Pickering College - Voyageur Yearbook (Newmarket, Ontario Canada)

Page 31 text:

Il 'THE VOTAGEUR Reflections .... Gut of the mists nf the iiewlmrii day, Comes the fragrant seent uf the fresh ninwn hay, As I wander der the fertile lands Sn well laid out hy determined hands. I think on the years that have nnw passed hy, Of the years of toil wherein memories lie, And I say to myself was it worth the while To work sn hard just tn make my pile, I think on the years that are yet in store And as I look ahead my spirits soar, Whitt mnre can I ask than a well stcmek'd home, And a ehanee to make grind on the friendly loam. Run Nluwre

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28 THE VOTAGEUK the high-road and Willie the low, the two part company. Words of apprecif ation stain the ether as Willie overthanks him. Willie's next lift is with a plumber. As the car ambles along at random Will's plumber friend thumbs his Hles to show Will how the price of lead piping has advanced during the past month. Recaptured, the auto-which sounds like a CIO. job-Carburetor In Opposition-turns off the lowfway at Stop Nine. A mechanic is the third person to aid Our Hero. This gentleman has not met Ripley, Believe It Or Not. He tells Will, pointing to the towers of C.F.R.B., I worked on those towers. See the one nearest the road. Well I fell forty feet from that one and rolled twenty feet down the side of that muddy hill without even breaking any epidermusf' Will knows enough not to wave a red flag at a Bull and he takes it all in with chagrin. The gentle' man mechanic halts in a village explaining to Will that he ran off without his dinner. Will is extended an invitation to join him in a healthy repast but modest Willie insists that he must be on his way. He hitches his belt and then a ride. This time it is a green sport roadster hauling a sailboat that pulls up beside Our Will. Will rubs his eyes as the amphibian approaches, to make sure he isn't dreaming. When everything is shipshape the conversation trails to the tender. Schooner or later Our Will will become a marine authority and his crowsfnest will be a port for seaffleas. This is not sufficiently danger' ous enough to demand that Will be stowed away at the doc's for quaranf tine. The great divide booms ahead and once again Willyam must weigh anchor. Mrs. Pickusups are rare but Willie looks perfectly harmless. Neverthef less his benefaetress regards him with scrutinizing eyes as he seats himself fl'Im.w' turn In Illlfll' 901 Rhinoceros on Toast . . . . I'Iere's to the rhinoeerous Whose size is preposlrrous Although a monstrosity He shows generosity Selling his skin at a loss for us. The elephant swings from tree to tree Carrying his heavy trunk, I'Ie's wearing my clean pink lingerie. Tusk, tusk, I must be drunk,

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SO 'THE VOTAGEUR Q SHORT STORY Q Drug Store Cowboy by DAVE PIIIPPS SELKIRK CANNIDGE was at peace with the world as he drove his bumpy, jerky old Model T Ford along the dusty road between the small Kansas town of Garden City and the still smaller village of Great Bend. The number of holes in the pavement made driving plenty uncomfortable for anybody, but in Selkirk's car, this discomfort became magnified tenfold. Bumping and jogging down the highway, he amused himself by taking imaginary pot shots at equally imaginary bandits with a rusty old .45 which hadn't seen a real slug for ten years. It was Selkirk's prize possession, how' ever, and he would not have parted with it for all the world. After laying low one of these unseen brigands, he would lean over and caress the hood of his squeaking chariot fondly and whisper, We got 'em that time, pardf' And so he rattled along. Arriving at the shack which he and his old father Matt called home, Selkirk climbed down from his trusty steed and entered the unlit cabin. Matt wouldn't be home yet, and when he did come, he'd probably be drunker than a lord. So Selkirk fixed himself up a scanty meal from such food as there was, then sat down to clean his pet .45 He fondled Davie,-he'd called the gun after Dave Custer, the famous old Indian fighter-turning it over slowly. I've got to keep you in shape. Never know when I'm going to need you pardf' His thoughts drifted to Betty. Betty Hill was the only one who really believed in him and understood him, he decided. The crowd in town made fun of him, said he was a little touched in the head, called him a drug store cowboy. But Betty was different. She was kind and thoughtful, and even went to every wild west show that came to town with him. She went out with the other boys too, but Selkirk could hardly begrudge her that pleasure. Someday he'd show those other guys the stuff he was made of, and make Betty very proud of him. Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by Matt crashing in through the low door, a halffdrained bottle in his hand. Have one, shonf, he bellowed raucously. Oh, go to hlazesll' Selkirk answered testily, thinking of chocolate milk' shakes, his only weakness. And why not? the bearded old ruffian insisted. Well, Custer never drank, and how can you keep a steady hand and eye with your insides filled with corn, Aw, you better go to bed, you're no fun at all. Selkirk did, but not because he was afraid of the old man. He wanted to rest up for anything that might happen the next day. He didn't know what it might be, but he had visions of sweeping down on a flock of warflike Indians, gathering up Betty, galloping off with Davie answering the flight of arrows with a fusillade of leadg a hero rescuing a maiden in distress. It didn't seem probable Selkirk admitted, but you can't prevent a man from being prepared.