Peterborough Collegiate and Vocational School - Echoes Yearbook (Peterborough, Ontario Canada)

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cross disappeared. What do you suppose it was? He looked around with the confident air of one who knows his question cannot be answer- ed. Why, le diable m'emporte if it wasn't my frozen breath, he said triumphantly, and then added by way of conclusion le diable m'emporte. Amen, said the friar impiously without raising his head. The fat man chuckled-he could afford to, it being at someone else's expense. The old man who had formerly kept counsel in silence, now spoke. Take care, young man, he said. Once I knew a young fellow, Jack Robinson was his name, and that expression of yours came as readily to his lips as did ever his favorite mug. Why, a sentence was not punctuated properly for him if it didn't end with le diable m'em- porte. Ah, poor fellow, and here the old man shook his head over said reminiscences, never will I forget the night he set out for home from the Blue Goose Inn where we had been spend- ing a jolly evening. Now Jack lived half a mile or so within the Trentbury woods, and no one else was going in his direction, but, he assured us, he would get home safely, 'le diable m'emporte,' if he wouldn't. Well, that was the last ever heard of Jack Robinson. He just disappeared. When it was discovered he had not reached home, we all went to look for him. About half on the way, the path took an abrupt turn, and there the snow was trampled as though there had been a scuffle, but absolutely no sign of Jack. Of course, there were those who said the wolves devoured him, but I tell you, to this day, I and my three comrades would swear to it fonly un- fortunately they are deadj that just an arm's throw from where the snow was all trampled, there were, and here his voice lowered to a tense whisper, there were marks of a pitch fork! There was a silence, and then the loud young man with wide-eyed and amazed incredulity, whispered le diable m'emporte. Snowflakes by DOROTHY ANDERSON, IX A Snow is like tiny gems Riding on high, Floating so softly Down through the sky. Floating and lying So soft and still On a high peaked-roof Or a sheltering hill. These tiny bright jewels, The beauty they show- And to think that they're made From nothing but snow! Types At P.C.l. by WALTER WHEELER, x B mo. ,sms First we have the glamour girl, Who has the boys in such a whirl Their heads go round and round, She puts the warpaint on her face, And should not be seen in any place Except as a circus clown. Then we have the lazy lad, Who thinks that sleeping's all the fad, No riches will he reap, When other boys enjoy the din, He props his hand beneath his chin, And dozes off to sleep. We now have a student who knows his stuff, He'll figure questions long and tough, He takes work with a grin, He doesn't fool like other boys, When the teacher talks he makes no noise, But sits and takes it in. We have the lad in strange attire, A sense of colour he cannot acquire, Suitcoat pink and trousers green, A flashy tie hangs round his neck, His socks are red and brown plaid check, He goes to the extreme. We also have a camera fiend, The school hates him and his machine, For he takes some candid shots, He has several pictures of different chaps With silly looks upon their maps, But some day he'll be caught. Then there's the hero of P. C. I., For the dear old school he'll do or die Upon the rugby Held, He breaks his ankles, ribs and neck, He has the cheers of the weaker sex, A strong right arm he wields. Some students bring their midday meal, They throw crusts of bread and orange peel About the corridors, They are a pack of careless curs, They make lots of work for the janitors, By mussing up the iioors. And last we have the country hick, Who comes through weather thin and thick, To attend the dear old school, For brains, you'd think he'd be the worst But when reports come he's near the first I guess he's no one's fool. Page Twenty-seven

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The Clue by SYLVIA BOORMAN, XIII A AC. The ring of the horses' hooves sounded clear and metallic through the frosted stillness. The hostler, hurrying across the inn-yard, beat his arms about his body in an energetic effort to keep his blood in as warm circulation as pos- sible. His breath issued forth in White clouds which seemed to hang solidified before they proved their vapourous nature by disappearing into black nothingness. The horses' mouth was hung with silver icicles. The rider, his own beard tinged with frost, threw the reins to the hostler, jumped off his horse and strodg over to the inn door. The host, white-aproned, open- ed it to him, and he entered. Inside, the air was warm and scented-the pervading odour being that of fried for frying as the r i d e r hopedl bacon. A goodly com- pany was seated around the great fireplace where a huge fire was roaring, like many a human be- ing, in defiance of all the elements, blazing away in the full glory of its youth and egotism and power - power where even human beings bow- ed before its superior merits. The human beings then availing themselves of the great one's indul- gence were a mixed lot, but all alike in that they had a common end in view - that of keeping warm. All, that is, except a friar who sat on a stool in the corner, whose main object seemed to be to obtain enough light with which to write. Near him was a little mousy man who sat With- out saying a word but stared solemnly at who- ever was speaking, and if, by some odd chance, there was a lull in the conversation, he stared with the same solemnity at the mug of ale rest- ing between his knees. Near him was a young man who made up for him in conversation, or at any rate, noise, he was full of good cheer and willing to fill himself with more. Come, he cried gaily, more ale, more ale! Le diable m'emporte if this isn't the best I've tasted in the past forty-eight hours-and, in sooth, it has had plenty of comparison! Come, my lassie, you'll fill our mugs for us, won't you, my dear? Fill them all up-it's my treat this time. Page Twmzty-six This last was delivered to a rosy-cheeked maid, who stood beside him, none the less rosy for having her cheek pinched now and then. On the other side of her sat another man who was fond of pinching-but not a young girl's pink cheeks necessarily. He was a fairly fat gentleman, every quarter-inch of whose clothes was put to good use. His small avaricious eyes were gazing fondly on his mug of ale. He was going through a series of motions whereby he wished to make, by sweet anticipa- tion, all the sweeter, the realization. He would raise the cup tantalizingly close to his nostrils, then hold it off at arm's length as though to get a last view before making it disappear for ever, then with a grand sweeping gesture, bring it to his lips-and take a tiny sip. Thus was he teasing his glands de- liciously when the loud young man called for more ale. Quickly then he downed his ale so that when t h e young girl came around, he was able to turn his mug up- side down fnot a drop ran outj and hold it out nonchalantly with the words: Well! What a coincidence. M i n e ' s empty too. Next to him sat the landlord's wife in a rocking chair, beside her a young boy whom she prudently sent off to bed when the stories began to circulate. Leaning up against the fireplace was the hostler thawing himself out, and in the corner opposite the friar, sat an old man with a white beard. The traveller having dined, joined the circle. The loud young man was becoming louder as the ale became more plentiful. The traveller remarked to the landlord that it was a frosty night out, the loud young man said that it was indeed, but not so frosty as he had known it to be. Why, one night last winter I was walking to the village three miles away, and hadn't got more than halfway there, when a pack of wolves came howling up. I was that frightened that I made the sign of the cross above my head with my sword. Well, just like that, there ap- peared a beautiful white cross in that very spot. I seized it, waved it over the wolves and every last one of them slunk away. When I Hnally reached the village and warmth, my

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This Age OF Speed by ELEANOR DOYLE, xi com. Speed! The theme of the youths that populate this world today. The thrill of the race against time. But do we stop to think for five minutes what disaster and tribulation follow in its wake? The great meaning of one five letter word. We walk along a crowded street where traffic is kept in check by the trusty policeman. Used to this mode of regu- lated speed we do not realize that on the high- way a small coupe with a young dare-devil at the wheel may be racing to a sudden and disastrous stop. Do we consider that on the race track small race cars are skidding around corners, one slips, and many pile up over the little four-wheeled messenger from death? In one congested mass of human beings and twist- ed metal lies the ruination of many other people's lives. The grief-stricken young sweet- heart, the heart-broken mother, and the father that can't grasp the fact that his son is gone. Speed, that will succeed a hundred times but will fail on the next journey. The thrills, the successes, the anxieties are all not worth the final triumph. There will always remain the people whose lives have been ruined and whose dreams have been shattered by our modern menace-speed. Concentration by sumtsv Asnsv, sp. com. Well, I suppose I have to start at my home- work now. Perhaps I should go iirst and have a look at the weather reportg I certainly hope it doesn't say 'warmer'-That would spoil the skating. That reminds me. I really should 'phone Carol and see if she is going to the Arena tomorrow night. Oh! there's the 'phone nowg maybe it's Carol calling me--It is. Honestly, I can't talk very long now, but I want to know if you're coming with us to the rink. You're not! -but you must. It's going to be wonderful, everyone will be there. Much, much later . . . Darling, do you know it's eight-thirty, I have at least an hour's French to do, and tons of Latin .... I simply must hang up. I'm so glad that Fuss Budget said . . two pages beginning with sixty-seven. That must be it-I remember seeing it written on the board. It does look hardg I should have started it sooner, but now I'll have to skip over some of it, because I have that Trig. to do too. Oh! there's the 'phone again-Dad's answered-it's for me. Who could that be? Why Ross, I didn't think you would call tonight. It's quite late .... what's that? You just came home from the com- mittee meeting and they're going to have a dance on the tenth . . . that's next Tuesday. Why yes, l'd love to go! It would be grand. Really, I should go now and finish my home- work. 'Nightl Oh, look at the time-Well, it's certainly too late now to do any more work. you changed your mind.- Bye-bye. Oh, now I do have to get started. Let's see, what was it 5' There's still tomorrow before nine. Picture Section CELEBRITIES: TOP Row-Princeps Alumna: Marg. Westbyeg Dr. Kennerg Princeps Alumnus: Hugh Kenner. bIiCOND Row-Scholarship Winners: Bill Henry, Barrie Jack. THIRD ROW-Students Council Executive, Camera Club Executive. FOURTH Row-B. A. A. EIeCllfll'6, G. A. A. Executive. SCHOOL SHOTS: TOP Row-Cast of She Stoops to Co-nquerug Conversation on Fashions. SECOND Row-The Echoes Executive: llleditationg Four in a Kitchen. THIRD Row-Fatherly Advice: Senior Basketballersg Corwentration. FOURTH Row-Flirtingg Editorial Committees. FIFTH Row-Echoes Business Staff Junior Rugby. lSee page 69 for full detailsxj Page Twenty-eight