Lord Selkirk School - Maroon and Grey Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

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LITERARY IContinued Sn Sorry! Jhe telephone rang just as she had finished bathing Diane. Wrapping the baby hurriedly in a towel, Marjorie rushed to answer the ring, auto¬ matically avoiding, the tacky paipt. Avoid¬ ing the tacky substance had become a habit during the painting of the newly-renovated house. Picking up the receiver she heard: “Mrs. Stuart? I have a telegram for you, Madam. Shall I read it?” “Yes, this is Mrs. Stuart; please read it.” “Arriving 10 p.m. train Tuesday, July 3, Love, Sara.” “Thank you.” Dazed, Marjorie turned from the phone. “Arriving Tuesday. But they can’t! The paint won’t be dry!” Diane started to whimper and she sud¬ denly remembered the baby. (Later she vaguely recollected drying, dressing and feeding Diane and putting her out to play). Overcome with consternation, Marjorie could clearly see Tommy’s dirty finger¬ prints on the fresh ivory and red kitchen, the cream and black bathroom, the sun- yellow bedroom called Diane’s. Perhaps they could come next month. She could wire them. But it wouldn’t reach them in time. No, she’d have to plan sleep¬ ing accommodations, menus and entertain¬ ment for her husband’s brother, his wife and their son. Through all this, the cheerful slap-slap of the painters’ brushes came to her ears. Marjorie’s harrassed brain began to do some down-to-earth thinking, however, and she quickly decided that Tommy could sleep on the couch in the verandah. Sara and Ben would have to forget their phobia about twin beds unless one of them wished to sleep on the floor. At this she smiled, her first pleasant thought since the arrival of the catastrophic message. “Now, as to menus,” she thought, men¬ tally ticking them off on her fingers, “Sara likes ‘sensible food’ with none of ‘those outlandish spices’. Ben was easy to please, since his only dislike was bread pudding. Tommy, a very active youngster, liked food anytime, anywhere. Marjorie was thankful for this, because it meant they could still enjoy their favorite dishes. Entertainment would have to be pro¬ vided. Ben and Sara enjoyed going to the races, and while they were there Marjorie could get a girl to take Tommy to the p; rk- playground and to wheel Diane until tup- per time. Tommy loved the circus, so she and David could take him to one while Sara and Ben caught the latest matinee, or did some shopping. Then for the weekend, they could motor out to the beach. The men would enjoy the golf tournament and din¬ ner at the club, while she and Sara must not miss the Swank Store fashion show, after which they could go to Julia’s for dinner and bridge. Heaving a sigh of relief after completing her plans, she was about to take Diane with her down to the corner grocery store, when the phone rang. It was David. “Hello, darling; I’ve found a client for that piece of real estate I was telling you about. I think I can close the deal if I take the 2.15 ’plane. So pack a bag for me will you, and send it to the airport by taxi?” “Yes, dear, but ...” “Oh, I should be back in a few days. Good-bye.” He had hung up. She’d tried to tell him about Sara’s impending visit, but he’d hung up. She was about to burst into tears when the ’phone rang again. “Mrs. Stuart? I have another telegram for you. Shall I read it?” “Yes,” she sighed, resignedly. “Quarantined for measles. So sorry we can’t come. Love, Sara.” —Donalda Barber, Room 10-17. Second Prize, Short Story Contest. An Evening nf Cnncentrated Study harles put down his copy of “True Detective Stories” with an air of resolution. With mid-term exams looming up in the near future, he was de¬ termined to catch up with his back home¬ work. Tonight was ideal. The family was out, and a peaceful tranquility reigned, in place of the usual hubbub of radio, conversation, dog, and younger brothers. Charles coldly cut off the announcer’s enthusiastic voice right in the middle of his recital of the merits of that miraculous • 24

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LITERARY Continued] “I shall donate glossy, green leaves, the same as mine.” said a Jerusalem Cherry, growing nearby. “I,” said the columbine, a trifle loudly, “offer a stem of deep red, to mingle with the green leaves.” “Would it be all right to take away the silver centre and replace it with gold?” ventured a tiny gilded marigold. “Of course,” laughed Mistress Spring, “but there is still one thing to be taken care of. Who will volunteer?” There was a deep silence, for the.matter was a very important one. “Very well, then,” answered Madam Sun¬ flower, in her stately voice, “I shall take it into my family.” “Well,” said Spring, “seeing that you have all given your wonderful gifts, I will give mine. Hereafter, you shall not be known as mourning flower, but as DAISY!” Then there was a great cheering, and throwing of petals into the air, and cries of, “Speech! Speech!” But the daisy could say nothing, for it was too choked up with happine ss. —Vera Jennings, Room 8-15 No. 2 First Prize, Short Story Contest. At Last It Hained last it rained. All day, the cloudy sky, angry and threatening, had hung like a dark, menacing cape over the city. All day, pedestrians and school- children had been pushed about by the fierce gusts of wind and the black clouds of blinding dust had reared their angry heads, and been swept mercilessly before the powerful breath of the Storm King. But, at last, all was peace. Pedestrians had all hurried in out of the rain, and the closing bell for school had rung many hours before. The clouds of dust had returned to their native earth. Only a faint breeze stirred the whispering leaves, glossy with rain. And the rain itself fell softly, glancing back from the roadway and sidewalks like a friend who is no longer wanted, and sink¬ ing gratefully into the cool, black earth like a traveller who has found a haven of rest. The whole earth lay drinking in the re¬ freshing moisture. The flowers, parched and thirsty, lifted their weary heads and seemed to smile; and their colors grew more lustrous as one watched. The grass, yel¬ lowed in patches, and parched by the hot, bright rays of the autumn sun, raised its wasted arms to the rain, and became a brighter green. The paved roads and sidewalks glistened with rain, and softly reflected the houses and fences on its glowing surface. The whiteness of the fences and gates stood gleaming in bold relief against the shadowy streets. There was no sign of activity. Not a soul was to be found in the streets, not a sound to be heard; yet the warmth of human friendship could be seen. The friendly glow of a curtained window beamed, and filled the heart with the feeling of joy, love, peace and contentment, that no human words could ever raise. And the rays that slipped out from under a shade that had been drawn over the window, or from a door that had been left partly open to let in the cool clearness of the evening air, gave a person living knowledge that good will creeps out from a mind curtained from the world; or that everywhere, one will find an open door to the weary, the friendless, the homeless. Yes, even the air was better for the rain. It was fresher, cleaner, better, filled with the smell of the good earth steeped in life-giv¬ ing moisture of plants drinking in new life and love. Gone was the strife of the world, the misunderstandings and heartless abus¬ es, the hates and the cruelties of thousands of people. Gone were the heat, the dust, and the buffeting winds. All that was once there had disappeared as if by magic, as if some mighty fairy had waved her magic wand and said, “Let there be peace!” All that was left was the sound of the breeze whispering soft nothings through the leafy trees, and the sound of the rain slipping through the morning glory vine that clings near the screen of the verandah, and. sounding like a mischievous elf at play. The world of the people had disappeared; there remained only the sky, and the rain, and the garden. —Vera Jennings, Room 8-15 No. 2 First Prize, Essay Contest. • 23

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LITERARY IContinuedJ new cleansing fluid. He set his books down on the dining-room table with a firm thud. Let’s see, there was quite a lot of work to be done. Where should he start? That History essay had to be turned in next week—but that gave him plenty of time. Maybe he’d better get at his Algebra. He rummaged through the stack of books on the table, and came up with a somewhat battered-looking volume. He propped the tome of learning up in front of him, and turned to a fresh page in his notebook. Now to begin: x over xy minus twenty, divided by—Jeepers! That pen nib was ter¬ rible! He’d better get a new one. There should be some somewhere—Oh, yes! the desk drawer! He vanished into the living-room and re¬ appeared some minutes later, carrying the box of pen-nibs and munching noisily at an apple. There, that was much better. Now, let’s see—x over xy minus twenty—This was pretty tricky stuff. Funny, his answer didn’t agree with the one in the back of the book. He was sure he’d done it the right way. Oh, well, if at first you don’t succeed . . . It was ten to eight. He’d been at it for over twenty minutes now. Well, that was the last question. He wondered if Tom knew about the football practice before school tomorrow. Charles went to the phone and dialed his friend’s number. “Hello, Mrs. Stevens? This is Charlie. Is Tom in? He isn’t? Yes, you could tell him there’s a football practice tomorrow at eight-thirty. That’s right. Oh, yes, we’re all fine, thank you. No, I don’t know whether Mom’s going to the meeting to¬ morrow. Sure, I’ll tell her to call you. Yes— yes. Good-bye, Mrs. Stevens. Gosh, what a talkative woman! He’d better make a note to tell Mom about the phone call. Remember the last time he’d forgotten to let her know about a telephone message. He scribbled a note on a scrap of paper and propped it up by the phone where she’d be sure to see it. He picked up a new magazine from the hall table and leafed idly through it. Hmph! Nothing but fashions! How Mother and Pegs could sit by the hour absorbed in such stuff was more than he could comprehend. He wandered into the kitchen, rifled the cookie jar, and returned to the dining¬ room. His copy of “Henry V” lay on the top of the pile of books. He picked it up and thumbed distastefully through it. Where was he, anyway? It was such a long time since he’d read any. He crossed into the living-room and sank deep into his father’s favorite after-dinner chair. He leaned back, feet comfortably planted on a footstool, and, with a mar¬ tyred air, prepared to give his full attention to the task at hand. The clock chimed the quarter hour. Charles sighed and looked up. Nine fifteen. Good gravy! He’d been studying for prac¬ tically two hours! Well, that was enough for any one evening. With a relieved sigh Charles reached out and switched on the ' radio. —Edith Close, Room X-17. Second Prize in Essay Contest. New Neighbors Jhe conductor called Aylesbury as the next stop, and Mr. Mc- Tavish picked up his briefcase and adjusted his hat. He was a tired-looking man, with watery blue eyes, gold-rimmed spectacles and wisps of gray hair that protruded from beneath his gray fedora. His tweed suit was rumpled and sagged sadly at the knees. Mr. McTavish was going home, and he thought happily of the two weeks vacation that awaited him. He would spend those weeks puttering in the garden, the place he loved best. The train chugged and sputtered into the station. Mr. MacTavish alighted. A smile of delight, as if in meeting an old friend, crossed his features, as he gazed upon the town. For three generations the McTavishes had been part of the Aylesbury population, and this generation was very proud of it. He walked slowly down the main street, examining the displays in the shop windows and looking for a familiar face among the early shoppers. It was a beautiful morning, and Mr. McTavish’s spirit seemed to lighten and sing along with the birds who perched in the shady trees that overhung the walk. In the residential district his pace quick¬ ened as he neared Wellington Street. He knew Sara, his wife, would be ex- • 25