Stratford Central Secondary School - Collegian Yearbook (Stratford, Ontario Canada)

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COLLEGIAN, 1937. I certainly will not. You haven't heard the last of this. Was she going to get away with it? Doris felt numb. Just then she noticed a lump in Mr. Black's right cheek. Was that it? Not a very large lump, but a lump. Doris made her way between the woman and the door, and slowly came directly behind Mr. Black. Then, with all her might, she gave him a whack with both hands between the shoulders. Astonished, the man staggered. Out of his mouth, as he gasped in amazement, flew a wad of something. Doris pounced upon it. Gum! She handed it to the manager. I think, she said, you'll find the diamond in this. Mr. Black and his accomplice made a break for the door, but were stopped by the manager. Doris did not wait for the arrests to be made, but continued her work in the store, secretly happy that she had discovered the author of the crime. FIRELIGHT DREAMS By Annie Adamson, 3A. As I sit alone in the twilight By my fireside's sinking flame, I weave strange fancies of delight, Tapestries that'none can claim. Gilded remembrance of long ago- The rosy dawning of what's to be- As I look at the fireside's dying glow Build dreams that are meant for me. This is my beautiful land of desire Of which I shall never be free, The great place I see in the fire, My strange world of fantasy! Mr. Fuller: But how could skin trouble give you a broken arm '? Moff. Forster: Well you see it was a banana skin-3' A woman, so someone says, is a person who can walk down an 18-inch aisle in a store without knocking anything from the counters, and then drive home and knock the doors off a 12-foot garage! STRATFORD, ONT. A MIDNIGHT FANTASY Junior Prize Story By Cynthia Carter, 2.4. A London fog is a strange thing. It is the best example of the difference between a mist and a fog. A mist is soft, feathery, cool- but not cold. A mist covers soft green things, such as trees in the springtime, marigold shoots, and smooth fields where wheat is springing up. It is a fairy-like thing, ethereal, entrancing .... A fog tespecially a London fogj is a dirty yellow colour. It is as cold as death-and as unrelenting. It covers dirty tenement houses, slate roofs, it makes it im- possible to see the tops of the buildings in the slums tthere are no treesj or the sloppy gray rain puddles in the streets tthere are no mari- gold shootsj or the cold gray pavements stretching out for miles ahead tfor there are no wheat-fieldsj . In fact, a London fog is an ugly thing. Because of such a fog, the Old Shopkeeper shut up his novelty shop earlier than usual, one damp evening in November, for it seeped into his little store and made everything seem drab, dull, and uninteresting. First, he put the large white covers over the bird-cages. Then he moved the Japanese garden nearer to the window to make way for the toy theatre. After that he shut the door, turned the key, and went home to bed. For a while, the novelty shop was very quiet, but the silence was broken by a gray- brown mouse that ran across the floor. Then another followed. This one began to gnaw at a piece of mouldy cheese that had fallen into a dim corner where it had been hidden by the dusty shadows that were always in the shop, and the little clicks of his tiny white teeth punctuated the stillness as sharply as a needle-point. One of the yellow Canaries was not yet asleep in its cage, and sat murmuring low soft notes to himself. The mouse had fin- ished its cheese, and was hunting for some- thing elseg and the old brown Grandfather clock was ticking quietly to itself as its bent hands passed around its face with quick jerky motions. It was a much-ornamented clock. On the sides of its giant case were two huge butter- flies with blue-and-green wings. A figure of Father Time was carved on the pendulum, his scythe moving with every second. Just below the face was the tiny figure of a clown carved out of walnut wood. He was dressed in a Page Thirty-five

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COLLEGIAN, 1937. THE LEGACY By Mary Ballantyne, 4A. Doris had obtained a position in Brown's large department store in Vancouver. She was to be a detective and to watch the shop- pers so that there would not be any unsolved shop-lifting mysteries. It was Saturday morning, a week before Christmas. Already the store was crowded and three women had fainted. Doris was wandering through the crowd when her attention was attracted to a smartly groomed customer, dressed in a black broad- cloth coat trimmed with marten. She was evidently buying herself a Christmas present. A pendant, she said, nothing fancy, but with one fine diamond in it. If you would give me some idea of what you would care to pay, said the elderly clerk. Well, I have just been left a legacy by an aunt and I thought I would rather invest the money in a diamondg then I can always have it with me. Safer than stocks, don't you think? Well, I want the finest diamond that I can get for five thousand dollars, if you have any that expensive, she said. Certainly, said the clerk, now anxious to make a sale, we carry diamonds valued from twenty-five dollars, say to a small fortune. I'm sorry our show-cases are all filled. The clerk then went away and got a dozen beautiful unmounted diamonds. These were always kept in a safe. Doris walked away, but then returned as she was interested in the legacy gift. How could the customer choose from so many beau- tiful gems? Doris thought. Hold that one up again, will you ? the lady requested. Now, let me see the diamond with the bluish tinge. The clerk, always mindful of the holiday crowds, kept the jewels at the edge of the counter. That is lovely, continued the customer. Pardon me, if I point. Try the next one, please! No, not that one. -she pointed the ungloved hand at a beautiful gem. Only for a moment her curved fingers moved over the jewels, but that was enough. As the clerk displayed a diamond in his tweezers, the neatest bit of palming known to crime took place. In place of the five thous- and dollar gem, a stone of the same size and Page Thirty-four STRATFORD, ONT. cut took its place. It all happened in the flash of an eye. Watching, Doris could scarcely believe her eyes. She thought she saw it, yet was she sure? Now, the customer's hand was cupped over her mouth, and Doris thought that she was rolling something in her mouth. Then the customer put her hand below the counter. All her movements seemed natural enough. During this time, the clerk was showing her a jewel. Finally, a bargain was made. The pendant will be ready for you a day or so before Christmas, said the clerk. Smiling and satisfied the customer went away. The clerk was busy rewrapping the diamonds, when he noticed that one did not seem to be the same texture as the rest. There has been a serious mistake here, he thought to himself. Doris rushed up to the counter. Mr. Black, the head detective, was also making his way to the counter. When he came to the counter, Doris noticed that he put his hand along the edge of the counter-then his hand was wiping his mouth. By this time, the clerk was frantically motioning to Mr. Black and to Doris to stop the lady in the black coat. She had already wormed her way through the crowds, almost to the doors leading into the street. Doris reached the lady first. Touching her sleeve, Doris said to her- Just one moment, Madame. Mr. Black arrived, and with as little com- motion as possible, the customer was taken to the manager's office and thoroughly searched. No trace of the diamond could be found. I don't know what my husband will say to this, flared the indignant customer. I cancel my order right now. There was nothing to do but to apologize to her and let her go. Doris was frantic. She felt that the customer was guilty. Hadn't she seen her with her own eyes? Yet, why didn't Mr. Black question her? Doris had made one mistake that morning and had been forgiven. She must go carefully now. Yet why had both the detective and the customer felt along the counter? The manager was now apologizing to her. 'Tm afraid the clerk has made a serious mistake. Those stones were probably switched before. Under the circumstances, you will understand that--a--er-it was a natural mis- take, if you'll accept our apologies- She flared up.

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COLLEGIAN, 1937. smock from which the slovenly washer- woman, Long Usage, had removed most of the gaudy red and blue. And while in the wash, the top of his pointed hat had disappeared. But this did not bother him, and he still held the hoop through which the little black poodle stubbornly refused to jump, and he had his usual idiotic smile on his thin face. Above him, occupying the supreme place on top of the clock, was a little porcelain, ballet- dancer. She was dressed in a white satin cos- tume that just touched her dainty knees, and one of her exquisite feet was posed in an arabesque as light and subtle as a summer breeze. Her golden curls were swung back from her pure white forehead, and in her right hand she held a blood-red rose. But the old Grandfather clock was uncon- cerned, and ticked on and on. Half-past ten. Eleven. Half-past eleven. A quarter to twelve. And then, the brass gong within its sonorously boomed out twelve. Slowly the little ballet-dancer raised her pretty hand to her eyes and rubbed them soft- ly. Then she turned her head, first to one side, next to the other, and then, with the lightness of a white dove, she rose on her toes, put her hand on the side of the clock, and floated down to the floor. Faintly, and from the old music box that stood on the worm- eaten table, came the tinkling strains of an old sonata, and the ballet-dancer began to move through the movements of her dance. The little clown was aware of something strange as soon as he had yawned noisily and had stretched his arms out and above his awkward head. At first, he did not notice what it was, but presently he raised his eyes to the accustomed place of the porcelain lady. Even then, he was not very surprised-it is hard for walnut wood to be surprised-so he just moved his clumsy feet this way and that, and made his back hump up in the middle, and thought how silly the little poodle looked. But the strain of the music box caught his ugly ears, and, glancing down to the floor, he saw the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The tiny porcelain figure was twirling on her toes, and casting coquettish glances at a hand- some tin soldier, who was vainly curling his black moustache and trying to appear disinter- ested. The music seemed to steal over the ballet- dancer and hold her in its rhythmic sway, for Page Thirty-six STRATFORD, ONT. she was almost a part of it. She turned and bent like a fair, white flower that awakens as the first rays of the morning sun shine upon it. Her tiny body was light as thistle-down and as graceful as a swan, as she rose on her toes and fell again like the shimmering white foam on the waves of the ocean. Then her tempo quickened, and she flew across the floor, whirling, leaping, twirling madly as summer lightning. Then she seemed to go slower and slower, until the music-box tune changed to a waltz .... And all this time the little clown looked on, and he felt a strange wild joy leap up in his walnut wood heart. For he knew that the iittle porcelain ballet-dancer was Very lovely. So he came down from his place on the clock -the little poodle following-and with a jump, reached the floor. But the dancer did not even see him. She was still smiling at the handsome tin soldier. The clown could only hop-for walnut wood is very stiff-and as he crossed the floor, his feet made a queer ticking sound like that of the clock. The handsome soldier noticed him first. He even stopped curling his moustache to laugh out loudly. Then the porcelain lady turned, just as the poor ugly clown bent down on one knee to declare to her his adoration. For a moment she looked at him bewildered, but soon her light laughter rose as the tinkling of thousands of silver bells, or the soft gurg- ling of low water over stones at midnight. The clown hung his wooden head in sorrow and shame, and the little black poodle, creep- ing closer, began to lick his master's hand, and felt sorry that he had not jumped through the hoop. When the clown raised his eyes, the lady of his worship was gone. Suddenly, the pendulum of the Grandfather clock began to vibrate. The little porcelain ballet-dancer looked frightened, and ran as quickly as she could to her place. The hand- some tin soldier began to stiffen. The clown, rising slowly, climbed to his usual place with the little poodle following, and held up his hoop. The mice scurried away. And the Grandfather clock struck one. It was morning in the novelty-shop, and the Old Shopkeeper entered, with the cold air of the morning all around him, and the bright sunlight of the morning on his' head. First he swept the shop. Next, he took the white sheets off the bird-cages. Then, he moved the tContinucd on Page 611