North Bay Collegiate Institute and Vocational School - Northland Echo Yearbook (North Bay, Ontario Canada)

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32 THE NORTHLAND ECHO on the platform and ehaffed his cold hands. Perhaps he was thinking of the warm fireside at home, and an adoring wife to help him off with his coat. The 8.10 is about due. he said. I hope it's on time! A stray person here and there awaited the train. Several shadowy cabs lurked in the rear of the building. The raucous cry of a newsboy disturbed the soft tran- quillity of the scene. A shrill whistle in the distance arrested the interest of a small group. A glaring light pierced the inky blackness of the upper tracks. The clattering bang of metal that needed oiling, mingled with the noisy clank of an unmelodious bell could be heard. Then, emerging from the gloom was the engine, black smoke belehing out of its funnel-shaped chimney. With a great shriek of brakes the obsolete old thing stopped with a jerk. The old-fashioned cars were filled to their capacity with those unable to spend the few days before Christmas at home. VVhen the grimy doors opened, they seethed out. some to their waiting rela- tives. other to the cabs, but most of them sped into the dark alone, thinking of the surprise and delight their arrival would bring to their friends and king while others, on their way to lonely hotel rooms, gazed with envy through windows at the gay festivity of the home. The platform was soon deserted. The ticket agent snored noisily at his wicket. An occasional engine thundered by. And, far down the street was a group of carol- sinfgers. Their sweet strains echoed and re-echoed through the peaceful scene. Noel Noel! Born is the King of Israel! A TALL TALE Betty McIntyre, IVB ' I was curled up in Dad's hig arm- chair, deeply engrossed in a ghastly mur- der mystery, when someone knocked at the door. At first I was too frightened to move, and visions of horrible mon- sters carrying machine guns and sharp bolas raced through my terrified mind like mad. Oh, this is nonsense! I scoffed. Things like that only happen in penny novels, and I walked boldly to the door. It took all the courage I could muster to grasp the handle and fling the door wide open, and, I thou-jght I did so what my poor mother would think when she found my body in the hall and my head . . . Hi, Joan! was the chr-cry gn-ctiiig from the person at the door. M-Mary, I stanimcred, relieved. Oh! Oh! More murder mysteries, I bet, she said nodding her head in that annoying way. Mary, this one is terrible. Come on in and I'll tell you about it. Was he knifed, shot or poisoned? she queried. 1 It's a girl, a beautiful girl who was kidnapped by some horrible gangsters and her mother and father were nearly frantic. Please go on, she pleaded. Well, t-he police searched -for months witfhout success and then one day some- one found her body floating down the river. She had 'been shot and her neck was all tied up with wire. Hmm, they did that one up in style. Mary Watson, you exasperate me, I exploded. That reminds me of something that happened to two girls in this town about three years ago, Mary went on, not heeding my show of temper. Did you hear about it? Oh, no! Please tell me, I lbegged, feeling chills running up and down my spine at the thought of a real mystery in our own town. These two girls, Mary began, were at the library one night and became very friendly with a couple of strange boys at one of the reading tables. The follow- ing night the girls received a telephone call, and the voice on the other end of the wire said, We're the fellows you met at the library last night, and We wondered if you would like to go for a ride with us? Mary drew a deep breath and went on. So the time and place were arranged and when the girls got to the meeting- place they found a 'big limousine waiting for them at the curb. I'll bet it belonged to a big gang- ster, I interrupted. The girls climbed in, Mary went on, not heeding my interruption, and to their horror they found themselves beside a couple of squat little Chinamen instead of their library acquaintances. I-Iow awful! They were terribly frightened. One girl was wearing a very expensive ring which she offered to their captors if they would release them. Then what? I gasped, edging for- ward in the chair. Well, one of the Chinamen grabbed the ring and commanded the chauffeur to drive into the country. When they came to it lonely spot on the road, they pushed the girls out and drove off in the car leaving them there. They didn't murder them? I asked, disappointodly. No, but the girls had to make their

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THE NORTHLAND ECHO 31 STIIBIES AT A DANCE Frank Cherico, Form V Many stories have been written about dances from the viewpoint of the dancers, but seldom do you hear the viewpoint of the members of the orchestra. To the dancers the life of the musicians seems gay and effortless, but if they were to listen to the conversation that goes on, on the orchestra stand during the inter- mission and after the dances, they would soon change their minds. True, the orchestras that play at the dances in this city are small, but they have their troubles. Playing for dances is not all fun. When you think that all the musicians in this city have other jobs to work at during the day, you will agree that play- ing all night can be very tiresome. The average dances start at nine and finish at about two or three o'clock the next morning, Five or six hours of steady playing is hard, especially with an eight- hour day behind you and another ahead But let's sit in with the orchestra for one dance. This dance is a formal affair. The orchestra has been ordered to wear tuxedos. Tuxedos? Hmm. At the last rehearsal the leader men- tioned this clause in the contract tyes, it's only a verbal contracti and is imme- diately besieged with excuses for not wearing them. After a check-up it was found that only four of the members had tuxes. Finally, it was arranged that those that did not have them were to wear blue suits, white shirts and black bow-ties. It is the night of the dance. One by one the musicians walk in. Finally the drummer appears. He wears a brown suit, green shirt and blue polka-dot tie. The tie is a borrowed one, and is the only thing that resembles any part of a tuxedo. Oh well, the dance has to go on, even though the club dance committee glares at the orchestra with narrowed eyes. After tuning up the instruments, the orchestra is ready to start. There are only a few couples present. These are a few of the younger set. This is the crowd that is easy to play for. Give them fast jitter-bug music and they are satisfied. There is no need for read- ing music when playing for them. Some old standard numbers are revived and dressed up according to each indivi- dual member's taste. In this city an effort of this kind usually ends in a hideous jumble, but as long as there is a steady rhythm on the part of the drums and piano everyone is satisfied. The music that takes the most out of an orchestra is that of the slow waltzes, Per- haps this is only my viewpoint, but after playing for a whole dance and then being called on to play with already tired lips. a long drawn-out waltz is torture. In this day of swing, the requests for waltzes are few and far between. Of requests by the dancers, it is only right to say that they are a helpful practice to the orchestra. They give the orchestra an idea of what kinds of music to play for different crowds. There are two types of people who request num- bers. The first type is the person who really likes a certain number and who actually wants to hear it. The second type is the person who makes a request and doesn't even recognize the piece after it is played. This type is usually under the influence of the rather strong punch in the corner, or perhaps some special brand kept in the cloak-room. The most enjoyable part of the dance is the lunch served to the orchestra in a back room. Here anything goes, and the orchestra really shines in this depart- ment. After lunch there is another hour of dancing which seems to be the dullest part of the dance. The crowd begins to thin out until finally only the couples that were there at first are left. THE ARRIVAL OF THE TRAIN ON CHRJSTMAS EVE tJunior Prize Essay? E. Firth, Form IB It was Christmas Eve. The snow fell in large, exquisitely shaped flakes. In the window of every home was a holly- wreath, candle or some other symbol of the happy time. Few people were on the streetg they were all at home enjoy- ing the blessings of peace. At the newly established railway sta- tion the ticket agent's mournful face was certainly no advertisement for the joys of travel. He thought of the brilliantly light- ed trees, a platter on which reposed a mam- moth turkey, sprigs of mistletoe adorn- ing convenient doorways, but mostly of a certain pink-cheeked maiden who would even now be leading the Grand Waltz. Through the snow dimly could be seen a gay poster setting forth the merits of Florida. Spend this winter in F'lorida! it said. Enjoy a southern Christmas! A policeman paced iback and forth

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' THE NORTHLAND ECHO 33 way back into town that night, and they were on the verge of hysteria. when they reached home. Is that all? I asked, a little impatient at the idea. of it not being as gruesome as I had expected. No, some time later the same two girls were dining in one of our down- town restaurants. They had both ordered apple pie for dessert. One of the girlS cut down into her pie and what do you think she found? Mary! I screamed. Her ring? No! . . . Apples! LAVENDER Ross Dickey It was the day before my mother-'s birthday and my friend, Ben Timberly, and I were down town trying to think of something I could buy her for a present. How about a pair of gloves? sug- gested Ben. A woman can always use a new pair. No, I said, this has got to be a real present, something that she can wear any time. How about a pair of shoes? Ben again suggested. No, that won't do either because I don't know what size of shoe she wears, I replied. Well, then, I know the very thing for her, Ben cried. Some perfume! And I know the very kind and just where to get it. You finally hit upon something worth while, I said. Where can I get it and what kind is it? It's Lavender perfume, said Ben. and you can get it at that new Laven- der Shop that opened last Wednesday on Main Street. Swiftly we went down a few more blocks until there, before us, stood a huge glass-fronted, black and white shop with a large Lavender Perfume sign hanging out in front. We entered and were met by an attractive young woman who asked us what she could do to help us. I was wondering if you could help me select a bottle of perfume for a mid- dle-aged woman, I stated. You see, to-morrow is her birthday and it needs to be something very special. I have the very thing, replied the clerk. It's our 'Lavender De Luxe' and it only costs five dollars for this small bottle. Here, smell it, and judge for yourself. She held the bottle below my nose and I inhaled a strong, sweet smelling aroma, That will do very nicely, I told her. Wrap it up and I'll take it now. I paid the girl and put the bottle in my coat pocket. Ben and I having com- pleted our task, started for home. As we hurried homewards we were obliged to watch our step because a light rain had made the streets very slippery. Since I had come over half way home without falling I suppose I became a bit careless and didn't think that it was necessary to take such great precaution. I had hardly gone a half a block, how- ever, when I tripped on a curb and fell on the pavement. Take care, said Ben, as he rushed over and helped me to stand on my feet. Or you'll break that bottle oi perfume. Say, you didn't break it at that, did you, because I smell something very strong? I reached into my pocket and my hand came into contact with some broken pieces of glass and a wet, sticky sub- stance. Sure enough, I had broken that bottle and the odour of Lavender De Luxe was spread around me. That's done it, said Ben, Phewl what a stink! Walk on ahead will you? I can't stand the smell of that stuff. I removed my coat and with it slung over my arm I renewed my journey home with Ben walking several yards behind me. Carry your coat for you Madam? cried one of the amused people passing by. Where is the flower show, girlie? yelled another. What perfume company are you advertising for? shouted another. One old lady even had the nerve to ask me what kind of perfume it was and where she could buy it because she liked it so well. With these embarrassing remarks to make me uncomfortable, I finally arrived home with my face as red as a beet. What ever is that smell? inquired my mother, as I entered the house. I explained it all to her as best I could and then ran to my room to take off my suit. I hung it out in the air for about a week to see if the smell would go away and seeing that it did not help matters very much I sent the suit to the clean- ers to see if they could do anything about it. The cleaners returned the suit nicely pressed and cleaned, but still a little of the aroma remained. At last, thinking away. that it was useless, I threw the suit So ever since I have never liked the smell of Lavender.