Ashtabula High School - Dart Yearbook (Ashtabula, OH)

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T II E I) A R T 25 different from the others. Atropos told them the class had organized again and the students realized that this year meant business. They all worked earnestly. Their number was smaller, but still enough to deserve the name of “Juniors' . Some students contributed to the “Dart,” for the class stood high in regard to literary ability. Everyone was shown a little more consideration. Seniors noticed them, even talked with them. Some even came to their first and Junior party. The school weeks went by all too quickly. A few slacked up in their studies after the first semester, but not many were hopless. I he big social idea now was the Junior-Senior Reception. Ah—that night of all nights the Juniors proved they were royal entertainers. Soon Commencement time for the Seniors came. The Junior girls ushered and others decorated the theater-box so tastefully that it satisfied everyone. This night ended up the much dreaded work of the third year, which did not equal its reputation. Just at this time the little boy grew tired of blowing bubbles and threw down his clay pipe. But just a tiny bubble oozed out of the stem of the pipe and with much struggling broke away, floating in the direction of the others. It grew to be a beauty. The colors were wonderful and yet mysterious. All three goddesses gathered around it. Instinctively they knew something of the unusual could be seen in this one. They saw that the class of 16 was diminished. 1 his year was their last one. But it was a good year. So much depended on them. I heir literary society must be the very best. 1 hey were watched closely by Freshmen who were awed. They were the least of the Sophomore’s troubles and the only stone in the path of the Juniors. Prominent lecturers talked to them. 1 hey did not have much time for social affairs, so much outside work was brought in. I heir debating team was organized with a good reputation to back them, for had they not won from the Seniors of last year’s class? The Clytean Club met and arranged splendid programs. The Senior boys starred in athletics. But after January there was a slight tendency to fall below the usual standard of work, but everyone had his warning. Several times the Seniors lost their dignity; for instance on “class day, everyone wore the class colors in the most outrageous manner, with a view to attracting attention, which was most speedily accomplished. W hen the first of April came, it brought the delightful task of moving into the new building. Now the goddesses pressed more closely to this magic mirror. They admired the graceful lines of this wonderful building and were glad that the class of ’ I 6 would be able to graduate here. Now everything came in a rush. One grand finale and everything was ended. I he Seniors were entertained informally by the Juniors and were given an unique program. The debating teams met with success every place. 1 he Senior play was presented with great excitement on the part of the Seniors. Now the next thing was Commencement, the acme of the four years. All over with now. Yes, 'tis true, but pity tis, tis true. So this last beautiful bubble slowly ascended and danced out on the blue waves closely followed by Lachesis and Clotho. 1 hey both kept Atropos, the inevitable, at her distance, in this way, guarding the fate of the Class of 1916. I alk about being hungry— I was as hungry as a bear. So walking into a dairy lunch, I ate off the arm of a chair. — Widow. Mr. Gibler (at Senior Play rehearsal): Now why can’t you girls laugh? Look down here at me and try it. (Could they laugh? Well you look at him and see if you can help it.) Algebraic equivalent of zero— I was in a pawn broker’s shop the other day, and altho it was crowded with fellow beings, a wave of unalterable loan someness seemed to overtake • • me.

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24 T H E I) A R T i ISiatnrn nf Class of HUfi ) MARJORIE B. STAPLETON =3 no □C u fr= y= HE varnished soap bubbles the little boy was blowing were pretty things. Smooth and light they were wafted up and up until the force of the strong north wind caused them to collapse. The Destinies, wandering down the beach this sunny morning, were bored. For the last two or three days they had nothing to do that was interesting. It was the same old thing over and over. Clotho proposed sitting down in the sand, for lack of anything to do. So the three Daughters of night sat down, Atropos flinging down her sun-dial petulantly. A bubble of wondrous colors floated around the bank which separated them from the small boy. In amazement they gazed at this pretty thing. Nothing so dainty, so elusive had ever crossed their path. Eagerly Clotho sprang up to grasp it, but with a gentle click, it vanished. She was just about to reach for a second one, when a quick cry from Lachesis interrupted her. She pointed with her staff to this bright green sphere, and eyes opened wide at what she saw. Lightly touching it with her staff, she revolved it slowly, smiling as different things appealed to her sense of humor. The other two goddesses listened to her tale. 1 see groups of funny boys and girls standing near a long, red building. How queer they act. Ho! Ho! See the little man with the big glasses! He is leading them in. Such confusion, as there is in that building, I never saw before. Nobody pays any attention to them, but you couldn’t tell them that. After a time Lachesis’ interest decreased. Everything was going smoothly now. She had caught the name of these small people. ‘‘Freshmen’’ is what they call them, she told the goddesses. “They speak of them with contempt ”—perplexedly, “I wonder why?’’ They are bright little things. Now Lachesis did not know that the brightness was only skin deep and of a greenish hue. From time to time she reported doings of the Freshmen to the other goddesses. She worried a good deal over their terrible mid-year exams, and anxiously counted the failures. The bubble did not expand much and gradually the green tint faded. Unexpectedly it vanished. But with a little chuckle of delight Clotho pounced on another one. The coloring was rather somber. These little people were to be seen, a little older, not much wiser. Nothing exciting happened, they were still squelched but dignified looking people. As soon as the class organized, they came more to the front. Their first party was a great success, given at the home of a student who lived in the country. It is said these Sophomores had unusually good literary programs. Everyone was pretty studious and their representation on the honor roll was good. Then after Christmas they arranged for another party. What person will forget that ride home? Who does not yet hear the excited shrieks of the girls when the hugh sleigh tipped clear over? I hat parly was really the best one any class ever had. After this, events were few and far between. In June this second year ended. Some flunked! However, this element is always to be found, and in the long run it looked as if this class had a good future. Much to the apprehension of the goddesses the third bubble fell to the lot of Atropos, the inevitable. But she began most unconcernedly to relate what she saw, just as if the other Destinies did not fear her instrumer.t for cutting the thread of life. I his bubble was not much

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26 THE DART It is twilight. The shades ol evening are softly stealing thru the sky, and with them come tender recollections up the vista ol my years. The evening of my life is near at hand, and my thoughts are with the past—what a happy, fruitful past it has been! I have lived to see the things at which I scoffed come true; to see the youthful jests or aims become realized ambitions. But w ait—I shall light the reading lamp and thru the medium of faithfully recorded events, take you back over some of the happiest events. I think that of my early days I’ll choose the day of our Senior picnic to tell of first. 1 he day was an ideal June day, one of those hazy lazy, brilliant days, the brassy sunshine penetrating even leafy woods. We were romping thru the woods like Indians let loose, when someone discovered a spring, and close beside it a heap of wood that later proved to be the abode of a gypsy fortune-teller. Our noisy approach brought her eagerly to the door, and she was soon among us, asking if w-e want know what goin’ happen to us. We laughed and joked a while but before long some of the more curious gave in, and she was busy at her task and we quieted, for suddenly her words became significant and precious. F irst, she chose John, and, peering intently at his palm and face, she said, I see a tall, gaunt President, a man greatly loved by all his people; they call him Old Abe; you have his attributes and will follow in his footsteps, your career guarded over by an auburn-haired wife whose ambitions know no bounds. 1 hen to Clifton: A group of men they call a ‘Cabinet’; you are Secretary of the War Department, but your aim is Peace; and to Jane, A busy newspaper office, reporters, workers, rushing to ar.d fro at your command. Here Homer’s impatience demanded the gypsy’s attention, and she turned to him; The oilfields have been productive; you are known as Oil King;” to Marguerite Klumph, For you a work you love, a bright and busy kindergarten. Fay Sweet’s turn came next: “A surgeon of the highest possible acclaim, a name written large in the mind of the Future, and to Bernard: “And yours that of a psychologist of world-wide fame. Here Frank Eddy interrupted and she looked at him and spoke in dubious fashion: “Before you stretches a perilous race course, but your title, ‘Daredevil Racer’, has not been applied in vain.” Howard Nazor, her next objective, received her ultimatum with eagerness, You’ll hold a seat in the Supreme Court of your nation; your counseling is wise and good; “and you, to Marguerite, for you I see a gray-walled cloister in France, across the sea; the name of Mother Superior Elise is known afar. Then Tony caught her eye: Your mission takes you back, a diplomat to your own beloved land, and she swung on Clara: Your career reaches its zenith in the place of Dean at Bryn Mawr College; passing on to Edith Aunger: Your place upon her faculty is professor of German. Your name, pausing at Mabel, is blazoned on the theatres, ‘premiere danseuse’. Then picking up Lina’s hands, she exclaimed, I or such capable hands, only a name as surgical nurse could serve to hold their never dying reputation. Lola’s amused beam interrupted her there, and she told her, with a suspicious glare, Your way lies over hidden roads, as an Writ. tljiji b thr mb of a prrfrrt bag; iElir rub of a toururg. too,'