1923 Yearbook
Source URL
Title
1923 Yearbook
Description
Spaniards but very familiar to the exponents of fistiana, were introduced into the
sacred realm of bull-fighting. He is now ready.
The monarch, Tres Diablas, blowing his hate, glaring in the heat of mayhem,
thundered down upon his tiny opponent. Onward—onward—his speed increasing to
that of an express— Closer—closer—now—crack!
The huge animal skidded on his shoulder for yards; the flying sand spraying the
ground within a radius as large as a circus tent. A good right fist had scored the first
point of the combat. Squirming to his feet, the mammal leaped at the man. Crack!
A hard left hook! Thud! A crashing right put the monster on his side. Before he
could struggle to his feet the midget fighter was upon him and had seized him by the
legs. With a herculean effort he swung the wriggling, squirming, ton of steel sinew
above his head and, every cord standing out under the strain, heaved him across the
wide field. The great beast crashed against the wall of the grandstand and rebounded
heavily to the ground, where he lay motionless—every bone in his huge body broken.
Turning a deaf ear to the portentous roar of approval which proclaimed him the
new idol; disdaining the calls of the vampire, Yvetto; spurning the beckons of kings;
ignoring the congratulations of the highest royalty and the most affluent of merchant
princes; the hero donned his hat and coat, replaced his tobacco, and without one backward glance, passed through the portals and was never heard of again.
The enchanted silence was unbroken for some time; then:
"But who was this man, great-great-great-great-great-great grandpa?"
The tale weaver, profoundly submerged in pleasant reverie, was reluctant to answer
at once. Almost unaware of the presence of two auditors, the superannuated crony
half arose from his chair, looked out into the dim past, and striking his hollow chest
with a withered hand, cried out,
"I! I am the man!" Boom! Boom!
The sky-scrapers for miles around were jarred by the terrific explosion.
When the three awoke from the shock of the concussion, they were confronted by a
frightening spectacle. There in the center of the room stood a queer sobbing figure
clothed in torn tear-drenched garments of the early Roman style, his head bent, weeping and wailing and gnashing his teeth. The oddity of this appalling sight was heightened by the fact that in one hand the ghost carried an enormous loving-cup.
Without a word but with his heart-rending shrieks filling the chamber, he moved
slowly to the gaping, palsied yarn-spinner. He offered the silver goblet; the centenarian took it with a trembling hand. His duty done, Ananias disappeared.
A new King was crowned!
William Conway '26.
Page 196
sacred realm of bull-fighting. He is now ready.
The monarch, Tres Diablas, blowing his hate, glaring in the heat of mayhem,
thundered down upon his tiny opponent. Onward—onward—his speed increasing to
that of an express— Closer—closer—now—crack!
The huge animal skidded on his shoulder for yards; the flying sand spraying the
ground within a radius as large as a circus tent. A good right fist had scored the first
point of the combat. Squirming to his feet, the mammal leaped at the man. Crack!
A hard left hook! Thud! A crashing right put the monster on his side. Before he
could struggle to his feet the midget fighter was upon him and had seized him by the
legs. With a herculean effort he swung the wriggling, squirming, ton of steel sinew
above his head and, every cord standing out under the strain, heaved him across the
wide field. The great beast crashed against the wall of the grandstand and rebounded
heavily to the ground, where he lay motionless—every bone in his huge body broken.
Turning a deaf ear to the portentous roar of approval which proclaimed him the
new idol; disdaining the calls of the vampire, Yvetto; spurning the beckons of kings;
ignoring the congratulations of the highest royalty and the most affluent of merchant
princes; the hero donned his hat and coat, replaced his tobacco, and without one backward glance, passed through the portals and was never heard of again.
The enchanted silence was unbroken for some time; then:
"But who was this man, great-great-great-great-great-great grandpa?"
The tale weaver, profoundly submerged in pleasant reverie, was reluctant to answer
at once. Almost unaware of the presence of two auditors, the superannuated crony
half arose from his chair, looked out into the dim past, and striking his hollow chest
with a withered hand, cried out,
"I! I am the man!" Boom! Boom!
The sky-scrapers for miles around were jarred by the terrific explosion.
When the three awoke from the shock of the concussion, they were confronted by a
frightening spectacle. There in the center of the room stood a queer sobbing figure
clothed in torn tear-drenched garments of the early Roman style, his head bent, weeping and wailing and gnashing his teeth. The oddity of this appalling sight was heightened by the fact that in one hand the ghost carried an enormous loving-cup.
Without a word but with his heart-rending shrieks filling the chamber, he moved
slowly to the gaping, palsied yarn-spinner. He offered the silver goblet; the centenarian took it with a trembling hand. His duty done, Ananias disappeared.
A new King was crowned!
William Conway '26.
Page 196
Date
1923
Rights
St. Ambrose University, 518 W. Locust St., Davenport, IA 52803
Identifier
http://cdm16810.contentdm.oclc.org/cdm/ref/collection/p16810coll2/id/7807