Loyola College - Review Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

Page 30 text:

LOYOLA COLLEGE REVIEW —= the town, striding along with little else on his mind, when for the first time, with the exception of the camp accor- dion and the occasional mouth-organ, there came to him a sweet uu of music. А dance hall had lately been established in Billingstown. He did not care for the music, and he cared less for the women he saw there. What a contrast they made, thought he, to the lovely maidens of Fra Krakeroi! At the same time he bethought him of one, lovely beyond the rest, whose eyes were of deepest blue like the waters of Skager-Rak, and whose hair of gold hung in two long braids over her shoulders, Olga Borg, daughter of old Nels Borg, the owner of the post-house. Yes, he had loved her in his silent way, but what good was that without an öre in his pocket? She would have laughed, he reflected. But now, . . . what would she say now? He, Hans Bergen, was rich! Yes, rich enough to buy the post-house itself. And so he forgot Vangel. It was not like Hans to dwell on two things at once. The overalls too, were forgotten; instead, he purchased a writing pad. Then he went home and wrote to Olga. Simply he told her of his love for her since they had gone to school together; of how he wanted her to be his own good wife if she would have him. He was humble, yes, and had waited five years until he had money enough. Now he could even buy a post-house with a farm for her and they two could live so T there. Would she write soon and tell him her answer. Anxiously he haunted the post office for weeks, whimsically making excuses to himself for the delay. In his opti m- ism, never did he conjecture that Olga might not write at all. He was like a man with a new life before him. The scales of vengeance were lifted, and now he looked towards the future with eyes that were softened in the light of a new love and of a great happiness. — After а month ої anxiety Бе received an answer. It was short, but he did not mind that, for she agreed to marry him. But when could Бе return, she asked. She had missed him so much, she said. Hans was wild with delight. Only опе thing troubled him. At the end of the letter she added that Seigfrid Vangel had returned to Frà Krakeroi and she wanted to know why he too had not gone to the Kanadas. She would know when he returned, he assured himself grimly. He resumed his work with a zest that was hitherto unknown to him. He had ever been an untiring worker, but now he was no longer a stoic. Often he would sing at his work, cheering his men to greater effort. They began to love him for it. Another year passed. Hans now wrote to Olga every two weeks, always receiving a reply that gave him new dreams of home and of love. Slowly but surely he was coming to a decision to return to Fra Krakeroi and Olga in the Spring. Her letters were sweet to him, for they were so straightforward, so confiding that he felt the mightier in her trust of him. Occasionally she would mention Vangel. He had been up to the post-house to trade horses with her father, but that was all. Hans was glad of that, for Vangel might be thinking of . . . no, he wouldn't do that, mused Hans, so he forgot about Vangel again. Spring came, and with it a determina- tion to go home as soon as the ice broke up in the Saint Lawrence. But fate decided otherwise; he was never to leave Billingstown. Within a week he was moving a huge crane along the temporary tracks, when without warn- ing, a rail spread where the ballast had sunk into the mud beneath the ties. With a hiss of escaping steam and frantic shouts of a hundred men, the huge steel giant swayed and toppled over, pinning the lifeless body of Hans 18?

Page 29 text:

LOYOLA COLLEGE. REVIEW = m —ə+——əaV,—Əəə ə— N%—-— —ə.-—ƏƏ—— — n Əə svss.ə-À v—c—- —,oəs$ss,+n-+. o.1OÑ, .-.. There were no farewells. The captain of a tramp schooner bound for Oslo agreed to take them that far, whence they could embark for America. Slowly they moved from the wharf under a quickening breeze, gliding almost di- rectly towards the golden west. They stood near the stern of the boat, and for the last time watched the glimmering lights of their homes i 2 into the night. Then a great loneliness pos- sessed them. A few minutes later, when Kap Aark was rounded and Fra Krakeroi was seen no more, Hans barely stifled a sigh that rose from his heavy heart. He looked no more to the east, but turned and gazed with renewed hope to the boundless west, magnificent, re- splendent in the twilight glory of the midnight sun. ж ж EJ The god of industry was pleased with Bilingstown. Here indeed was the consummation, the ze plus ultra of the wer of capital! Three hundred mill- ions of dollars to be expended for the he зодии of an ordinary staple pro- uct! To the visitor all was endless noise and confusion. Huge excavators gouged into the earth and the spoil was whisked away in train loads by the ‘‘dinkies.”’ Great steel crossbeams hung in midair waiting to be swung into place by intrepid hands. Rivetters maintained a steady bombardment throughout the day, while in the rock pits the blasting was continuous. Construction! This was the magic cause of it all! Houses sprang up over- night; mere piles of bricks were meta- morphosed into factories; but behind it all, men were no longer men but mere machines, of less account than the iron monsters they operated. Toiling, toil- ing ever, they came to disregard all else, in the moil for a meagre existence, save their daily bread, “Бе Company, and their respect for the giant whistle which called them to work in the morn- ing and set them free at night. Deep-in a ditch a man was cursing. So were the others with him, but not so intensely as he. The work was not too hard, for the man swung the heavy blue Quebec clay out of the pit as though it were weightless. Rather it was the attitude of a man who has been betrayed and bears the hardened stamp of his sorrow on a callous exterior. Such a man was Hans Bergen. He had trusted, yes, but never again. Vangel, his “friend,” had robbed him that night in Oslo and escaped. Somehow Hans managed to get to Canada and, like many others, found work at Bill- ingstown through the employment agencies. He did not make much money but he saved. Not one cent was spent from that two dollars he sullenly re- ceived above his board each day, except for the few articles of clothing he oc- casionally bought. Yes, one day he would go back and find Vangel. Yes, ... and choke him! In time this grim reflection became an obsession, for the work was hard and the food none too wholesome, all of which you will admit is very fine fuel for revenge. God au changes things strangely. In two years Hans became a foreman and was earning daily what it would take him a month to make in Fra Krake- roi. He had a thousand dollars in the Bank of Commerce and his life was in- sured for three thousand more. The desire to save was still strong within him. Strange enough, he suddenly came to forget Vangel. Even stranger, he was ready to forgive him. Nothing like that happens, however, without a reason, nor could Hans forego a vengeance so deep-seated for an trifling motive. Accordingly I will tell you about it, for often, even the strangest actions are identical with our own under the same circumstances. Hans needed a pair of overalls. One Saturdaynight he walked down through 477

Page 31 text:

LOTOLA COLLEGE REVIEW he —— А ———yR F VI Bergen beneath its immense twisted boom. ж ж ж Seigfrid, isn't it terrible!’ she said. Things like that always happen in those places, my sweet Olga. But tell me again, how much did they send you? ' Almost twenty-five thousand kroné, including insurance and the compensa- tion of the big company! It's so sad.” Don't think about it, dear Olga. Tell me, do you love ше?” | “You know I always did, Seigfrid.”’ Will you marry те?” “Oh, but not so soon,—after this.” Why that happened over a month ago! Besides he was nothing to you Olga, my child. C ould you care for a man who robbed me of my passage and fled to the Kanadas? Come, dear, let us forget him. I would speak to your father.” And so, arm in arm, they strolled back to the post-house. KENNETH J. MCARDLE, 27. Equality “us body of the lord апа of the swain, Of bim wbose life was spent in balls of gold, Of bim wbose walls gave entrance to tbe cold, Have both returned to dust from whence they came. x Forgotten now tbe pleasure and tbe pain, | He o'er whose corpse majestic anthems rolled , Lies stark as he o'er whom one poor bell tolled; Death honours not a laurel or a name. When time with sickle keen hath cut the cord, That binds the soul within its gaol of clay; When that soul unencumbered seeks its Lord, Then doth a titled body judgment sway? “а “ТУ УР ЕФЕ And so doth death, a lowly peasant place In bis grim throng, with kinghood face to face. JOHN SHERIDAN, 28. 49 |