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Page 68 text:
“Gosh! This is tough,” grunted Bob, and sauntering over to her, “’Lo, Marge.” “Well, you’ve been a wonderful escort; been following that silver snake all evening and haven’t even noticed me.” They rode home in silence. Marge was too furious to speak and Bob was wondering who in the dickens the girl could have been. Why had she left? Where had she gone? Would he see her again? Passing Jane’s door he heard her call, “Have a good time, Bob?” “Rotten enough.” “How do you like Margaret?” “Oh, she’s not so hot. There was one girl there that was a ‘knockout’,” and he began a long account of the silver ballet dancer. You can imagine the expression on Bob’s face when this self-same ballet dancer appeared at the door and softly cooed, “My love for you is like a growing flow’r, that waxes stronger hour by hour.” Mary Fitzhugh, ' 26. [ 64 ]
Page 67 text:
jumped from it. This was one of her friends who was helping her by taking Margaret and she was going with Bob in Margaret’s place. On hearing a honk at the gate, Jane whispered a few words to the Pierrot and hurried down to the car. “Oh! she looks more alluring then ever, the light of my lowly existence,” sighed Bob as he assisted her into the car. She gave him a coy glance, and drawling in imitation of Marge, cooed, “You dreat big booful mans looks so handsome.” When they arrived the floor was already full of clowns, Spanish dancers and weirdly dressed beings that would be hard to class. Whispers were heard from the stag line of, “Who is that?” “What a knockout!” and in a minute all were cutting in on the charming couple. Bob was her devoted slave all evening and inwardly cussed himself for not “discovering” her sooner. Why, she was de- cidely all there from the top of her brown hair to the tip of her tiny foot. Why couldn’t the other fellows let her alone and let him have her to himself? During intermission he took her out on a balcony and started “his stuff,” raving about her beau-t-i-f-u-1 hair and her lovely eyes, and begging forgiveness for his dumbness while she was so worldly-wise and so much above him. During all this she looked indifferent and disdainful. Inwardly she laughed at the sophisticated Bob but couldn’t help but be pleased with all these compliments. Occasionally she would add, “You’ll learn better, dear,” or “You’ve said that to other girls.” Looking at her with soulful eyes he softly quoted: “My love for you is like a growing flow’r, That waxes stronger hour by hour.” Though Jane wanted to squelch that awful brother of hers for this she sighed, kissed him lightly on his cheek and ran into the house. When he went back into the room they were beginning to unmask, but there was no sign of the ballet dancer. You can imagine Bob Roth’s surprise on discovering that the little ballet dancer in pink was Margaret Barham to whom he had paid no attention. [ 63 ]
Page 69 text:
ESSAY ON IMAGINATION Imagination is that part of the mind divided apart from intuition, memory and reason. Like intuition it is given par- tially, unlike memory it requires no former occurrence for exist- ence, and like reason, can be developed for both pleasure and necessity. Like most all else, imagination has its advantages and disadvantages. Taken separately perhaps the former over- balances the latter. As a divine gift to poets it has given men pleasure and recreation through its wondrous power of beauty conception or beauty beyond ordinary conception. As an in- centive to explorers it has lead them on to lands before unseen by man. As a hope to inventors it has given us both comfort and convenience. As an instigator to liberators it has produced freedom, and as result of its combination with reason success has followed. To weakened minds it has brought visions of empire, conquest and self glorification, which in reality means downfall. To idealists it has brought dreams which unhappily ended in disappointment. To suspicion it has added misunder- standing, anger and hate. Its combination with evil results in crime. Balance the good with the bad and most assuredly the result is favorable for the former. Question yourself, where would be music, art, literature, comfort and achievement without their brother “imagination.” Margaret Ewing Dyer, ’26. [ 65 ]
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