s time for the news,” he muttered to himself. Reaching over to his desk, Davis turned the knob of the radio and settled back in his chair to listen:-—• “This is the National News Bulletin, a summary of the day’s news. Today the official German news agency, D.N.B. again boasts of the efficiency of the Nazi Gestapo. It has announced in a special communique that the leader of the Paris Underground Movement, one Henri Duprez, who till now has been able to conceal his true identity under the mask of loyalty to Der Feuhrer, has been arrested and executed ...” —JERRY DONIN Room 18 0 7 f uiiid £ttd THIRD PRIZE Jack stood quietly outside the door listening intently for any sound which might come from within the room. Laying his hand gently on the door knob, he cautiously turned the handle and quickly stepped into the room. In one corner of the room, stood a bed. On it sprawled a man, who was blowing smoke rings into the air. Evidently he didn’t see Jack, as he didn’t move a muscle. He sprang quickly to his feet, as Jack said, “Well, Bert, it seems that I have caught up with you at last. Did you think that you could escape me?” Bert, who did not stand more than 5 feet 7 inches, was a plump fellow with very red cheeks, bushy eyebrows, and thick, black, wavy hair. At Jack’s words, he grew deathly pale and his eyes nearly popped out of his head. He stared dumbfounded at the gun which Jack held in his hand, and he mumbled something under his breath. Seeing that Bert was too stupefied to say anything, Jack started a conver¬ sation. “I’ve been looking for you for five years and you’ve always managed to escape just as I was ready to take you to the boss. He sure will be glad when he sees that I have managed to capture you. He’s been very patient with me and I aim to reward him gra¬ ciously for his patience. You decided to go on your own and rob a bank. That’s when the boss got real mad.” “I didn’t mean to rob that bank, but I needed some ready cash. Don’t take me in to the boss,” cried Bert. “Nothing will help you now. Even when we were small kids and were going to the same school together, I thought that you were an honest fellow but in the years that followed, the years that we grew up together, I changed my mind,” Jack said, “do you know why?” Getting no answer from Bert, he continued, “It was because of a certain Saturday that I changed my mind. Your mother had just gotten her pay that day and she hid it under the mattress, where she always hid her money, and then went to the store to get some food for supper. You watched her disappear around the cor¬ ner and then you went and took the money. You took the money, Bert, the money for which your mother had to work so hard scrubbing floors. I’ll never forget that day. The hurt that