Hudson High School - True Blue Yearbook (Hudson, WI)

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: ‘SRUg ’26 ®£.Lig : lately. Why, you have given us the right weather fully twice this week. Don’t you know that you have to keep the public guessing? There, there, don’t cry. Maybe I was a hit harsh, he said, patting Fenton’s hand kindly. “Run along.” “ ) Chumo, you’re the man I wanted to see,” quoth ye editor, as a fair handsome youth wandered in. clouds clinging to his ears and nostrils. “If you must write a ‘Lovelorn Column.’ can't you give the public some good advice? You certainly have had enough exjierience! Now don't try to explain. 1 saw it my- self last night. And that’s not all. I could mention countless cases of poor ad- vice in your column. You’ll have to he more diplomatic, Anderson.” “I’ll try. said the young man, biting his lip in vexation and stamping his foot, “hut I think you’re a horrid, nnan old thing. He burst into tears and ra 11 from the room. The City Editor, Phillip Lein, 'the Sports Editor, Kenneth Coulter, the Ed- itorial riter, Edward Boodv, whose essays on temperance had, by the way, caused much comment, the Fashion Dictator, Frances Hill, and the Advertising Manager, a shrewd writer, Louise Olson by name, all came in and received direc- tions from Mr. Jensen. To each lie gave a kindly smile, a stick of gum, and added the little personal touch (for money) which had helped to make him beloved oy his staff. Next the janitor, Laurie Williamson, came in. opened the vault and took out a little of the precious coal which was entrusted with the happy task of keeping the great pub- lishing company warm and snug all that day. Then with a smile and an “At your service, old chap. the editor put on his moustache, rouged his lips carefully, and smeared them a little with his plug of tobacco. Arm in arm. the great men walked out of the office, their little secret lying close to their hearts. The fate of a Nation depended on them that day and only in their great and unselfish accom- plishment of duty could this frightful catastrophe, which had bowed the hearts of a nation, hope to he solved. PART II A teadv stream of cars rolled up the broad main avenue of the metropolis of X(-rthline. On the busiest corner stood a majestic figure, calm and serene, directing the forces of traffic by a lordly wave of his hand. For eight hours each day the big Irish cop, Nolan Jacobson, was a ruler; after that, he was ruled by his wife, the former grand opera singer, Ann Marson. The officer, just now seemed disturbed about something. “ There's somethin' doin' in this ole town today,” said Nolan to a little boot- bhek who was shivering at his shoulder. “I declare. Hank Jensen, thev's some- thin' up. Thev’s somethin' in the very air that----Hello! What’s that! Tying traffic into marvelousknots and tangles, by a mere order to “Hold Traffic, Jacobson sprinted up to the curb, where a truck was smashed up against a hydrant. A crowd gathered hastily as an inert form was perceived on the pave- ment, hut parted respectfully as the tall form of Editor Jensen shouldered through the throng and knelt by the wounded woman. Jensen gasped in horror. “Great Guns. Officer, do you know who this is? It’s Aileen Fitzgerald, leader of the great Pickpocket Gang.” The policeman bent over and studied the features of the dying woman intently. She stirred slightly; her lips moved. “Hudson--------Wisconsin-------gum factory--------I’m sorry .. . . Peg Lundeen-------insisted------kidnapping-------them.” Her voice faded; her head dropped back; her soul winged its way through the limit.ess blue, up up to the stars. Who knows what reward was given her above—or below?

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mue ’26 meus= GUMMING THE WORKS I). T's in four forts and a cowlick. With apologies to Bill Shakespeare. Jack Milton, the King's English and the readers, if any. The great editor sat at his desk, thoughtfully gnawing at his forelock. He seimed to he a man of tremendous force and vitality, truly a leader of men. Suddenly he turned off his thinker and plunged into business, doing things which no ordinary man would even attempt. The top of his desk was completely covered with buttons and telephones, which he proceeded to press and answer, respectively. His secretary, a petite blonde, entered and demurely seated herself. He tossed off a letter to her between conversations carried on over three telephones. Then, giving her one of his rare, sweet smiles, he nodded and said : “That'll he all. Miss Hellweg. Did you remember to wear your rubbers this morning ?” Touched by this tender thoughtfulness for her welfare, the little secretary tipped over his desk and two chairs as she danced oir of the room and collided sharply with a burly young man who was rushing to Editor Jensen “Lor' Chief, he gas| ed. “I've got the biggest scoop of the year for you if we can only solve the mystery.” He paused impressively. Monsieur Robert Turner and his wife, Marjorie Hughes, have disappeared without leaving a trace. The police are completely baffled-’’ Jensen leaped to his feet, huge gobs of excitement plastered all over his face. “You don’t mean ‘Turner and Hughes,’ Hie great ‘Collegiate dancers!’ ’’ He gasped several gasps. The rejxirter, Joe See, nodded. “Yes, Ole, that’s just what I do mean and if we can find out where they are and the cause of their disappearance, all your worries about the ‘Northline Courier’ are over.” “But how can we possibly do what the police have failed in? You’re the only good man we have left, said the editor despondently. “I have a plan, said See, leaning over and whispering in his chief’s shell pink ear. Again Jenson leaped to the number twelves and pounded his desk, which leaped to its feet, quivered for a moment like a startled faun and then ran and cow- ered against the wall. “I swear, Joe, I believe you’ve hit it. But for appearances’ sake I'll send out a bunch of mv men on the case while you and I carry out your little plan. Tlvrn, if we should fail—” So saying, he prodded a few more buttons, and a thin stream of reporters began to ooze in from the Reportorial Hall where they had been indulging in an ex- citing game of Tiddly-Winks. One by one, they sauntered up to the desk, their derbies cocked, to receive orders, slyly stealing the chief’s cigars out of his pocket as the}' waited. “You, Robbins, take the north and west ] arts of town, and you, Miss Fill- back. take the south and east. Turner and Hughes must be found. Remember the grrat Collegiate Marathon comes off a week from today, so scottr the town for them. ” Editor Jensen turned to See. “I'll be with you as soon as I’ve seen the heads of my departments. Then we’ll come to the bottom of this or die in the attempt.” So saying he selected a few more buttons and punched them gleefully. Presently the door opened and the Weather Man came in, tripping and stumbling over his long white beard. “Now James,” said the editor, “you know your department has been poor

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; mu e’26 wri The policeman was questioning the truck driver. “Your name? Mar- garet Muckenhirn. And address? Appear at the Central Police station at ten in the morning? C’mon, be a sport. 1 gotta make a li'l arrest 'today, or the Chief’ll can me.’’ An ambulance clanged up and bore the lifeless remains of the great crook away, while the crowd stood sorrowful, with bowed heads, until the last bit of Aileen was removed with a blotter. Gradually then they separated and returned to their homes. Traffic assumed a normal aspect once more. The incident ap- peared to be forgotten, but ah—was it forgotten? Was there no one in that vast throng to heed the dying words and act on them ? Yes, Sweet Perusor, you have guessed aright. The great editor and his nosey helper were already putting four and four together and getting—none of your business what. PART III I he cafe was crowded. The crowd overflowed the balconies and seethed outside on the sidewalk- A hush of expectancy hung over all. for was not this the night of the Collegiate Dance Marathon, when the skill fnllest steppers in the world would hoof it for the championship and a million of cold rubles? But, ah, was there not, also, a little murmur of anxiety—almost of apprehension—here and there a few spectators gathered into a knot to talk in lowered voices. What caused this worry ? Echo answers ! “Hughes and Turner have not yet appeared. Fortunes have been laid u]x n them by their earnest backers.” Bur on with the dance! Just try- and postjxme it! The tantalizing, toe-teasing, crooning “Blue’ writhed out into the warm air of the cafe. The tenuous strains rose higher and higher. Stewart Mc- Master, the leader, twisted himself into impossible contortions to extract the last iota of rhythm out of bis swaying orchestra. The lights were dimmed to a murky thickness, and a slim pencil of radiance was focussed on a drawn curtain. '} le curtains parted. I wo figures drifted onto the gleaming dance floor, bend- ing, swaying, melting into one, then breaking apart to perform impossibilities of kicking and shuddering marvel. A storm of applause rocked the house. Cries of “Flattum and Fyksen,” “We want Carl’ and Alma” were heard. Gradually the noise died. A second couple glided out. They were Imogene Miller and Daniel Pedersen, two of the most famous terpsichorean artists of the day. Again pandemonium broke loose. A third couple appeared. And a fourth All of them marvelous dancers, but the crowd was still not satisfied. Where were Hughes and Turner? A thin-faced man appeared at a side door and beckoned to a passing wait- ress. “My name’s Dedrick, private detective for the ‘North’ine Courier.’ ” he said. “1 want you to get me a table and save it for Turner and Hughes, They’re coming, see!” He slipjied a coin into her palm. The girl, a quick Tittle thing named Viola Waxon, nodded and turned away. A strange request, but she received many of them. So Turner and Hughes were coming, but would they be in time? The dancers continued to strut their stuff. The current of excitement ran high. At the intermission the three judges, Alta Jacobson, Anna Jensen and Bonita Noreen, were no nearer a decision than before. Mile. Elinor Gillen of Northline cracked her gum with nervousness, much to the delight of the spectat- ors. Governor Helen Becker also showed signs of great excitement. The greatest contest of the ages was on, but the greatest dancers, Hughes and Turner, were not there. What to do?