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

Page 25 text:

Vox Fluminis .23 'I'oujours, replied the little girl promptly, courtseying gaily to an imag- inary audience. And if there had been an audience present, it would have quite fallen in love with the little singer, as the clear, soaring notes floated through the little shop. J e t'aimerai toujours-si tu garderas ta cour pour moi . . . The old man swayed gently to the lilting, tango rhythm, and a happy half- smile crossed his face. He loved his little granddaughter almost to the point of worship, and cherished great hopes for her. Time would tell, and, oh-she could sing! Gnydia, he mused, as the song ended, and the prima-donna court- seyed again. I believe you are more a French demoiselle than a Polish girl. Mamma is French-and there are so many lovely French songs, you know, replied Gnydia, humming the tango and pierrouetting around the room. Well, maybe you will be in opera some day, grandfather laughed. Un- consciously he picked up a movie mag- azine which had been lying on the On the front cover was a pic- counter. ture of Deanna Durbin .... wk ik Ik Ik They sidered had reached what Rita con- about the worst place in the whole city-the subway. A decrepit dance-hall and restaurant -- what places! - but at the other side of the bridge stood quite the worst looking building imaginable. It was a personi- fication of dirt-the walls were sooty, gray brick, and the lig-hts inside emit- ted a dingy glare from the dusty win- dow panes. On the side wall was paint- ed, in huge red letters- Diamond Hotel-rooms 75c. Ugh! Who would ever enter such a place? Sk Sk Sk Ill At that moment, someone was enter- ing the Diamond Hotel. He was a boy about nineteen years of age, and the only feature which prevented him from being entirely nondescript in appear- ance, with his colorless complexion and dirty clothes, was a pair of exceedingly striking deep blue eyes, in which shone a wild, frightened light. A cloud of cigar smoke blew into his face as he opened the door of the building and stepped furtively inside. Edging around the crowd of loafers, as if to avoid notice, he crept up to the registration desk. Behind the desk sat the proprietor of the hotel, the respectable Isaac Gold- stein. He had placed a pair of dirty, horn-rimmed glasses on his red, hooked nose, and with an air of intense pre- occupation, pored over the headlines of a morning newspaper. A slight cough from the other side of the desk inter- rupted him suddenly, and, as he looked at the young intruder, he started visi- bly. In a second, he recovered his com- posure, and a mocking grin overspread his face. Why, my dear Fritz, he said, with an unpleasant accent on the dear, What ever are you doing here? Don't you consider it a bit dangerous? The boy reddened slightly, and drew a deep breath, as if steeling himself for an ordeal. Leaving out the sarcasm, he said, in a low voice, I'd like to ask you something. Well, well-a favour! sneered Gold- stein. And after telling me two years ago that you would never again lower yourself to have anything to do with me? Please forget it, said Fritz, his lip curling slightly. I want to stay here for a while. No one would look for me in a public sort of place like this, people usually hide in some little out- of-the-way dump that's easier to get away from. i'Mm-m. Goldstein glanced at the newspaper. The front page was almost entirely filled with accounts of a mur- der which had taken place the day be- fore, in which a band of reckless gangs- ters had killed a policeman. The head- line ran as follows: Police find no trace as yet of Pete Schmidt or his

Page 24 text:

22 Vox Fluminis the second story windows of which bore a gaudy gold inscription: Aren- novitch and Sieberling-Mortgages- Real Estatef' Rita wondered dreamily what was going on up there . . . PF PF Dk P14 In the offices of I. M. Arennovitch, of Arennovitch and Sieberling, two men stood face to face. One was tall, black- haired, and olive-skinned, his erect bearing giving him almost a military appearance. The other was shabby and dirty, his shoulders were slightly stooped, and his eyes bloodshot. I know I can't keep up the payments on the house, he said, his voice full of weary discouragement. But if I could only find work . . . You mean, if you could only keep work when you got it, Arennovitch cut in sharply. He was tired of this shift- less, dissolute Bill Cavers, with his everlasting whine. The man's hands were so unsteady as a result of his ex- cessive drinking that he could keep no kind of a job! For two years he had been trying to make the last payments on his little cottage, and now it seemed that he would have to give up. If you're intimating that my work isn't as good as yours, or anyone else's . . . . growled the dissolute, his eyes kindling with a hot light. Im not intimlating anything, Cavers, interposed the other coolly, except that your last payment was to have been made two years ago, and this firm has, since then, held the legal right to lay claim to your property. You mean . . . Cavers started as if he had received an electric shock. The sullen defiance of his last words melted away, and his voice almost trembled. Exactly, said Mr. Arennovitch drily. But . . . how can a man live with no work and no home, when he's got a wife and six kids-and two of 'em sick and . . . Cavers was whimpering now-his words came in a querulous rush. 'Tm sorry, Cavers. Somehow, he hated to say it-that whining voice and weary, lined face disturbed him. Arennovitch was young-he had never known poverty, and was not ursed to dealing with haggard, discouraged men like the one before him now. But Cav- ers deserved it-he usually thought more of his billiards than of his work and family . . . I'm sorry, he said again, and his voice held that note of finality which signalled a close. lk Pk 'lf wk Past the brick building went the bus -slower than ever, to Rita's disgust. They were passing a long row of one- storey shops, all of which looked Very much the same. Rita noticed that one of them had a sign on the window: Sheet Music, Records, Allyour favor- ite songs. A musi-c store--nothing in particular could happen there . . . Ik lk Ik Il' It was a dark, dusty, low-ceilinged little place. On entering, one would have thought it entirely deserted, but back in the corner, where an ancient grand piano stood, an elderly man was rummaging through a pile of tattered music. A shaft of gray light shot into the store as the door opened, and a little girl, of about eleven years of age, en- tered. She was small, quite plump, and black, curly hair framed her round, pink cheeks and fell over her shoulders, its color matching velvety, intensely black eyes. Hello, Grandpa! she carolled, run- ning to the old man. Why Gnydia Hirscholot! returned the grandfather, with pseudo-severity, you're zo late, I thought you weren't coming! 'iOh, I stayed at school to-to clean the blackboards! she smiled, her eyes twinkling mischieviously. You mean, to finish your arithmetic -liddle zlow poke-but what will you zing for me today? The old man seat- ed himself at the piano, his hands rest- ing expectantly on the keys.

Page 26 text:

24 Vox Fluminis gang. Reward of five hundred dollars offered for the capture of any one of the gangsters. Goldstein looked up and leaned to- wards Fritz. If I let you stay here, and kept you out of the way of this crowd, and then the police found you, I'd be in for Old Harry for not turning you in-and I don't want any suspicion on me! Better find some place else, Sonny! Fritz recoiled-he had not expected refusal. But you know I've never had anything to do with Pete's doings. I just joined his crowd because it was a job, after all, I had to eat-and I never thought they'd-murder anyone! It says, 'any member of Pete's gang' . . . sorry. But I've got to go somewhere! The frightened expression in the blue eyes was replaced by one of hopeless plead- ing. I thought maybe you'd remember that my father was your best friend- before he died . . . There was a sud- den catch in the boy's voice. The Jew gave an oily laugh. So you finally fell back on 'Auld Acquaint- ance,' eh! Well, O.K., I'll keep you nice and safe-and here . . . he tossed the boy a quarter. Go get yourself a drink? Fritz took the money, and crossed to the other side of the room. The noise of the half-drunk hooligans at the bar effectively prevented him from hear- ing any sound from the registration desk. Well-five-hundred bucks is nothing to be sneezed at! muttered Goldstein, his eyes again on the headline. Then, humming Auld Acquaintancej' he picked up the receiver of the phone and dialed the police station. :If Pk wk ik The shops and houses were becom- ing more scattered now, the bus moved more quickly, a few minutes more, and the city disappeared behind them. Thank goodness, sighed Rita, smil- ing, as the picture of home presented itself before her mind. Unnoticed, North Main melted away into the land of forgotten thoughts. R. STERLING, Grade XI. SPOOKS I glanced inside the aged house And saw no beauty there. A yellow stain upon the wall, A crack upon the stair. I stepped inside the doorway, and Surveyed the ghostly room, And then I saw a tiny form That peeped from out the gloom. It closer came, then disappeared Into a tiny hole, For it was nothing but a mouse - A lonely little soul. Imagination runs away Inside a haunted house, And one iseasily frightened by An also frightened mouse. NANCY COMPLIN, Grade VIII, Douglas Hall. EVENTIDE The last rays of the setting sun Have touched the waves with gold, The fishing boats to harbor come, Like wand'ring sheep to fold. Above their sails the sea-gulls fly, Hurrying home to nest, White sails, white wings, at eventide On quiet waters rest. At dawn the fishing ships set forth, All day, the sea to roam, But at the setting of the sun Like birds, they turn back home. BETTY BASTERFIELD, Grade IX, Douglas Hall.