Mechanic Arts High School - M Yearbook (St Paul, MN)

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10 THE M y JUNE,1924 and two more dark figures sank to the wet earth. The other members of the gang hesi- tated, overcome with fear. Who was this man with the courage to fight and defeat their leader, a leader who had never before been beaten? Get over there in a bunch, Grinnell ordered with a voice full of command. The gang obeyed, trembling in the presence of one who was not a coward, Take those ties off them tracks. No one moved. Again Grinnell's pistol spake and again a man sank to the ground in agony. The gang instantly became alive. Under the threatening eyes of Grinnell, the ties were removed, one by one, from the tracks. Through the driving rain, the train could be seen coming on, unmindful of its possible ruin. Faster, ordered Grinnell. The men worked on, watching with fearful eyes that weapon which had already wrecked havoc among their members. Would the track be cleared in time? Grin- nell was becoming desperate. He knew that he did not have strength enough to lift a tie, yet he also knew that he must keep command over these brutes. The train was but a hun- dred yards away. Three ties were left-now two, now one. With a mighty heave prompted by a stern command, the men shoved the tie aside, leaped to safety and, as the train rumbled by separating them from the desperate man, they escaped in the dark- ness. The prison siren still shrieked. The ele- ments raged on. But Grinnell was unmind- ful. He had collapsed, a victim of the great physical strain imposed upon him. ln the early morning hours, as the grey dawn crept over the tempest-tossed landscape, a group of prison guards stumbled upon the prostrate form of Grinnell the prisoner, lying amidst the bodies of his victims. The scat- tered ties, the dead bodies of the well known bandit leader and his followers, told all too plainly how the revenge of Grinnell had saved the lives of perhaps scores of human beings. Grinnell had secured his revenge and found his freedom in an heroic death. BY ACCIDENT KTrcmsIated from the Spanish by Mr. Woltmanj The fable which I now present Occurred to me by accidentg And whether bad or excellent, ls merely so by accident. A stupid ass one morning went Into a field by accident And cropped his food and was content, ' Until he spied by accident A flute, which some oblivious gent Had left behind by accidentg When, sniffing it with eager scent, He breathed on it by accident, And made the hollow instrument Emit a sound by accident. I-lurrahl Hurrah! exclaimed the brute, 'il-low cleverly I play the flute! A fool, in spite of nature's bent, May shine for once--by accident. -Tomas Yriarte.

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JUNE, 1924 MT HhE IIMVY xg FTQCJOIH By HARRY BLACKMUN, '24 FIRST PRIZE Only during the intermittent flashes of lightning can one distinguish the huge, black walls of the great building along the river. It is the prison-that burial place of living men who have gone astray into the deep, sin- filled caverns of the underworld. Above the roar of the storm the only sound audible is the steady march of the sentinel. He plods on, back and forth, up and down, with unceasing regularity. Suddenly he pauses. With a feeling of uneasiness, he peers into the darkness about him. All seems well. Is it the storm that causes his sense of fear? Hark! Is that a footstep? Crouching silently, he listens intently for several moments. Then, apparently satisfied, he turns again to con- tinue his march, but before he has time to take a step, a tall, lithe form springs swiftly out of the darkness upon him, bearing him heav- ily to the pavement. A cruel blow is inflicted upon the guide's head and he rolls over unconscious. The lithe form quickly rises and glances furtively about into the dark- ness. He disappears over the prison wall. The lightning flashes. The thunder in- creases. The elements rage on in their un- governable fury. X se PF ak :of Amidst the wind-whipped waters of the river could be discerned the figure of a man, Grinnell, the prisoner, struggling onward, striving to reach the shore where safety was assured. During the flashes of lightning, one could see that a pistol, the weapon of the prison guard, was clenched tightly in the man's teeth. In the swollen river his flight seemed hopeless, yet, amid the debris, which was carried down by the turbulent waters, the man struggled on, centering his entire strength upon the effort to reach that stead- ily approaching shore. Gradually, slowly, painfully, he neared it, until, with a supreme effort, he felt his feet sink into the ooze of the river bed. He sank exhausted upon the ground only to rise again to struggle on. Suddenly, amid the howling of the elements, he heard the shriek of the siren at the prison warning the countryside of an escaped pris- oner. lt was the signal of the hunt, the death-note of many an escaped fugitive. In terror Grinnell fell back into the dense underbrush of the river's banks. With keen- est satisfaction he thought over his escape. He was free-free from the endless hardships and toils of a prison life-free from the con- stant watching of the guards, He ran for- ward in wild exultation. Suddenly he stopped. Down the valley he heard another shriek, not the wild cry of the prison, but the low toned whistle of a speeding locomo- tive. Slowly to his disordered faculties came reasoning. He remembered again the object of his escape. Prom his tiny prison window had he not seen, by the flashes of lightning, the queer actions of the i'gang working on the railroad tracks across the river? Had he not seen his chance to get revenge upon the leader of that gang, whom, by his far-sighted vision, he knew to be one of his former enemies of the underworld, the man who had sent him to this prison, to this living death? Had he not exercised all his faculties, trained in criminality, to plan his escape? And then had he not used all his cunning to overpower the guard and rob him of his weapon? His purpose was clear to him now. He stumbled onward in the direction of the tracks. As he clambered up the roadbed, his worst fears were confirmed, for there, across the tracks, was a pile of ties placed in the path of the oncoming train. He knew that the gang was at its old tricks-wrecking the train, then plundering the ruins, But what could he do? The task of removing the tie: was too much for one man. Besides the train was only a mile down the valley. In the midst of his dilemma he saw a man rise before him. The lightning again flashed and Grin- nell recognized the man as his former enemy. Deftly he raised his pistol and fired. The man sank to the ground with a horrible groan. Immediately other men seemed to rise out of nowhere. Grinnell was attacked from behind. With all his remaining strength he threw his opponent over his head. The men encircled him. His gun spat fire iliip., 4 1 i - .A

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JUNE, 1924 T H E 11 Brotherly Dicipline By AGNES SWANSON, 2456 SECOND PRIZE My sister Alice is the most careless girl in high school. Everybody says so. She leaves her locker open and then complains when some villain steals her lunch: she loses her books and thinks it isn't fair if the teacher calls her down for not knowing her lessons. But, her most careless habits are with money. Of course, if I could coax money from Dad as easily as she does after my allowance has vanished, I might be careless. too. But I never can picture myself sitting on the arm of his chair and telling him how I'll just die if I can't see some young hero at the show. But, as I was saying, she takes twenty-ive or thirty dollars and crumples the bills all up in her pocket or ties them up in a handkerchief or anything. The worst of it is that she's never been frightened into being careful. One evening Mother and Dad and Alice and I were sitting around reading-don't think we often do that but it just happened that it was before eight and too early to go anywhere. Well, we were sitting there and all of a sudden Alice gave a little squeal and said, Oh, Mother! just look at the perfectly adorable sale on at Brown's tomorrow: new spring dresses in the beautiful new shades and in all new materials, twenty-five and up. Mother put down her book resignedly: Father put his paper down in alarm. Well he might: he knew what happened to him when Alice saw an adorable sale. Mother, I don't think I can really afford to miss that sale. You know, we've been saying for ages that I must have a new dress. My old one's just a rag: I've worn it so long. Alice, said Father, NI can't afford to have you go to that sale. Times are hard: business depression and all that, you know. Then Dad surrendered. The less arguing, the more peace, and the sooner he handed over the money, just that much sooner could he read his paper. I always wish that I were a girl when Alice tries that stunt. The next day was Saturday and I saw Alice go off with that money stuffed down in her pocket. She had on one of those blue colored suits and hats, like the ones all the girls are wearing. If she'd only have shown a little individuality in the way she dresses aid combs her hair, I wouldn't be writing I IS. Because I took a brotherly interest in that girl and felt that she needed discipline, I fol- lowed her downtown. I tracked her stealth- ily through Brown's. Once I lost sight of her, but a few minutes later I saw her blue suit and black hair. When she became engrossed in a wonderful bargain, I slipped up, took the money, and sauntered gracefully out of the store. I went home and stuck the money under my mattress. Of course, I intended to hand it back after I had given her a good scare. I went over to Jim's for a while, and we fooled around, and then I came home. I wanted to be around when Alice told Mother. Just as I got inside the door, I heard Alice say, Mother, Marie and I bought it together. Then we went to see a show. It was won- derful, and the dress is a dream. And listen, Mother, I have fifty cents left after buying a dress and all. Isn't that fine? I listened with wonder and then with alarm. If I hadn't taken her money, whose had I taken? Across the street were some girls: they all had blue suits. I looked farther on: there were some more girls with blue suits. I went upstairs. My legs were weak: my knees trembled. I went into my room and shut the door. I was a thief, a robberf My tongue was dry and my hair stood on end. I'd be arrested. And who would be- lieve my story. What could I: what should I do? When Tillie called dinner, I didn't want to eat. I went down because I felt that I must keep up appearances. It seemed to me that a thief has a pretty hard life. I looked at Dad and Mother. Would they stand up for me at the trial? Alice talked incessantly: I wondered why she didn't stop. Then I heard her say, Oh folks, I know the best joke! Marjorie Moch has a blue tweed suit CUo1ztinued on page 703