1923 Yearbook
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Title
1923 Yearbook
Description
and spend the next—for intestines—Ratchild's—the store for individual and satisfying
internals—the Home of Stop, Look, and Listen.)
"Say, Grandpa, you know this fellow here, don't you?" said the younger of the
Methusalehs, pointing out the disturbing portrait.
The sage procured the book, limped to a vacant chair, sank into it with a heavy sigh
and after a moment's fidget, looked into it. It was obvious that cognizance was almost
instantaneous but with the aggravating perverseness of a practiced story teller he held
aloof from an immediate remark.
A long period of silence followed in which the more remote of the forefathers leaned
back in reminiscent dreaming which carried him over the span of centuries to his boyhood days, long, long ago. His posterity held an eager peace.
"Hawk! Ha-a-a-k! Haa-a-ak!" a cataclysm resounded from within the wizened
figure as he made ready to launch into the tale. He leaned forward and in his eager
eyes there burned the flame of youth. Unmindful of his enervated body, lengthy beard
and corrugated brow he was a ruddy-complexioned young man once more.
"My friends, back—way back in the bygone days. Back—far, far back in the early
part of the twentieth century there lived a certain man—this man of the picture. He
was handsome, very handsome. His name was Walenkeena but he was better known
under the title of Sheik. He was idolized. He was worshipped. He was adored.
Everywhere he was looked upon as a god. On the barrens of Siberia, in the narrow,
crowded streets of Canton, on the heaving breast of the seas, in hottest Egypt, in sunny
France, on the wide pampas of South America, in far-off Australia, among the icefloes of the Arctic, even along the roaring forties of steel-turreted Manhattan, his name
was significant of all that was beautiful, strong, brave and glorious. But not to beauty
alone was his fame indebted. No, indeed. To all ends of the earth he was proclaimed
the acme of bull-fighters. Yes, he was reputed as the greatest—but one—just one was
greater. And this brings me back—back to the never-to-be-forgotten day.
Madrid. The sun in a manner typical of Spain was lavishing her scorching rays
upon the vast El Teatron amphitheatre, into which almost one hundred thousand
enthusiastic spectators had been crowded to witness the expert bull-fighting of RodofI
Walenkeeno, the peer of all matadors. Far and near his fame had been heralded and
from these places had come the royalty, sporting blood and fairness of the whole world
It was Spain's one red-letter day.
The preliminaries had been finished. The hum and buzz of the usual subdued but
stirred conversation lingered in the sultry atmosphere. It was very much like the dead
calm which precedes a violent tropical storm.
A flourish of trumpets—expectant, tense silence.
Twelve gaily bedecked toreadors preceded the even more gaily dressed matador as he
trotted out into the arena. What a spectacle greeted the matador's eye as he moved
over the glaring stage. It was as if he were at the bottom of a huge, motionless mael-
Page 18 4-
internals—the Home of Stop, Look, and Listen.)
"Say, Grandpa, you know this fellow here, don't you?" said the younger of the
Methusalehs, pointing out the disturbing portrait.
The sage procured the book, limped to a vacant chair, sank into it with a heavy sigh
and after a moment's fidget, looked into it. It was obvious that cognizance was almost
instantaneous but with the aggravating perverseness of a practiced story teller he held
aloof from an immediate remark.
A long period of silence followed in which the more remote of the forefathers leaned
back in reminiscent dreaming which carried him over the span of centuries to his boyhood days, long, long ago. His posterity held an eager peace.
"Hawk! Ha-a-a-k! Haa-a-ak!" a cataclysm resounded from within the wizened
figure as he made ready to launch into the tale. He leaned forward and in his eager
eyes there burned the flame of youth. Unmindful of his enervated body, lengthy beard
and corrugated brow he was a ruddy-complexioned young man once more.
"My friends, back—way back in the bygone days. Back—far, far back in the early
part of the twentieth century there lived a certain man—this man of the picture. He
was handsome, very handsome. His name was Walenkeena but he was better known
under the title of Sheik. He was idolized. He was worshipped. He was adored.
Everywhere he was looked upon as a god. On the barrens of Siberia, in the narrow,
crowded streets of Canton, on the heaving breast of the seas, in hottest Egypt, in sunny
France, on the wide pampas of South America, in far-off Australia, among the icefloes of the Arctic, even along the roaring forties of steel-turreted Manhattan, his name
was significant of all that was beautiful, strong, brave and glorious. But not to beauty
alone was his fame indebted. No, indeed. To all ends of the earth he was proclaimed
the acme of bull-fighters. Yes, he was reputed as the greatest—but one—just one was
greater. And this brings me back—back to the never-to-be-forgotten day.
Madrid. The sun in a manner typical of Spain was lavishing her scorching rays
upon the vast El Teatron amphitheatre, into which almost one hundred thousand
enthusiastic spectators had been crowded to witness the expert bull-fighting of RodofI
Walenkeeno, the peer of all matadors. Far and near his fame had been heralded and
from these places had come the royalty, sporting blood and fairness of the whole world
It was Spain's one red-letter day.
The preliminaries had been finished. The hum and buzz of the usual subdued but
stirred conversation lingered in the sultry atmosphere. It was very much like the dead
calm which precedes a violent tropical storm.
A flourish of trumpets—expectant, tense silence.
Twelve gaily bedecked toreadors preceded the even more gaily dressed matador as he
trotted out into the arena. What a spectacle greeted the matador's eye as he moved
over the glaring stage. It was as if he were at the bottom of a huge, motionless mael-
Page 18 4-
Date
1923
Rights
St. Ambrose University, 518 W. Locust St., Davenport, IA 52803
Identifier
http://cdm16810.contentdm.oclc.org/cdm/ref/collection/p16810coll2/id/7795