Pickering College - Voyageur Yearbook (Newmarket, Ontario Canada)

Page 30 text:

THE VOYACEUR TH If DOCT0l2'S CATH Dotiron BEATTY, himself, admitted that he was getting old. His hair, once blacker than charcoal, had turned! a tired grey. The wrinkles of his forehead had increased in depth and in number. He no longer had the spring of youth in his step, or erectness in his carriage. His eyes, however, had not changed. They were still the blue eyes of youthfulness, shining with kindliness and understanding, eyes which never failed to reassure a nervous patient, or to encourage his tired assistants. ult's the war, he would murmur to himself as he stood in a small room putting on his gown. uAll the young men in the army leaves us old men a lot of extra work. lf Jim were only here, he would help me. Hetwanted to be a doctor so much. Yes, my son would have made a good doctor. That darn fool driver should have . . .77 At this point the doctoris thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of a nurse. HThe emergency case is here, Doctorf, uThank you, the doctor replied. Picking up his rubber gloves, he powdered them, slipped them on carefully, and strode into the operating room. As the patient was wheeled in, Doctor Beatty looked at his face. It was the face of a man he knew, a man he had tried so hard to forget these past years. The sight of this battered piece of humanity which lay before him on the table made him step back, shocked by the sudden discovery. A strange, nervous feeling slowly crept into his hands, which were now trembling. He tried hard to steady himself against this nervousness. uThe patient is ready, Doctor , came the muffled voice of a nurse. The doctor stepped up to the operating table, a thousand evil thoughts racing through his mind. He saw that the operation required all his skill, the most difficult surgery that he could perform. One small slip and life would slowly ebb from they body of his patient. He looked around at his assist- ants and nodded for the anaethetic to be given. uScalpel,'7 he said quietly. The instrument was passed. lts sharp edge cut cleanly through human flesh. A deep. silence followed, disturbed only by the clock on the wall. HCareful, carefulf, he kept repeating to himself uOne slip, one slip and . . .H The clock on the wall ticked on . . . and on . . . and on. Hours later Doctor Beatty emerged from the operating room. Every movement, and every wrinkle in his face showed heavy strain and fatigue. There was no doubt that the operation was successful, for all his assistants were complimenting him on his technique as a surgeon. Even his nurse complimented him by saying, uThat was a fine piece of surgery, Doctor. Do you know the patient?,7 Doctor Beatty bowed his head and looked down at the floor. A shadow passed over his face. uYes,,, he said in a quiet voice. '6Yes, l know that man. He is the driveri' . . . he took a deep breath, uthe driver who killed my sonf, -BARTON Goss 28

Page 29 text:

THE VOYAGEUR On May 7, 19415 a Canadian sporting writer wrote: uThe war isnit over. The war isnlt over for the maimed, the blind and the bereaved. The war isnit over for the weak and the hungry. The war isn't over for our own dead. The war isn't over until we have learned to recognize another Ethiopia, another Spain, when we see it. The war isnit over until Gentile can live with Jew, until intolerance and bigotry have been banished. The war isn't over, for instance, until Negroes can play baseball on the same field with whites. 4'The war isn't over until China-which for a decade, has stood out against, aggression--has been freed. This war was fought for a simple principle which, reduced to simple terms, reads, LNO bully is going to shove the little fellows aroundif' That war is not yet over! Some of you were not called to fight and to die, but you are called to live, to work, to prove uthat every man, woman and child has worth and dignity, that all human beings are one in ultimate destiny and in striving faith, and that out of hope and effort the good society shall yet be bornf' It is as you carry this determination with you from these walls-that you will do your part to prepare the tomorrows that sing! .-1.- 1 1 w Frank Wood, Prep. cDepartment, Veteran of six years, winner of the Firth House Award for all-round leadership, 191145-46. 27

Page 31 text:

THE VOYACEUR GSFATE INTEIQCEDTSM UST AT THE STROKE of midnight a shot rang out from an empty ware- house along the waterfront, at the foot of Morgue Ave. As the dis- mal wail of a foghorn pierced the quiet of the night, a man peered cautiously out of the doorway and then darted swiftly down the street into the shadows. No one, however, was immediately aware of these happen- ings. The shot remained unheard, the man escaped unnoticed, and the ominous wail which seemed to forbode disaster affected no one. At daybreak, in another section of Boston far removed from the dirty dreary area of the mysterious occurrence, a man, absorbed in writing a letter, was seated at his desk. His moving pen spelled out the words: My darling wife. I can find no other solution to my problem. Your loyalty throughout the trial in face of the evidence against me has been my only inspiration to go on. Tomorrow the jury will pronounce a verdict of guilty of grand larceny. Mr. Ross has planned every detail of his scheme to throw the guilt of his embezzlement on me. Even my lawyer says that now there is no possible method of escaping a life sentence. My mind is chaotic, but in spite of this I know there are two things I must do. First, I must kill Mr. Ross. I know this is wrong, but my soul demands revenge. Secondly, I must then take my own life. You will think I am wrong, but I would rather have it this way than have you so humiliated by having a convict for a husband. Because I am a coward I cannot face the thought of never again being free, talking to you only through bars, and being shut up with men who have actually committed crimes. You do not know how worried I am that this disgrace had to mar your life. Good- bye my darlingl - Your loving husband, I fohn After he had signed this letter, his head dropped on his arms and his body was rent by sobs. Just then through the open window, he heard a newsboy calling, uRead all about it. The eminent Mr. Ross of the I. F. Datton Jewelry Company, commits suicideln Stunned, the man rose, went to the window, called the boy, and bought a paper. He quickly scanned the column. Yes, there it was: uMr. J. A. Ross was found dead this morning by a milk man, who had forced his way into the house after hearing the shot. In the confession which Mr. Ross left, he admitted killing a man, who had made an appointment with him in an empty warehouse, and then had tried to blackmail him, by producing evidence that it had been he, not John Workman, who had embezzled the money. Ross, when confronted with this evidence had killed the man in anger and later had killed himself, knowing that an accomplice of the criminal would reveal the facts. He ad- mitted embezzling the money, and scheming so that it had appeared that his business associate, John Workman was guilty. In face of this, the jury has dropped the case of John Workman. This last phrase stood out on the page, c'The jury has dropped the case of John Workman. 29