Loyola College - Review Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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ЈУНУ ОБА COLLEGE REWVIEEA — Say! he ejaculated, “where did you learn the art of story-telling? Why can't you cut out the trimmings and keep to hard facts? Never, in all my travels, did I ever hear such spineless blah and bunkum as you, Jim, can pass out! '. . . then love smiled on me like an unclouded sun!’ . . . can you beat that for a quotation? No wonder you couldn't finish what you started! Any- how, here you have old J. C. Baxter, large as life, to give this story the quietus—I suppose you'd say dénoue- ment, Jim, but I'm betting that I'll get there just the same with ‘quietus.’ ' Now, turning to Wilkins, ‘‘if you can put up with my style, which isn't as good as Jim's here, but just as effective, ГИ soon bring this yarn to a quick finish, and I don't mean per- Һарв.” “Well, in the first place, it seems as though Surofski wasn't the only Romeo on the block. Before Jim got half a chance, he was so far gone on that girl that if you asked him his name he'd say eight o'clock. Poor Jim! He's a good scout, and I thought better of him, but any man who falls as hard as he did for a slip of a girl ought to be quietly led away and exterminated.” I squirmed in my chair as Bob Wilkins indulged in an inane titter. But, to get back to this story, Baxter continued, looking at Bob, “іс appears that Jim really did go around to see Surofski, didn't you, Jim? What happened there would make another story, but the low-down of it is that Jim here got on his dignity from the statt and demanded that Surofski keep away from the girl or he'd see that he + did. Now, in the first place, Surofski was hot-headed. Besides, he had just lost two good jobs. So was it surprising that Surofski up and hit him over the head with a violin? After this there was a general mix-up. Who won, you say? Ask Jim if you like, but I believe it was the landlady. She was a match for the two of them, and said she wouldn't stand for no fighting in her house. “I never saw Surofski again. There was a rumour that he went back to Russia, and I'm hoping it's true and he refuses to come back. Jim got over it all in time, but even now when he gets a brain wave and suggests new ways for me to make money, I just ask him which veces musician he has in mind, and ittle J. Cornelius has the Eom for the rest of the session. Which goes to bm of coutse, that whenever a man ets love interfere with his business he isn't worth enough of the proverbial cordite to blow himself from here to there.” And what became of the fair Olga, Mary What’s-her-name?’’ queried Wil- kins. What about the girl, you ask? What a question! I married her, of course! Incidentally,” concluded J. Cornelius, “Т just landed a big contract to bring a shipment of munitions to Vagonia to help kill off the Vagonians. The wife is coming along to help out, and it means fifty thousand cold if everything turns out O.K. Why the surprised look? I ain't done anything! Business, says I, is what you make it! Order up a cocktail, Jim!” KENNETH J. McARDLE, 27.

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WOY ОБА COLLEGE REN FEW — Here was a fine mix-up for you! Not the slightest suspicion of a foreign accent, and obviously a name like Mary could not be coupled with Bazinska. Then came the horrible thought that I might be in the wrong house. “Does not Olga Bazinska live here?” I enquired, striving to subdue my excitement. “Oh, yes, but that is only her stage name. Iam Mrs. Donnelly, her mother’’ Needless to say, I awaited her daughter with no small amount of curiosity, but when she did enter, tastefully, yet simply dressed in a modish tea gown,—I confess that I have never yet been able to describe her justly. In all the books you have ever read, there must have been one girl above all others in whom you found every quality both good and beautiful, and for whom you felt that life would be well worth living. Take this ideal, enlarge upon it to your heart’s content and you will have my first impression of Mary Donnelly. I stood there, staring at the radiant beauty before me, as if half stunned. And when she spoke her voice gave me a memory of hearing sweet sunset chimes across still waters. “Do be seated,” she said, when the introductory formalities were over: “I have heard so many nice things about you from Mr. Baxter that I was really looking forward to meeting you. Had J. Cornelius hanged and quartered me there and then, I could cheerfully have forgiven him. I mumbled something unintelligible in reply, and began to blush and fidget like a youth of seven- teen at his first dance. In her kindness, she noticed my discomfiture and suc- ceeded in leading the conversation di- rectly to the object of my visit, which I then explained in as few words as possible. At the conclusion of my remarks, she laughed. You read in poems of angels weeping—I now knew the bliss that rippled in their laughter. “Why, I never imagined for a moment that Mr. — Baxter would have taken me seriously. I only wished to be left alone by Mr. Surofski. I judged that if he continued to act so foolishly, I should lose what means I had of supporting Mother, for it's different now since Father died.” I begged her to leave the affair in my hands, as I was going that afternoon to sce Surofski. “You cannot imagine how much I shall appreciate your kindness, she answered, little knowing that I could have joyfully stood on my chair and cheered for the very privilege of serving her in any way. May I come to let you know the result of my visit?’ I begged, mean- while edging out the door. Then as we said good-bye, and I held her gaze and hand a bit longer than convention modestly dictated, she blushed, withdrew the intriguing mem- ber, but gave me her smiling consent. As I turned to go, my foot caught some how on the door-mat, the result being that I shot down those stairs at a rate I never again hope to equal. Arrivin at the bottom—you may take my oid for it that I certainly did—I made a futile lunge for the door knob in an attempt to get out as soon as possible, if not sooner. I tried again, this time with better luck, for I at last discovered that I had been endeavouring to open it by the hinge. Once outside I vowed that I would never repeat such a scene for all the wealth of Croesus, but long before I arrived at the studio of Mr. Surofski, I was ready to admit that for the first time in my life love smiled on me like an unclouded sun. . . . . k k Ck A deep-throated bellow of laughter interrupted this recital of my emotional reactions, and turning hastily, my be- wildered gaze rested upon J. Cornelius Baxter himself. It was just his way to enter the Club unobtrusively and en- sconce himself in a nearby roomy chair until he judged fit to cut in. 1o h

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