Loyola College - Review Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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LOYOLA COLLEGE REVIEW 21 | + MY SHORT , STORY ; | “Well, I have decided what to write about, said I with ап air of finality, Bill, lying comfortably in bed, glanced at me lazily. “What is it to be? he drawled out. “Oh, something about the War, I replied in an off-hand manner. “Something about the War! repeated Bill, a little too sarcastically, I thought. Aren't there enough senseless stories about the War flooding the country, without your adding to their number? “Perhaps,” I said, rather nettled, “but mine isn't going to be senseless, Bill smiled in a superior manner, but said nothing. I was annoyed with him, but the feeling soon passed. Мо one could resist Bill Rollinson's sunny nature for any length of time; it was too contagious; besides he and I were fast friends. We had been discussing the Short Story Competition all even- ing, and I had reached my momentous decision just before going to bed. Bill's adverse criticism of it rankled in my mind for a few minutes, but did not in the least dissuade me from my purpose. Before a week had elapsed I had launched forth into a tale reeking with cannon-smoke and flashing with the glint of sabre and bayonet. My hero had just saved the whole British Army from complete annihilation, when—I stopped. Somehow I could not go on. Perhaps it was the magnitude of his heroic feat that made my ending so flat; certain it is, that do what I would with him—load him down with all the honours of the land or leave him to die a lonely death on the battle-field— my hero remained a rank failure. I confessed my trouble to Bill. “Why not try a tale of the sea? he suggested. I thought it over for a few days, then decided to follow his advice. I became quite enthusiastic over the idea. How are you getting along with the story? Bill inquired one night. Splendidly, I replied. “Тһе introduction was easy and I have a very powerful ending—the hero going down to a watery grave after saving the captain's daughter. “That sounds exciting, said ВШ, “Би: haven't you got anything else besides the introduction and the end? There's usually a plot to these stories, isn't there? “Not always, I replied, trying not to glare at him, “Әлі I'll work in one somehow or other. But the working-in process did not succeed very well, and once more I had to acknowledge defeat. For a few days I decided not to attempt any- thing further, but a vivid poster of some medieval scene hung outside а moving- picture theatre inspired me with the desire to write a tale of the middle ages. I started in again, and again I obtained the usual results. Rome under Czsar's sway, then Athens during the time of Demosthenes, became in turn the setting of my plot; but the classic days of the toga and the himation were

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20 LOYOLA COLLEGE REVIEW THE LOYOLA CADET CORPS As a postscript to the above imperfect record of what Old Boys who have become soldiers are doing, we may'add a few words regarding present boys and their less sanguinary triumphs in the beginning of the Loyola College Cadets. On November 19th drill began for all the boys of fifteen years and over. Тһе drills took place chiefly in the armoury of the Irish Rangers on Stanley Street and lasted till the opening of the hockey season. Officers of the Rangers, many of whom are Loyola Old Boys, acted as drill instructors. In the Spring, forty of the tallest boys from the L. C. Cadets donned the brand-new uniforms of khaki and green, and took their places in the Regiment on the occasion of its first inspection by H. R. H. the Duke of Connaught, and also took part in the first regimental church parade. On both occasions the Loyola boys made a fine appearance and did themselves and the College credit. These mutual good offices are not the only links between Loyola College and the first Irish regiment in Montreal. The Commanding Officer and the Second in Command of the 55th Regiment, Irish Canadian Rangers, are none other than Harry Trihey and Willie O'Brien, both pioneers of the English Classical Course at St. Mary's College, which gave rise to our College. Тһе name of Harry Trihey, B.A., was one of those read out at our first Prize Day in 1897 and appears in our first catalogue. It was in the L. C. Boys' Recreation Room that the very first drill in the Officers' Training Class was held, and it was the boys old and tried friend, Major John Long, who taught the future Officers the first rudiments of drill. A number of Old Boys are in the rank and file or amongst the Non-Commissioned Officers, while John Hackett, Ernie McKenna, Harold Hingston, Jimmie O'Connor and Ray Ryan are Lieutenants. Тһе College has also given the Regiment its Chaplain, Reverend Father Hingston, S.J. The complete organization of the L. C. Cadet Corps was left over till we should be in our new College. Officers will have to be chosen, a uniform designed and the drill gone at systematically. Our first experience in the work has led all to conclude that there are in Loyola College the materials for a Cadet Corps second to none in Canada. “EYE-WITNESS

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22 LOYOLA COLLEGE REVIEW too much for my imagination, and at the end of another week found me no further advanced in my story. In fact I was in a worse state than when I started. My mind had become a maze of plots and counter-plots. I had weird dreams in which Roman knights armed with maxim-guns fought Newfoundland fishermen for the possession of the philosopher's stone. Then one afternoon while we were liesurely preparing our work for the next day—Bill and I roomed together near the college—the mail came in. 'There were two or three nondescript notices for me which I threw away in disgust. Bill, however, had received a long letter. Не was still reading it when 1 finished my Algebra exercise. “From Jim Dennings,” was his explanation, as he folded and placed it in his pocket. ''He says he is going to stay another month in Italy. “Lucky dog! I sighed. “Т wish I were back there. And I began to think of the pleasant time I had spent in that sunny land but one short year ago. Italy! The word brought back many memories of places, persons and historic scenes. “Talking of Italy, I said suddenly, reminds me of a peculiar incident that happened to me there. Did I ever tell you about it? “Tf it’s that wild tale about your nearly being drowned in Venice, an- swered ВШ, “you certainly have told me it scores of times.” No, it isn't that. This is something more interesting still. “Then why not write it up for your short story, was Bill's suggestion. “You would spare me the trouble of having to listen to it now. “That's a good idea. I think I shall, only— Only what? ; “It has no beginning, as far as I know.” Bill stared at me. “TIl explain,” I said laughing. “I met with this experience in a rather curious manner. I was cycling from Florence to Rome, when a bad puncture forced me to stop at a little town called Frassineto. There was no hotel in the place, but the mayor invited me to his own house for the night. I appreciated his kindness and accepted the invitation. The mayor was a tall handsome man of about forty, whose father, he proudly told me, had fought for the Pope in 1870 and had distinguished himself for valour. Upon hearing that I came from Canada, he remarked that he had an uncle, his father’s brother, who had gone out to settle there some forty-five years ago. He didn’t know very much about him, as his father had rarely spoken of him, but it seemed that the two had quarreled and his uncle had left the country for Canada.” “It was in his father’s room, unused since his death a few years ago, that I was to pass the night. It was rather late when I went to bed. The last thing I noticed before falling asleep was a beam of moonlight shining on a picture which hung on the wall opposite my bed. It must have made an impression on me, for it haunted me even in my sleep. “I awoke later on with a start—something most unusual for me. The moon was behind a bank of clouds, so that it was only after my eyes had be- come used to the darkness that I could make out my unfamiliar surroundings. As I glanced around the room, I saw a form glide along the wall and stop in front of the picture. I held my breath and waited to se e what would happen.