Clearwater High School - Aqua Clara Yearbook (Clearwater, FL)

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R. R. is coming and we want him to put a spur into our town.” ‘‘Who is the President?” I asked. ‘‘The Right Honorable George Johnson, of course!” 1 thought of going to the celebration but to my unspeakable horror I found that I was still in my banquet gown. I looked around to find some place to get suitable attire, but 1 always got my gowns in Paris, so what was 1 to do? Instead of an an- swer to my question I heard the swish, swish of water against the sides of a boat and I was on a great liner entering the port of Liverpool. The captain, how he thundered out his orders and how he managed his ship! But who is the captain? None other than Julian Zimmerman. Then came Paris and the question, ‘‘Where did my agent get my clothes?” As I was strolling down one of the boulevards my eyes fell upon some dainty feminine creations. Slipping into the shop, that, certainly was the most E’lite in Paris, and whom do you suppose I saw? Verna Whittington, as was perfectly natural for she always had a knack of showing clothes ad- vantagiously. Back I went to England where I stopped among well kept grounds and extensive buildings that be- yond a doubt was a school for girls. Passing sev- eral groups of students I heard many remarks of satisfaction and happiness. As I neared the main entrance I was about to reach the conclusion that here was a model school. Upon entering the hall 1 saw printed on one of the office doors the words, ‘‘Miss Mary Shank, President.” I knew then that the school was a model. On into Scotland I went, where I suddenly came upon the grounds of an old castle. Far away across the prfectly kept lawn I saw a couple strol- ling leisurely along. They did not interest me until 1 saw the gentleman quite naturally remove his monacle and it was Waller Smith. Oh, Waller, you have improved greatly in the ease with which you manage your monacle since the days you used to practice so laborously with a piece of twisted wire in study hall! I had wandered far and was standing, admiring the beautiful scenery when some one near me called out, ‘‘Won’t you please move to one side a little? I can’t get a straight line with you standing there.” I moved, and there was Gavin Douglas. He was surveying the old Douglas estate, and he re- told the bit of familiar Scotch history that had taken place on this very spot. What a contrast were those dirty little Chinese streets with the bracing air of Scottish Highlands! XIC XK X

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The Prophecy of the Class of 18 X T WAS in the year 1925 and I was returning from a banquet with a young man who had a fondness for good champagne and speeding. He assured me that for once in his life he had satisfied his love for the first and he intended to satisfy his love for the second immediately. With this he pulled open the throttle and we shot down the long ribbon road that lay white in the light of early morning. Faster, faster, faster — and then — why on earth was that stone wall built so close to the road and on a curve too? Just listen to the roaring and the rumbling and the pounding! But how did 1 happen to get in an iron foundry? This question went unanswered for whom should I see coming in my direction but Ernest Tyler. With a swoop of his high silk hat he made an elaborate bow and kindly said he would take me through his foundry. 1 was on the point of telling Ernest that he had a rather unique establishment when I was inter- rupted by soft music and I found myself in the darkness of a great theatre. The crowd was sitting forward, breathless, literally hanging on every note sung by the great prima donna. As the last notes died away the entire audience rose in a body and shouted its approval. I think I shouted louder than anyone, for 1 had recognized in the great prima donna my old school friend, Treutlen Bailey. Everything was quiet in less than five seconds and I thought this was unusual but as I looked closer I found that I was in a different theatre and at a play instead of grand opera. The name of the great dramatic star was Feroll Moore. When the curtain rose I was both pleased and disappointed. Pleased because I knew the great dramatic star and disappointed that the owner of the flowery name was only the Feroll Moore known to many as “One of the Gold Dust Twins.” How strange! 1 was roaming the one street of a small Western town where all was excitement and hurry. Stopping one of the more leisurely pedestrians I asked if the Indians were making a raid. “No, the President of the great N. S. E. W.

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pile DitC 3IIC IX K= As I was wondering who I could possibly know in China I found a rather extensive mission house, where no great wonder, Victor Logan was having his hands full, doing the great many things that are required of a missionary. Then again came the rocking, rocking of a boat and as 1 opened my eyes in a New York hospital I heard the eminent physician, Robert Boyd say cooly as he turned away, “Oh she’ll pull through alright. Outside of a few broken bones, a smashed head and a general shake up she is O. K. She can stand that easy with the iron constitution she ac- quired while working on the annual staff at C H - S ” MILDRED WYATT, T8. N £xk xk X K X K XK XK XK XK X1C