Riverbend School for Girls - Vox Fluminis Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

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28 VOX FLUMINIS be! His Mary, his wife in Jones' arms. Jones who had stolen his job, now stolen his wife-here he was jobless- wifeless-while Jones stood smug with Mary-his Mary-in his arms. He'd show Jones-he'd show him! Kill him! Kill him! It was over. 41 :If Sk wk And the jury said guilty. Sure he was guilty-guilty as hell-and yet . . . PEGGY CAMPBELL, Grade XII, Douglas Hall. THE MOUSE 0nce there was a little house, In it lived a little mouse. He scampered all the livelong day, Then at night he ran away. He was back again at seven And he worked until eleven, And he stored his food away To have enough for another day. JOAN Ross, Grade V, D-ouglas Hall. , MICHAELO Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build them up with wofrn-out tools. ICHAELO ANGELO, struggling artist and sculptor, lived in a hot, dusty tenement in the Bohemian section of the city. I had often visited his rooms while making my by-monthly rounds. To-day I was to resume my duties again after a really delightful summer vacation by which I had es- caped the still, hovering mugginess of New York in July. September was a heavenly month-friendly sun-light filtering through the thick foliage, fresh, exhilarating breezes, opaque skies, and warm, dreamy noon hours. I was returning from lunch to re- port for afternoon duty at the clinic. Life seemed glorious, heavenly, and worth living. My heart was light as I stopped to buy some daisies from an old decrepit woman on the corner. My Hrst call was at the Angelo's, that large, happy family of Italians. As I climbed the rickety stairs that led to their rooms I remembered that Michaelo had been working on a beautiful marble statue which he had intended to be his masterpiece. He hoped that it would be accepted for the Exhibition sponsored by the American Art Society which was to be held here in New York during the latter part of October. I sincerely hoped it would be accepted. The Angelo's certainly needed money, but if Michaelo's work was accepted the honor of it would gratify him more than anything so material as money. -KIPLING. I was still wondering whether or not the statue had been finished yet when I tapped lightly on the dilapi- dated door. No one responded so I turned the handle cautiously and walked in. Everything was bare and quiet. Strange, I thought. All was unbearably still and deserted. N o mu- sical childish voices issued forth from the corner of the room where the younger Angelos played. After a quick survey of the room I conceded that the children must have gone to the park. Just then I heard a slight noise from the next room. I peeped into the room -there was Michaelo seated on an old chair, his head between his hands. He looked up calmly as if he had quite expected someone. I sensed trouble immediately and asked quietly what the trouble was. In his broken, simple English he told me that his statue had been finished and packed safely, but when the men who were carrying it down the stairs slipped and fell, the statue had been smashed to bits. There had been a terrific crash! That was all! Nothing could be done about it. I knew that Michaelo cared terribly but his 'outward appearance was one of calmness and serenity. The dis- appointment that was stofred inside of him showed itself in his sad melan- choly eyes. The words of Kipling's poem If came to me then.

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VOX FLUMINIS 27 .'llllllllllllllllllilllllllll: I ... .--.- . l ....... ..... I I 1 llllllllllllllllllllllllllll 1 1 I I I llllllllllllllllllllllllllllli T0 CHOPIN'S RAINDROP PRELUDE HE raindrops fell incessantly that night, The winds grieved round the ancient monastery, The air was dank with death and mystery, And gave his agony no brief respite. He writhed in pain to hear the funeral rite Of friars singing a last obsequy, The music in his pent-up soul broke free And music flowed with e'er increasing might. Oh noble chant that was of madness born Who knows the art that comes from out despair! We know not what great heights we can attain! When we have reached the depths and are forlorn And weary with our way so full of care We may have all that is in life to gain PAT MURRAY, '38 Garrv Hall PEGGY MURRAY 38 Douglas Hall AND THE JURY SAID GUILTY And the jury said guilty. Sure he was guilty-guilty as hell-and ' yet-well, judge for yourself. FF 3 T couldn't happen, not to him-it couldn't, it was a horrible dream. Mary-their new little house--the radio -other chaps had lost their jobs, but to happen to him-it couldn't! He was getting on of course-that was it-he was a weary forty-nine-that new young chap J ones-no wonder the firm had kept him on-more push-more zip. Damn it, could he help it if he was forty-nine and had had to work too long and too hard? If only Jones had never come-he was happy till then- it was all his f--. No-mustn't blame Jones-nice enough young chap-had had him to dinner-Mary liked him too -nice enough young fellow. This heat -that was it-the heat-he couldn't think-it choked you, that's what it did -burned you-dried you up-these sul- try August days in New York--they oppressed you, drove you crazy, Oh III SI! God! No work-how'd he tell Mary- be cheerful, that was it. Oh Mary, laid off-temporarily Cthat was ith temporarily, soon be able to find some- thing else-no need to worry. No need to worry--God! This heat-it burned with a sickening singeing to your very core - heat - worry - Mary. Mary - there was a wife-she'd understand. What was he going to- tell her? Oh yes- Mary dear, laid OH, temporarily -no need to worry, but getting on you know, haha, getting on-these young chaps, more push, more zip, I guess, but don't worry. No job, unemployed, tramp the streets. Forty-nine Sir, but fit as a fiddle. Heat, that sun, August, no job, Mary. Home at last Mary dear. Oh he was sick at heart, but she'd com- fort him, she'd understand. Up the steps -would'nt be long now-- Mary Csharp- lyb Mary. And then he saw! It couldn't

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VOX FLUMINIS 29 Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build them up with worn-out tools. Michaelo, like Kipling's pattern of a man had to begin again and with the sme ambition, same perseverance, and same patience build up his dream. He seemed older now, and the road to success would seem longer and dustier to him, but next time he would reach the top of this much be-travelled road victorious! ELoIsE EDMOND, '39, Douglas Hall. A DOG'S LIFE LEFT' my diary in the city so I have been unable to write till now, be- cause I never thought of writing it down on paper and copying it out later. Anyway, here are some of my adventures. I called for Pug this morning, but he was still eating breakfast when I got there, so I helped him finish, though, of course, against his will. When this was done we ambled out of his yard, down the sidewalk to- wards Bing's house. He is my best friend next to Pug. Pug is a fat, old codger, with no teeth, and Bing is a spaniel with two large ears. We then raced over to our enemy's house, and dug up all his bones. Finding this of little amusement, we went over to a kind old lady's house who always gives us something to eat. Today she gave Pug and Bing bones, and me a little milk. Being annoyed at this, I took half of Pug's bone when we were outside again. We had a fight over it and my mistress tied me up as punishment. THE NEXT DAY I am no longer tied up by a rope, and I am occupying the yard now. It is fenced off from the driveway, with a wire fence, so that I can look through it. In the very far corner of my yard there is a tree, and exactly eleven inches south-east is buried the nicest bone. I intend to dig it up one of these days and will it be nice and wormy. In the north-east and south- west corners are' likewise bones, but in the north-west corner I have a trea- sure, really a treasure. There is a can which is buried and in it, under the lid, are four of my baby teeth, a de- cayed rubber ball, and a dead bird, and it is very mouldy. Today I had ever so much fun. I escaped from my yard, the bread- man let me out. I walked down Gros- venor almost to the end of the street until I found a big dog playing with a rubber bone. We immediately made friends. I went with him till we came to a garage. Here he told me that they were having a debate, the question be- ing whether Irishmen are better than Scotchmen or not. As I am Scotch I immediately pointed out that the Scotch were not stingy, that they were wonderful people and were much cleverer than the Irish. Getting im- patient, he told me most rudely to stop and get out at once. Then he started bunting me. I immediately dropped down and refused to budge an inch and I put up a good fight. Then, much to my amazement, he fairly screamed with joy because he had a new point. The Scotch have ability to resist! Well, good-bye for now, Dear Diary, for Pug wants me to meet him and go out to play. BARBARA ANNE KING, Grade VIII, Douglas Hall. A TYPICAL SCHOOLGIRL'S TELEPHONE CONVERSATION ELLO? . . . Oh, Hi Molly! . . . Where was I today? Well, I had a very bad cold so I decided I'd better stay home. Cough, Cough, See? What show did I go to? Why, Molly, I said I had a cold-well, as a matter of fact, I did feel well enough to run down town this afternoon and see the Motor Show, and who do you s'pose I almost bumped into? Three guesses . . . No . . . Yes! . . . and me without my beret and chewing gum. Boy! You couldn't see me for dust! . . . What's new? . . . Don't tell me she's changed her hair again! Honest, that girl never