Lowe High School - Towers Yearbook (Windsor, Ontario Canada)

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The Winrfsor-Walkcrvilk Technical School Year Book 19 play the year before. His face was carefully powdered and rouged. He had on a frock of Marilyn’s and lie had even managed to squeeze his feet into a dainty pair of high-heeled slippers of his mother ' s. “Well, will I do?” he asked. Before Marilyn had time to an¬ swer, the doorbell rang and she flew to answer it. When she returned with the girls “Suzanne” was found curled gracefully (?) in a chair with a book. After the necessary intro¬ ductions had been made Suzanne was asked to tell them something of her California home. “Well,” began Suzanne, Down in California it never snows and—well it is always nice down there and it never snows and—well I guess that’s all there is to tell about California. For poor Earnest had never been within a hundred miles of his own northern home and knew little of California ' s beauty and interests. “I suppose you never have any “outdoor skating down there,” asked Louise. “I guess we do skate,” began Su¬ zanne enthusiastically, “I love skating.” But a look from Marilyn warned him that he was on dangerous ground. “Er-um—1 mean roller skating of course,” he stammered. “I’ve never been on an ice pond in my life.” “Oh I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said Louise. “Tomorrow we’ll all go down to the pond and we will teach you to skate.” “Suits me,” said Suzanne calmly. After the girls had gone Earnest kicked off his mother ' s slippers and stretched his feet out. “We’ll that’s that, he said. And let me tell you, Marilyn, I’m going to have a good time tomorrow with those girls teaching me to skate. But the next evening after having seven girls drag him, the star hockey player of the High School of the town around the ice, and after hav- seven girls telling him how his red sweater suited his complexion and his eyes, he decided that masquerad¬ ing as Suzanne Andrews of Cali¬ fornia was not nearly as funny as he had surmised. The following evening when the doorbell rang Earnest gathered up his books and fled from the room. “If that’s those confounded girls tells ’em I’m sick,” he shouted as he dashed up the stairs. “What shall 1 tell them if they ask what’s wrong with you?” asked Marilyn on her way to the door. “Tell ’em I’ve got smallpox. Any¬ thing to keep them away.” The next day when the girls called up to find out how Suzanne was they were informed that she had departed for home because of the serious ill¬ ness of her mother. They were also informed that Earnest had returned from Chicago. A few days later Marilyn entered the room where Earnest was read- ing. “So long old dear,” she said wav¬ ing her sweater over his head. “Where are you going?” he asked. “I’m going skating. Have you any objections?” ELECTA McDADE—G3B. -o- SMYTHE’S WONDER MACHINE By Charles Fisher It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining gloriously, sparrows shirped in the road and a soft gentle breeze was blowing. In fact it was one of those days that make a man look for romance. To put it shortly it was a perfect day. I was wandering along the avenue, thinking of nothing in particular, not even looking where 1 was going, when I was brought up short by the shock of bumping into something. Staggering back I heard a voice say¬ ing, ' ‘Dear me, what was that now! My dear sir, pardon me, excuse me.” The voice sounded vaguely famil¬ iar and recovering my hat from the sidewalk, I turned and confronted one of the most amazing men I have ever known. He had a thin face, broad and bulging at the forehead and ending in a pointed chin, a long

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18 The Windsor-YVaikerville Technical School Year Book wolf, that we had been reading of in ancient legends. Half fainting we could feel rather than hear his ap¬ proach towards us. With a panther¬ like tread he came, and strange to note, there was no squeaking of the boards when he stepped. Trembling like a leaf 1 was transfixed by the maniacal stare that fiixed itself on me. A horrible arm stretched out to me. with claw-like fingers open¬ ing and closing convulsively. It drew nearer and nearer until only a few inches from my face. Then then long fingers settled themselves in my hair, and as 1 felt the horrible death-cold touch. I sank senseless to the floor. “A sharp cry recalled me to my senses, and as I opened my eyes 1 saw the girls with the guide bending over us. When our strength re¬ turned we told them all. The guide stroked his long white beard, and solemnly predicted that Harvey llarlmve would come no more to the village. “Such has been the case. The villagers say that his touch on a human person has killed his power to return again. If so, I am glad but 1 do not wish the honour of being the means of ridding another town of its evil spirit. -o- ALIAS SUZANNE “Karate, have you seen my skat¬ ing sweater?” asked Marilyn as she entered the room where her brother was sitting. “Marilyn Rogers, you ' er not going skating again tonight! You’re a fine kind of sister to have . You promised to help me fix this blotn- ing radio tonight.” “Well I promised the girls— be¬ gan Marilyn but Ernest interrupted: “Call ' em’ up and tell ’em your cousin from California is here visit¬ ing.” Then seeing the doubtful ex¬ pression on Marilyn’s face he went on: “They ' ll never know the difference anyway. If you stay home and help me fix the radio tonight I’ll take you skating every night next week.” “Well.’ ' said Marilyn, “it’s not a very nice thing to do but I’ll do it this time for your sake.” A few minutes later Earnest chuckled to himself as he heard his sister at the telephone. “Hello—Is that you Louise?—I ' m awfully sorry but I can’t go skating with you tonight. My cousin Suzanne Andrews is here from Cali¬ fornia and as she doesn’t skate I’ll have to stay at home.—No, I couldn’t do that.—Yes. Well good¬ bye Louise. I’ll see you tomorrow. “There, Eartiie,” she said merrily. “The fatal deed is done. Now let’s get to work on the radio.” Ten minutes passed, then the telephone rang and Marilyn left the room to answer it. A moment later she was back with tragedy written on her face. “Now you have done it Tiarnest Rogers! Louise Booklaud just phoned and said that the girls had decided to postpone the skating party and now they’re coming up here to meet “my cousin Suzanne.” It’s your fault too. Now what are we going to do about it. “They’re coming up here. Gosh 1” said Ernest looking up from his work. “Isn’t that just like a pack of girls! But, say, Marivln, I’ve got a swell idea.” “You’re full of great ideas,” re¬ marked Marilyn scornfully. “Well this one is a good one,” went on Earnest. “Now listen care¬ fully. I’ll dress up in some of your duds and you tell them I’m your cousin. They know Mom and Dad are in Chicago and you can tell them I ' ve gone too.” “But won’t they recognize you? asked Marilyn doubtfully. “Not when I ' m fixed up. Now don’t get excited. J ust dig out some of your things for me to wear. Oh they won ' t recognize me when I get dolled up.” Five minutes later he was back and Marilyn had to admit that his own mother would not have known him. On his head was a blonde curly wig which he had worn in a college

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20 The Windsor-Walkervi lie Technical School Year Book beaky nose, and flaplike ears. He wore huge goggles that made him look remarkably like an owl. and on his head was an old green hat. I knew that face the instant I saw it. Anyone who had seen it once could never forget it. In fact back at school where 1 had last seen him. people said his face made the small children cry, and frightened the cats and dogs. It was the face of an old col¬ lege chum of mine. Theophilus Smythe. There he stood surrounded by a pile of wire, batteries and other things he had been carrying. For the moment 1 was speechless with surprise at meeting “old Phyllis” again, and he began gathering up his junk, all the time murmuring apologies. “Smythe,” I said, “is it really you or am 1 dreaming?” For answer he straightened up and blinked at me. “You blinking old idiot, don ' t you remember me. Barton Bathurst?” I demanded indignantly, rather hurt at the thought that my best friend had forgotten me. “Bathurst! Bathurst! he exclaimed in a dazed sort of way. “Why to be sure, Bathurst.” “Yes. Bathrust,” 1 bellowed at him. “My dear old fellow, let me shake your hand. Fancy meeting you now. Who would have thought it.” he ex¬ claimed beaming vaguely at me. We shook hands and when his stuff was gathered up he asked me to lunch with him. I was glad to go along with him because his od¬ dity had always attracted me and during our school days we had been chums. On the way he began an account of a remarkable perpetual motion machine he was trying to invent He lived in fairly comfortable rooms on a quiet street,and his land¬ lady was one of the motherly type, and took quite an interest in him. She confided to me, whenSmythe left the room, that she was sure he would “blow himself to pieces one of these days” and her evident gloom made me feel quite apprehensive. The machine was quite as weird in looks as Smythe had described it. 1 noticed an old Ford engine con¬ nected by wires to batteries, and gears, cogs and wheels in what looked like a jumbled mass of junk. However Smythe assured me that they were all in order and said that after a few finishing touches his machine would he ready for demon¬ stration. 1 ' ear readers, it is not in my power to describe it to you as he did. but the main idea was that while one thing was unwinding, the energy was storing up in another thing, and when it was all used, the energy in store started, and stored up in the thing just expended, and so on. Quite clear, is it not? 1 left him whb the invitation to come up again in a couple of weeks for then he was sure his name would be ready for inscription among the lists of great inventors. Next morning I had just sipped ray cup of tea, and settled hack to read the morning paper when an item struck • my eye. headed, “Mystery Machine Explodes.” There followed an account of how poor old Smythe’s machine had exploded. The inventor, it said, had escaped with scratches but his room had been practically demolished. 1 put on my hat and coat and rushed around to his rooms. His landlady met me at the door with, “Mr. Smythe is feeling pretty badly because of the explosion of his ma¬ chine. Perhaps you could cheer him up. He ' s out in his work shop.” Going around I found poor old Smythe, surrounded by the ruins of his “wonder machine” but looking quite cheerful. “Too had, old fellow,” I said sym¬ pathetically. Smythe looked at me almost gayly. “Bathurst,” he said. “I felt badly last night hut I know now that that explosion was a blessing in disguise. It showed me just where the ma¬ chine was weak. Now I know I can correct the defect and turn out a