Atwood Hammond High School - Post Yearbook (Atwood, IL)

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tell you what I know of the others.'’ So the old time John climbed in and while we were on our way to John's factory on Michigan avenue, he told me about John Livengood and the rest of the old Atwood High School class of 1910. John Livengood, whom we all knew as a shark in school, according to rumor, is the wealthiest manufacturer of autos in the world. Only last year the sales of his factory ran up to fifteen millions. King Edward himself rides in one of John’s special makes. I was much delighted to know how successful all of (he class had been, but I knew (hat such a wonderful class could not be anything but successful. Why events in their High School career were even pointing to their destiny. See how fortunate Maude Blackwell and Fred B. Romine were in the High School Post, how Bernice Barber was showing his leadership as President of tin class, and how Geneva was fighting for her sex and all the rest. John was busy with a customer when we drove into the factory, but when he sighted us, money seemed of no object with him, for he dropped everything and came on the run. With one bound he was in the car and wringing our hands. Tears came into his eyes with the meeting of the old class mates and, after his enthusiastic greet ing, he told us some very pleasant news. “Don’t you know,” he said, “that Senator Barber four Bernice) the Fnited States Senator from this State just telephoned and said, That his wife, Golda----’ ‘Golda!’ we both ex- claimed, ‘not our Golda?’ Sure our Golda of A. II. S. ’10,” he resumed “Didn’t you know that Mrs. Barber the society leader of Washington of whom you read so much in the papers is our Golda? Senator Barber and his wife wanted me to come out for six o’clock dinner this evening. He said they had some friends they wanted me to meet, and in fact it was to be a kind of a surprise party. I don’t know who tiie people are to be except an Eastern Suffragette leader, and an Editor and wife of ‘some Evening Post.’ ‘Best magazine on earth.’ Now if he is planning a surprise on me why can’t 1 take one to him.” He ended by saying, “Driver, this car is at the service of Miss Bobinson and Mr. Van Vleet until it is dismissed. I will see you ai the Senator’s dinner.” That evening! I never spent one like it, and it is one I shall never forgot There on tin steps of the Barber mansion were drawn up in regular military phalanx, the Barber’s and familv, the Magazine people and in the rear the Suffragette leader. But who they werel That was the surprise. T’was a good thing John Livengood had warned us. Mr. Bernice Barber and Mrs. Golda Long Barber, Mr. Fred B. Itomine and Mrs. Maude Blackwell Routine, and Pearl Geneva Gross. The nervous Maude broke the silence of the awe-stricken crowd with. “Well, Dorothy Marie Robinson, what are you doing here? I thought you were abroad.” Geneva, however, was more pious and sedate and seemed more dignified. The hard work that she had endured and the many defeats she had undergone, had made quite a change on the once lively Geneva. She seemed as bad as David Warfield, a monomaniac on her profession, only the work of the woman suffragette movement seemed to be on her mind. Before she uttered a single word of welcome, she enthusiastically exclaimed, “If my life work is a failure. I will have the satisfaction of knowing that I have lived up to my convictions.” Then she broke out of her mood and became more like herself. She said, “Marie, do you realize that with your coming, the entire Atwood High School class of 1910 is here.” Hurrah for the reunion and such a reunion as we had. During the evening we learned all about each other. Maude told me how the High School

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CLASS PROPHECY. MARIE ROBINSON. ’10. “The taxicab is waiting, Mistress.” “Very well, Jane, tell the chauffeur that I will he there in just a minute.” 1 hurried as I did not wish to miss a single number of the recital. It was the chance of a lifetime. Both Bispham and Madame Shumann-1 Ieink were to sing in a joint recital at the Auditorium tonight. As I was a great admirer of each of them, 1 was bubbling all over with enthusiasm and eager for the chance of hearing them again. The machine that had been sent tor me was one of the most luxuriant I had ever entered. Deep, roomy seats, great soft cushions, and delicate upholster ing and trimmings suggested solid comfort. It really looked as if 1 should have some friend to help me enjoy the pleasure of it all. But no, it looked as if fate had planned it othewise. By the time we were nearing Lincoln Park on Clark Street asphalt, it seemed as if we were fairly sailing through the air. When we were as far down as Wisconsin Street, I brushed tny hand across my face as if to awaken myself. Such a transformation as came with it ft seemed that instead of night that it was as light as dav and that instead ef being in a taxicab. 1 was in a large touring car. I glanced to the sidewalk. But a single man stood on the corner and he seemed to be waiting for the coming car. There was something strangely familiar about the man Somewhere I had seen that face before. I called for the driver to drive the car up near the curbing near the man while I rudelv called to the gentleman that I wished to speak with him. That face undoubtedly belonged to John Van Vleet. Surely be would recognize one of hi4 old classmates before he could reach tin car. That would excuse mv rudeness. But nevertheless he came up to the open door with, “1 beg your pardon, lady, is tlmre anything that 1 can-----. Well, 'pou my soul, if it isn’t Dorothy Marie Robinson of our old Atwood High School class of 1910. Is it possible that all of our old class is getting together, and may soon see each other again?” “Dear old John, 1 can’t understand you. What do you mean? But before you tell me ab: ut the others, you must tell me what ou are doing in the world and why you are here.” “One question at a time, please Marie. Don’t you remember that was your failing at school? You wanted to know e entiling at once. Give me time and I’ll tell you about it all. You ree 1 am in Chicago to the stock and farm show that is held at the Coliseum. T am in the west now running a ranch. We raise cattle, sheep and hogs in the - took line, and fruits, apples, pears,, peaches and some grain and hay by ir legation, if none of your tastes run in that direction, I lur e a big motor car that my friends lur e at their disposal ff I remember you u«ed to like motoring. Rut now for the others.” I cut him short, as eager as I was to hear from the rest of the class, I must congratulate him for his success. “O. John. I’m so g’ad you are getting along so t«ne. I alwavs knew you were interested in farming and thought that vou could make a success of it if vou kept at it. But when vou left old Illinois, after your special agricultural course. I never heard from vou, so I couldn’t tell what vou were doing. But now for the others.” “Don’t vou know,” asked John with a surprised look. “I see you are riding in a machine manufactured by ♦ in John Livengood factory, so I thought perhaps vou knew about the others also. If I may, I will get in the car and we will go around and see if he will not help us look up the rest of the bunch. On the way down I can

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Post had thrown her and Fred B. together and that their after experience had made them think that theirs would be a combination that would be hard to beat. Now their business positions were similar to High School ones. Fred B. manager and Maude editor. “You know we are having a good time along with business. In the next issue we put in Senator Barber’s last speech in the Halls of Con- gress. Next summer we are goiug abroad.” During the dinner, as Mr. Barber was standing at the head of the table as host and toastmaster, he raised his glass to give a toast, and it slipped to the table with a crash. I awoke with a start at the click of the taxicab door. The chauffeur stood there holding it open, saying “Auditorium Miss, three dollars and fifty-eight cents, please.” THE SENIOR’S LAMENT. ) gee whiz, A written quiz, To make me sorrow greatly. 1 fear O! I'll get zero, For T haven’t studied lately. 'Tis done, I’ve won. Though I had to study ’till half past eight in the morning. JOHN LIVENGOOD. '10.