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

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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

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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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The Windsor-Walkerville Technical School Year Book 21 perfect machine. Tin starting on the new one right away.” What to say to such a lunatic? 1 left. -o- WICKED WILLIE A Bed Time Story Once upon a time there was a bad, bold, desparate. red-headed pirate, named Wicked Willie. Now Wicked Willie always sailed the wild and stormy waters of the De¬ troit river. He was always hungry, so of course excursion boats were his prey, and everyone knows the Detroit river is the best place for ex¬ cursion boats. Well, one day when he was look¬ ing out on the sandy desert of Wind¬ sor, he spied the 44 Pontiac” heading for Belle Isle. Now as everyone knows when a boat is headed for Belle Isle it contains lunch boxes and lunch boxes usually contain food. With a great roar. Wicked Willie bounded up the steps seven at a time (there were only seven) and roared: “Ahoy there, men! Hoist the skull and crossbones, and just then a terrible thing happened. He heard his big, fat Swedish cook say: “Dot Vicked Yillic sure is vim bat man.” With a cry of rage. Wicked Willie picked him up and hurled him through the port-hole. Now, the port-hole was small, the cook was fat, so naturally he stuck. Wicked Willie sat and tried to think of a torture terrible enough and at last he had a plan. “Come here men and each take a straw and tickle his feet. The cook screamed for mercy but the only arfswer was Wicked Willie ' s mocking laugh. About fifteen minutes later they came up to the Pontiac. The frigh¬ tened passengers gazed over to the sandy desert of Windsor. No hope there. Then at the village of De¬ troit. All in vain! With great cries of terror and despair they sprang overboard. They were not all Gert¬ rude Ederles but they had all swum to Amherstburg for picnics at one one time or another and many of them finally landed safely at Puce. Wicked Willie and his crew be¬ ing left in possession of the ship at once made an attack upon the lunch boxes. One after another was opened, and gradually a look of mute despair settled over each counten¬ ance, and at last with a sad and solemn face Wicked Willie and his crew advanced to the top deck of the ship, and one after another jumped overboard. It had been an anti-kosher picnic and they had all brought pork sandwiches and Wicked Willie and all his crew ex¬ cept the cook were Jewish. So endeth the career of Wicked Willie on the thirtieth of February, nineteen hundred and twenty-seven. ISABEL MITCHELL—C2D. -o- The Prize Essay THE ANCIENT TECH! It was midnight! Not a sound could be heard. The silence en¬ veloped the country side, as did the curtain of night—dark and lonely. In the blackness could be seen, looming up blacker still a huge, lonely shape that appeared to be a building, and the trees, silently keep¬ ing watch around it made it look ghostly in the night. The sky was overcast, and neither stars nor moon could lie seen. The air was heavy with a sense of evil, as I, tramp and gentleman of leisure passed slowly down the lonely lane towards the house. It was summertime and the heat was stifling. The honeysuckle on the nearby hedges scented the night air with a heavy odour, and adding to the “spooky aspect of the place, there came a long, low rumbling. It was only the rising storm, as the wind began to whisper among the trees. The rumbling grew to a growl, the growl to a scream as the wind gathered force, shaking the mighty trees, and whistling round the house. Then thunder pealed high above, and lightning illumin-