Townsend Harris High School - Crimson Gold Yearbook (Flushing, NY)

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The next move depended on my gambling friend, and I knew what it would be. After the dinner I followed them out to the prom- enade deck, where I soon saw them engaged in an animated conversation. They then passed me, bound, I knew, for the gambler's stateroom. The purser hap- pened to stop near me and I asked him if he knew the man in the dinner jacket. That fellow? he replied. He's Steven Allyn, the chess champion of the United States. He's making a world tour and playing the champions of each country. IV England in October . . . I sat down at the summit a moment to catch my breath and take in the autumnal scene about me. Brown leaves, shaken from slumbering trees, scurried around me, danced in joyous whirlpools, and ended their short existence piled up against lichen-covered fences. A dead branch cracked under the terrific strain with the noise of a pistol shot and bounced into the road, missing an auto- mobile by a very narrow margin. The car, an old Austin, was approaching in an ex- tremely undignified manner. Its rear end was foremost, and the motor, proud of its rear guard position, was roaring defiance at the invisible blasts that pushed it along. When the car was opposite me, it stopped, and a young man leaped lightly over the side. With remarkable strength he swung the car into its normal position. He re-entered the rattletrap and, panting from his exertions, gazed about him. Noticing me, my fellow knight of the road winked solemnly and re- leased the brake. The car slid silently down the hill under some mysterious motive power. A scarecrow flapped its limp arms and hurled dumb imprecations at the crows wheeling above. White, billowy clouds raced across the blue sky like clipper ships bound for home in a pleasant wind. A young boy in overalls chased his ragged straw hat across a fallow field, Hnally falling upon it in triumph. I got up and walked towards the rising sun. I v '6La Giocondaf' whom I hadn't seen for page forty-five Q5 X 'J P7 'HI X 9 NN! ,!lnl 4'1 fl ' ' 'YN X gg ' - xx -. 1 z . L. fx ' Wy ' ir 1 ,, f ' , - N 'I' N -ii' f-fu 'wir--11' 1 3 ,ll , , , r , .X ' ' ff. 'fn f V w X'-ff' 1, bm- L i , f I In lily! i lit r l ff 'V I . A -' - ' 1 V ' ', lk' , it 1.24 . 1 X 1 QT I l Nil' ' . I, 'J A n rl, , X Xl, ' 'f A' f I ' I 4 wif f ' 1 ,

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II The evening is intolerably hot. From my window seat in the hotel opposite the Union Station, I am gazing down upon that great, square building, lit up and apparently vibrant with the mechanical and human energy being expended in it. The towering stone walls, marble columnades, and stone flights of steps give it an appearance of dignity which is soon belied by the soot on the walls and on the high arched windows. An endless procession of taxi cabs scurry up, discharge their loads, and scurry away. 4'Red Caps hurry up, show rows of shining teeth, take your valises, and disappear. The immense, Neon-lighted clock over the entrance beams benevolently on the passers-by, hurrying them up or slow- ing them down, according to his whims. To my right I can see a corner of the rail- road yard. The unloading platform appears in it, with a row of freight cars being emptied. The stevedores' naked backs glisten as they pass to and fro under the powerful lamps. I took down my old brown bag and dusted it oil' . . . III The steward showed me to my seat at a table for six in the dining room. A man in a black dinner jacket sat opposite me. His unmistakable appearance caused me to chuckle reminiscently, for it was over fifteen years since I had seen his type on a trans- Atlantic liner. He was a professional gam- bler. Perfect example of the 'Gpoker face. His eyes expressed nothing, while his pale complexion gave evidence of sleepless nights in smoke-filled rooms. His hands were long, well-kept, and slim, the hands of a man of talent in a profession where the old adage, The hand is quicker than the eye, must be proven again and again. His clothes were well-cut, but worn, and of a style outmoded by several years. He looked at me for a moment and, evi- dently dissatisfied by what he saw, turned and gazed at a man seated at a nearby table. This fellow was the direct opposite of my aloof companion. He ate with enjoyment and noisy evidence of it. He had a pink, frank face that could conceal nothing, and inno- cent blue eyes that took in all the sights of a first trip abroad. page f0l'ly-four

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many years, was still smiling sardonically down upon the gaping throngs . . . Paul greeted me enthusiastically and re- galed me with anecdotes and prophesies of his soon expected triumph as a playwright, but with no substance. We supped at Le Couchon Rouge, where the same crowd still settled the world's problems amidst an un- worldly clamor and read, played, or ex- hibited their masterpieces amidst much sin- cere criticism. Wfhile sipping our beers, I asked the question that was uppermost in my mind. G4Whatever happened to Marie?', She married M. Henoch, a prominent producer. 'tNot Ignatius! I cried, forgetting Marie at the sudden shock. Yes, Ignatius, morosely replied Paul. He decided that he'd make a better producer than writer, and so he did. We sat in silence for a while. And she said she'd wait, we both re- marked simultaneously. Paul sprang up with a shout, his face turn- ing a dangerous red. '6Traitor! At this moment one of his few and far- between sparks of brilliancy burst into flame, and he collapsed into his chair. Why didn't I think of it before ? he mut- tered. 6'We can use Marie to persuade Ig- natius to produce my play. 6'Why we ? I asked, with a feeling of trepi- dation, for I remembered Paul's schemes of old. But there was no avoiding it. That night we called on Marie at her sumptuous apart- ment. She was not a slim dancer any more, but she still had her exuberant spirits, as I found out to my sorrow late that night. All I can remember is that the party gained members and black cats as it went along. I have a confused recollection of throwing sour candy balls at some swans and holding a gendarme down while Marie gave him a close haircut with a pair of pliers. I woke up in a second class compartment of the Rome express with a splitting headache and a horse-shoe tied to the lapel of my coat. 66 VI A feeling of dread and mystery fell upon me long before I came in sight of the cata- combs, long before I reached the thorned, dried shrubs about it. The gnarled oaks page forty-six