Kitchener Waterloo Collegiate and Vocational School - Grumbler Yearbook (Kitchener, Ontario Canada)

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Pen - Picking I have never thought before how many pens there must be around the school. Considering an approxi- mate enrollment of 1400 students, I should guess there are at least the same number of pens. Of course there may be many ancients who still employ the straight style pen but these are balanced by the plutocrats who had two. We shall merely suppose this, but say, for instance, a person of low morals, collected all the pens of the school, by checking all the desks of various rooms, and drain- ing the small cupboard in the office. Continuing with the supposition shall we say an average of one pen is found every two days? That is, five pens every two weeks. A second-hand pen for fifty cents, a bargain! In this manner a student would earn two dollars and fifty cents Dick NIEIQNIER. A XII IJ for half a month. Little work and many thrills make up for the small reward. By December, our imaginary thief has fifteen dollars with that month's return as yet unheard from. To soothe his conscience he could spend it on the school dance. A worthy outlet for unworthy money. If this article is ever published a reader must not take it seriously. because at least ten other people will have read it, and sharing pro- fits with ten other people means one-tenth the chance of speedy for- tune. More opposition comes from the honest persons who return pens to their owners. However, should this not reach the elevation of publication stan- dards then let the casual waste- basket thief try his hand at pen- picking. Dil Jlfii lpcmiirzg Ni:1.I.1E Plrcmm. A XII D One molnent he walked trustingly His ufeary may alone: The next. Fate suddenly decreed Sheid have him for her own. The morn in sombre silence lay. .find then. a crash was heard- .4 dull flat sound. .vet in its tray Tuias IIII.g'TIfI'f I' than the sword. The lllllgllfj' arm of Il'1'l'6 fell Like lead upon his head: I breathed a sigh. and looked to see If he was really deadf He moved one battered Iinzh. and then 1 heard from hint no more: I steep! the erushed and frayed remain FFUIII off the kitchen. floor. No other mourned his passing: No one. save only 1. Had Il'lTlIlt'SSf'lT the departure Uf the once so happy fly. I turned my haeh upon him. .Ind then. as 'ttrere a dream. I :rent to lTl'Ull'7I llli' sorrows In strawberry iee-erearn. 26 THE GRUMBLER

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EUEIZ S HARVEY RIEDLINGER. A XII 41 I hated him then as he sat there. Witlz his moclfing blue eyes on nzy face. The jury had claimed him not guilty And I was to die in his place. The uproar died into a murmur As darkness enveloped the roon1. -4 short. merciful respite from torture For a shaft soon cut through the gloom: Hemmed in by a ribbon of shadow W-hiclz had widened perceptibly now. Was a portrait of him whom I hated. Then l quietly murmured my vow. They dragged me away to my cell-room Where l whiled the hours away. Long. wearisome hours of waiting. When eternity meant but one day. Then my hour had come.' Out the window Through the cold clammy damp of the night, Shrinlfing myself to a shadow When a searcher would come into sight. Straight to his room I went. stciftlj' Witll the stealth of a hunted cat. For the searchers were tightening their dragnet .45 I neared his well-furnished flat. l met him half way to his bedroom. His portrait was no vision now For he stood there. his pasty lips trembling, .4 cold sweat had burst out on his brow. His firm jaw had dropped in amazement -4 cool breeze rumpled his hair His blue icy eyes spoke but terror .is he cholfed out the words G'You won't dare. ' The police had crashed through the doorway I lunged as three shots rent the air. But my knife blade had dug to the bottom, His glassy blue eyes read despair. They now had a reason to take me :ind kill me. I didn't care. But revenge was so sweet while it lasted. Now the jurfs decision was fair. THE GRUMBLER

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The Diary of a Mouse Q 3 Doms lifsus.-mari. C XI A This morning when I awoke, I was almost tempted to stay in bed, it was so cold. I spent a miserable night dreaming of Jones' new men- ace which they lovingly call Puss. I kept seeing Old Tom placidly strolling along as he was wont to dog but somehow he changed. His eyes became bright green, his claws were sharp, and his crouch- ing gait struck terror to my heart. Suddenly he began to growl and I woke up squeaking and shaking all over to see a shadow across my doorway. Soon it disappeared, but for a long while I wooed sleep in vain. Everyone says we are in for a reign of terror-when every stroll, every excursion to the pantry may be the last. Last night Grampa addressed the newly organized secret under- ground. He fired them with pat- riotism, relating tales of the days when Old Tom was young and on the prowl. How I wish I were mlm 4 older, at least old enough to join them! Meanwhile, I am working furi- ously to get my Christmas shop- ping done before Puss gets well acquainted with the house. Yester- day, Mrs. Jones presented the bot- tom shelf of the pantry with a .beautiful piece of golden cheese. So far, I have purloined enough for all but my parents. This afternoon, I had another unpleasant experience with the newcomer. Puss stumbled upon Jerry's home just as I was leaving after tea. The ferocious, mean creature chased me all the way to my door. The vigilantes are going out on a mission of revenge to- night. They plan to break his saucer. I should have loved to go with them. As yet, I have heard no sound from the kitchen. They must have been successful. Good-night, dear Diary . . 4--N Grace Hall, A XIII B THE GRUMBLER