Western Canada High School - Yearbook (Calgary, Alberta Canada)

Page 74 text:

Page seventy-two YEAR TSnXWBXB By BETTY COLLEY (!) Stealthily! Hush! That was better. No one would ever find out. Old man Hershaw looked awful with all that blood on his face. Served him right. He shouldn’t have been such a fool as to trust a clerk with his secret, especially a clerk that he had tyrannized over and driven like a slave for twenty years. Well, now, it was the clerk’s turn. It had all been so easy. The old man had been alone. No one heard the shot that killed him and left him oozing out blood all over the office carpet. The sec ret safe had easily yielded up the money it contained, and now the clerk just had quietly to leave the building and catch the steamer to America, on which his passage was already booked. It was all so simple! And to be free, with money to live one’s own life! Careful! Not safe enough yet to give way to one’s feelings. Caught! Trapped! Like an animal deep in the hold of a ship. In irons, too! Who would have thought he would have been found out? All on account of that busy-body of a secretary! What had she been snooping about back at the office after hours ? She had her eye on the old man’s money, too. That was why she had put the police on his trail. Jealousy, nothing else. And now to be sent back to smoky, foggy old Tondon, to be tried, convicted and hanged. No freedom after all. What was that? The ship had struck something! Already it was listing to one side. The water was trickling in under the door. Good heavens! Was he to be drowned in a hole without a chance? Why didn’t somebody come? They wouldn’t bother with a murderer. He wouldn’t have a chance. Hurried footsteps in the corridor. Surely they would hear his cries and have mercy. Ah! Someone unlocking the door! The water was waist high. Hurry to the boats. On deck at last. The ship was sinking quickly. The boats were over there. What ? They were gone. Quick! To the rail. The last boat was rowing off. They couldn’t wait for a murderer. He’d have to jump for it. He was smothering. Would he never rise to the surface? Ah! It was good to suck air into his bursting lungs. What was pulling him? Oh! It was the ship sinking and sucking him dow n. Hurry! Strive harder. He was winning. It wouldn’t get him yet. What was that which had struck him ? A black box floating in the water. Good! It would carry his weight. Horror! It was a coffin. Someone in it too. It was shifting from side to side as the box rose and fell in the water. What if it was old man Hershaw? Nonsense. That was his nerves playing him tricks. Hershaw was in England, probably buried by this time. Still, what a gruesome raft it was! Would he be able to stick it out until he reached land somewhere, or would he go crazy and slip off into the green depths of the sea? The ship’s boats were all out of sight. He had no provisions. Nothing-. Even his clothes were soaked with salt water. No company but a dead man! No boat except a coffin. . . . Would the thing never stop? Slump, slither, smack. Incessantly. It was driving him mad. Every time the coffin rose on a wave, the thing inside slithered from side to side. Well, it was saving him, wasn’t it? The old guy was doing some good even after death. Hershaw wouldn’t. He’d be in the ground. Why must he think of Hershaw! If only he could reach land. He was so thirsty. Every gust of wind and every dash of spray was torture to his exposed limbs.

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BOOK Page seventy-one 2450 Edythe Lincoln; 2451 John Lockie; 2452 Ralph Louden; 2453 Allister Duncan Ross Low; 2454 Mona Katherine Macaulay; 2455 Myrtle Aileen Macfarlane; 2456 Gilbert Roy MacKenzie; 2457 Richard Thomas Mervvn MacLean; 2458 Paul Edward MacLeod; 2459 Alice Grace MacNeill; 2460 Gertrude Agnes McAulay; 2461 Philip Cuthbert McClelland; 2462 Mary Constance McCormick; 2463 Aileen Mae McCullough; 2464 James Morton McElroy; 2465 Donald McGee; 2466 Arnold Frank McKay; 2467 Marion Edith McKinnon; 2468 Alan Winston Mahood; 2469 Jack Leslie Marshall; 2470 Robert Albert Marshall; 2471 Wilfred George Mortimer Marshall; 2472 Donald Lorin Mercer; 2473 Florence Rose Messenger; 2474 Owen Graham Miller; 2475 Fred Wilson Mills; 2476 D. Howard Minchin; 2477 Jack A. Minchin; 2478 Sidney Albert Mitchell; 2479 Janet Peters Moffat; 2480 Stella Mont¬ gomery; 2481 Emma May Moore; 2482 Pauline Virginia Morrish; 2483 Shirley Alberta Neeland; 2484 Edgar Scott Nelson; 2485 Edna Alice Newcombe; 2486 Ella Nancy Noble; 2487 Stuart Allan Mills Nott; 2488 Edna Margaret Orr; 2489 Angus Gunn Osborne; 2490 Edythe Beatrice Park; 2491 Margaret Louise Parsons; 2492 Howard Norman Patton; 2493 Oliver Holmes Peacock; 2494 Mary Agnes Picken; 2495 Phyllis Hilda Plastow; 2496 Grace Evelyn Pleasance; 2497 Douglas Graham Pocock; 2498 Margaret Gordon Polley; 2499 Charles John Armand Pow- lett; 2500 Esther Constance Pratt. Exrltanp By KENNETH ROBERTSON, Secretary What stronger bond is there between schools than the exchange of school magazines? These publications, carrying with them friendly suggestions and beneficial criticisms, greatly aid us in producing a better Year Book. We regret that so few copies of other publications were received last year. However, we are continually soliciting new friendships and if our Year Book should reach any school, with whom we are not in touch, we would appreciate your magazine in return. Many thanks to those we have heard from. “The Optimist”—Calgary Normal School. An attractive, well-balanced and inter¬ esting publication. A little more humor would be an asset. Your Literary section, especially the poetry, deserves praise. Good work, C. N. S. “The Bugle”—C.H.C.I., Calgary—Yours is an exceptionally good magazine. Con¬ gratulations on your excellent exchange. Might we suggest a more elaborate cover design ? “The Bugle” is truly indicative of a school full of “pep.” “The Analecta”—C.C.I., Calgary—Here’s a well-organized publication. The cover is striking and everything inside of it deserves commendation. “The Techalogue”—S.L.C.I., Saskatoon—A really snappy first issue. Might we suggest longer write-ups for the graduating class. Your cuts are numerous and good. Best of luck for further publications. “The Tech-Art Record”—Calgary—A fine variety of departments. Your “Sparks and Splutters” are very bright, especially the cartoons. How about placing the index to your sport’s cuts right below. “Dollingdonia”—Dollingdon, Ontario—A splendid magazine, well organized in every way. The talent of your school is well indicated in your Literary sec¬ tion—One of the best we have seen. “The McMaster Monthly”—Hamilton, Ontario—One of the few exchanges produc¬ ed monthly. A sound, comprehensive treatment of school life. “The Grumbler”—Kitchener, Ontario—A bright, newsy and unusually well-illus¬ trated book. We welcome your exchange. “The Unicorn”—Melbourne, Australia—A distant exchange, a real book, a good laugh. See you again next year. “The L.C.C.I. Review”—London, Ontario—Congratulations on your remarkable edition. What about some biographies ? An adequate view of the numerous activities of your school. “The Tiger”—L. C., Spokane, Washington—This is by long odds the best of our exchanges. The material is exceptionally well arranged, the art work is an inspiration and the humor is really diverting. Altogether this publication is truly refreshing.

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BOOK Page seventy-three The coffin offered no shelter. Maybe it would be better to slip off and sink softly to the bottom of the ocean. . . . Were his eyes deceiving him? No, No, No! It must be land. It was! Now he’d get rid of the thing at last. The coffin-raft moved so slowly. He’d better not swim for it because he might need the coffin again. He’d soon get rid of the thing though. Slowly, slowly, he was nearing land. There were trees. There must be water. . . . Another day! Another burning sun! The thing was still there. Why couldn’t he get strength enough to fling the grinning thing into the sea. It was mocking him. It needed no water, no food, no shelter from the burning sun. It mattered not a whit, to it, that he had been carried past the first fertile islands and marooned on a narrow, red-hot strip of barren sand. If only he weren’t so weak he would throw it to the fishes. Now he had managed to lift the coffin lid, he was too weak to move any more. It looked strangely like Hershaw. It was Hershaw! Mocking him! Laughing at his dreams of freedom and escape. The sun was so hot. Everything was indistinct. The waves and sand were blurred. Only the thing grinned back at him, distinctly, from its black box. He could sta nd it no longer. It wouldn’t get him. They wouldn’t get him. He’d fool them all yet. Ha, ha. He could crawl. He’d get cool soon. He’d get to the sea. He’d sink peacefully down, down in the soft cool depths. Ha, ha. He’d fool them. Ta, ta, old thing. Grin on. He was going an easier way. Ta, ta. Rothnie Montgomery-Bell brought further honors to our school by winning the University of Alberta Matriculation Scholarship, Utnntng It takes a little courage, And a little self-control, And some grim determination If you want to reach a goal. It takes a deal of striving, And a firm and stern-set chin, No matter what the battle, If you’re really out to win. There’s no easy path to glory, There’s no rosy road to fame, Life, however we may view it, Is no simple parlor game; But its prizes call for fighting, For endurance and for grit, For a rugged disposition, And a “don’t-know-where-to-quit.” You must take a blow and give one, You must risk and you must lose, And expect that in the struggle, You will suffer from a bruise; But you mustn’t wince or falter If a fight you once begin. Be a man and face the battle— That’s the only way to win.