1923 Yearbook
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Title
1923 Yearbook
Description
splendid one (and well it might be for it had been perfectly planned and was carried
out in an impressive air of lofty, sweeping casualness). The box which she and her
attractive retinue occupied was adjacent to that of Allinso. So interested in this eye-
fitting scene were the majority of the assemblage that they forgot to add their own
vocal aid to the laudation given Rodoff, as he exited to his rooms, to prepare for the
climaxing bout of the afternoon's butchery.
All was in silence or, rather, in contrast to the clamorous jargon which prevailed
during the foregoing rounds the drone of low-toned conversation could scarce be heard.
But the babble increased noticeably in volume, however, as the door of the bull-pen
was opened and the well haltered Tres Diablas was led out by a miniature army of
toreadors that the people might wonder at his colossal stature and remark the super-
hideousness of his visage. A regiment of camera-flourishing photographers scurried to
greet the magnificent beast with welcoming "shot". He was paraded until the crowd
was sufficiently filled with awe and then led away.
A blaze of trumpets.
Glorious Rodoff marched majestically out upon the field to climax an excellent performance—perhaps the concluding act of his short life. He was given another heaven
harassing reception. He moved slowly to the King's vicinity and paused.
The scarlet banner was offered. Walenkeeno objected this but mechanically accepted a highly polished sword. A red flag was unnecessary to anger this ogre.
Then he approached the box of Her Ladyship—beautiful Yvetto. He halted.
Brown eyes in which, at an unfathomable depth a struggle flame burned slowly
searched the twilight recesses of tranquil violet ones. Both were held in this soul-
binding trance for some moments. Lady Zontella was the first to move. Plucking a
full-blown rose from her corsage she pressed it to her full ruby lips and tossed it to the
matador. Eagerly he snatched it out of the air and crushed it against his mouth, his
feverish soul tasting of its cooling sweetness. Reverently he placed it in his bosom.
He raised his sword in noble salutation.
"The life of this accursed creature to thee, O my Yvetto, and to all—" Crash!
The sharp report of splintering wood reechoed through the stadium. Tres Diablas
plunged through the gate of his pen and swept like an ominous hurricane across the pit.
The startled matador wheeled. Gaping—wide-eyed—stricken with the paralysis of an
uncowardly fear—he remained wilted and motionless. The diabolical brute thundered
on. Nearer, nearer. The floor of the pit trembled under the mighty hoofs. On—on.
With a jerk—not a moment too soon—Walenkeeno straightened, drew up his body,
leveled his sword—the flying, furious destroyer but an arm's distance away— He
plunged forward—a lightning thrust.
Thud!
A sickening dull sound of impact, when the streaking mountain of flesh struck the
poor gladiator, carried over the congregation.
Thud!
Page 19 2
out in an impressive air of lofty, sweeping casualness). The box which she and her
attractive retinue occupied was adjacent to that of Allinso. So interested in this eye-
fitting scene were the majority of the assemblage that they forgot to add their own
vocal aid to the laudation given Rodoff, as he exited to his rooms, to prepare for the
climaxing bout of the afternoon's butchery.
All was in silence or, rather, in contrast to the clamorous jargon which prevailed
during the foregoing rounds the drone of low-toned conversation could scarce be heard.
But the babble increased noticeably in volume, however, as the door of the bull-pen
was opened and the well haltered Tres Diablas was led out by a miniature army of
toreadors that the people might wonder at his colossal stature and remark the super-
hideousness of his visage. A regiment of camera-flourishing photographers scurried to
greet the magnificent beast with welcoming "shot". He was paraded until the crowd
was sufficiently filled with awe and then led away.
A blaze of trumpets.
Glorious Rodoff marched majestically out upon the field to climax an excellent performance—perhaps the concluding act of his short life. He was given another heaven
harassing reception. He moved slowly to the King's vicinity and paused.
The scarlet banner was offered. Walenkeeno objected this but mechanically accepted a highly polished sword. A red flag was unnecessary to anger this ogre.
Then he approached the box of Her Ladyship—beautiful Yvetto. He halted.
Brown eyes in which, at an unfathomable depth a struggle flame burned slowly
searched the twilight recesses of tranquil violet ones. Both were held in this soul-
binding trance for some moments. Lady Zontella was the first to move. Plucking a
full-blown rose from her corsage she pressed it to her full ruby lips and tossed it to the
matador. Eagerly he snatched it out of the air and crushed it against his mouth, his
feverish soul tasting of its cooling sweetness. Reverently he placed it in his bosom.
He raised his sword in noble salutation.
"The life of this accursed creature to thee, O my Yvetto, and to all—" Crash!
The sharp report of splintering wood reechoed through the stadium. Tres Diablas
plunged through the gate of his pen and swept like an ominous hurricane across the pit.
The startled matador wheeled. Gaping—wide-eyed—stricken with the paralysis of an
uncowardly fear—he remained wilted and motionless. The diabolical brute thundered
on. Nearer, nearer. The floor of the pit trembled under the mighty hoofs. On—on.
With a jerk—not a moment too soon—Walenkeeno straightened, drew up his body,
leveled his sword—the flying, furious destroyer but an arm's distance away— He
plunged forward—a lightning thrust.
Thud!
A sickening dull sound of impact, when the streaking mountain of flesh struck the
poor gladiator, carried over the congregation.
Thud!
Page 19 2
Date
1923
Rights
St. Ambrose University, 518 W. Locust St., Davenport, IA 52803
Identifier
http://cdm16810.contentdm.oclc.org/cdm/ref/collection/p16810coll2/id/7803