London South Collegiate Institute - Oracle Yearbook (London, Ontario Canada)

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SHORT STORTES Editor, BETTY PLANITZ. VA f F T EQ HE Short Story group has been 3 fortunate indeed, this year, in having as a judge of its con- fess' AEM tributions Mrs. J. W. Thor- burn. Mrs. Thorburn is a writer of experience, and under the name of Amy Campbell became known to hundreds of readers in her stories and, perhaps to an even greater extent, in her verses. That the judges decision in the matter of short stories was eagerly awaited, then, goes without saying, but the group concerned was scarcely prepared for the delightful way in which this decision was announced. Over an informal cup of tea, Mrs. Thor- burn discussed each story in detail, show- ing an amazing appreciation of each writers problems and difficulties. She was most generous in her praise, and in several instances urged the writer to send his story to a publisher. One incident in connection with the choice of the winning story is of interest. After selecting the three best stories, in her opinion, Mrs. Thorburn, giving no hint of the decision, submitted the entire collection to a friend, Mrs. Ecole, of St. Thomas, herself a well-known writer of verses and stories. To the great delight of the judge, Mrs. Ecc1e's decision was identical with her own. Having thus been doubly assured, Mrs. Thorburn enthusi- asticaliy announced her selection of win- ners to the Short Story group. lt is difficult to express our appreciation of Mrs. Thorburn's interest. Her practi- cal advise was of the greatest assistance and her enthusiasm, together with her gracious words, will not be forgotten by those to whom these words were indeed an inspiration. -M. C.-H. page twenty-Iwo Thanks to the generosity of Mrs. John Rose, there has been a very real competi- tion in connection with the award for the prize short story. This department of THE ORACLE wishes to express its very deep appreciation of the interest shown by Mrs. Rose. A SKY SCRAPER By LLOYD STEVENSON, III D. 5 AST and white against the MTU! ia' smoke and squalor of the city rose the awesome shaft of steel and stone, straight and mighty and grandly aloof. At its base scurried a race of pygmies, but its spire pierced through the clouds and looked far out to the level fields beyond. Towering and majestic, it dreamed above the unrest of the great city, and sentinelled the comings and goings of a million men and women. So it appeared from an upper window of a tall building near by. But viewed from the cockpit of an aeroplane, fifteen hundred feet above the earth, it seemed entirely different. Gone was the illusion of vastness and grandeur, gone the feeling of awe. The great sky-scraper, that had looked so colossal when one stood close by, now appeared to be nothing more than a splotch of white on the outstretched map below. It called forth no respect, enkindled no admiration, inspired no awe. It was just another buildingz' brick and steel and stone. That was all. THE ORACLE

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THE LOAN By ALEX. MCLEAN, IV C KRa.1zked first in Short Story Contestj LD JOE MCGUIRE set the tin l pail down outside the door and l wiped his feet sadly. It's no l use, Martha, he muttered as he came in the door. Jackson up at the bank told me that I couldn't get that loan. He said I didn't have enough security. The old man sighed heavily and sat down in the creaky rocker by the window. Don't you worry, Joe, Martha re- assured him, Providence always has helped us and I think we'll manage some way. Well, I'm not fretting against Provi- dence, said Joe, but I don't see how there can be anything done this time. Three hours later Old Joe carried the milk from the barn and was opening the door, when a long, black touring car swung to a stop before the porch. Listen, neighbor, could you spare me a gallon or so of gas? asked the dark and dapper little man at the wheel. To be sure, said Joe. He picked up the tin pail on the porch, which he had brought from town. I just got a couple of gallons this afternoon, and he readily poured the fluid into the tank of the big car. I'll be in town again tomorrow and you're welcome. The heavy car roared away toward the town. Listen, Luigi, said the little driver, are you sure this gas'll last out?,' Oh, quit your worrying, growled the driver. Sure it'll do. And next time you make sure there's a tankful before you start for one of these backwoods places. The town was dark when the car stopped before the bank. 'Take it easy, said Bill. I'll get the soup out of the keister while you open the place. Luigi paused momentarily before the door. Then it swung open and the two men entered. For the next twenty minutes there was no sound but the oiled whir of a keen bit biting into the tempered steel of the old bank vault. SOUTH C. I. Okay, shoot! Luigi quickly covered the cracks of the door with a brown soap and then, from a tiny bottle which he held cautiously in a felt pad, poured a greasy liquid into the drilled hole. Take a look out front, he muttered. Bill peered carefully out the window. Okay, blow it! A match flared. The two men crouched behind a steel filing cabinet. There was a dull roar and the vault door toppled back- ward in one little surprised hop, and lay flat on the floor. Never mind the bags-probably all coppersf' growled Bill. The two men scooped empty the cash drawers and raced to the curb. The starter of the big car whined. Again the starter made the little, choking murmur, but the big engine made no response. With impatience Bill shoved his com- panion from the wheel. Here come the cops, he yelled. Get out of here, you-,U and his foot found the starter as the words flowed on. Next day Luigi's body lay crumpled on a marble slab in the coroner's office of the nearest city, his blood-reddened hands clutched over his heart. Bill, in defiant hate, slumped against the back of the chair across from the detective-inspector. Well, you caught us cold,' 'he spat, Hbut you wouldn't have come near us if that triple-starred car hadn't quit. I was going to tell you about that, Bill, smiled the detective. You remem- bered where you stopped to get the gas? You mean that old man I gave the fake half dollar to? Yes, replied the detective. He was in this morning. It seems he is a little careless and last night when he went to give you the gas he picked up the coal-oil can. The coal-oil burned all right while your engine was hot, but when you stopped,-well, you stopped right over for court today. . Kturn. to page 822 page twenty-three