Bethel High School - Key Yearbook (Bethel, NC)

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That night in my box I again looked upon my friend ' s face for the first time in ' ten years. She had grown into a mature and beautiful woman, and as she placed the violin in position i realized that her air castles in the old days had not been in vain, as she with her violin brought the tears to thousands of eyes that night. After the close of the concert I realized that it was raining and as I hesitated for just a moment in the door, I was rudely jostled by a man with his slout wife and family, and gazing with wrath in my eyes, I realized I was looking into the eyes of none other than James Clarence Whitehurst, the president of our class in high school. After we had greeted each other he in- troduced me to his wife. They urged me to spend the night With them, and told me that I might have the privilege of shar- ing again the room with Miss Whitehurst, as she was to stay in their home that night. The temptation was great, so I went. That night in Clarence ' s home, which was situated on the broad banks of the Hudson, he told us how, after leaving college, he l;ad seen that his only talent, interior decorating, should be ' de- veloped, so he immediately went to Paris. After ten years he had come back to America and society drew him into her em- brace. When new homes were built, none other than he must decorate them and after a few years he was able to retire from active business with a fortune. The next morning twelve o ' clock found me again at my ho- tel, and I, being dressed for my journey, decided to look over some old letters. After reading a few I came across one address- ed in the unforgettable handwriting of Robert Burroughs I opened it with curiosity, as its date was perhaps six months old. rt was as follows: ' Dear Frank: • ' Oh boy! I ' ve got it now. To think that I have at last in- vented the thing of my dreams. I have planned it for years dreamed about it, and now that I am about to finish it, I cannot imd the one necessary screw for its completion. I have hunt-

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PROPHECY OF SENIOR CLASS (By Francis Smith) Late, late, so late! How tired I am tonight! That math is terrible and that prophecy of the senior class to write and only three days to fin- ish it — but I can ' t do it tonight if the world never does hear the future of all the cranks, giants and idiots in this class. But, with a duty staring me in the face, I again dig away at the problem. But soon, when everybody else is sleeping, I too, am carried away into dreamland, where geometry has no dominion. It was sweet there. But, by and by, I saw a large crowd going to our old high school building. I inquired the reason and was told that it was a class reunion. The class of ' 21 had come back. Years and years had elapsed since our graduation. We had filled our place in life and now, after the aged grandsire. Time, had touched our lives not lightly, we itgain turned to the school where v c received our first diplomas. A large crowd had assembled to do us honor. Clarence Whitehurst presided over the class as he did in ' 21, and as he sat in his chair we noticed that his form was stooped and his raven locks had turned to silver. And he, as class poet, rose and read in- a cracked and screaky voice the poem he wrote while a senior. It then became my duty to; give the prophecy of the class as 1 had done many years before. As I dipped into the future far as human eyes could see — I beheld in every walk of life the class of ' 21 taking the lead. First, while walking down Broadway in New York City, I heard the loud cry of the newsboy, ' Extra! Extra! Great fid- d ' er just back from Italy. ' From curiosity I purchased a pa- per and on opening it, I found my old class mate ' s face, Nannie Whitehurst, staring at me from the front page. And in big lottois I saw that ' the world renowned violinist was to play at the Hippodrome. '

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ed in China, Japan and over Europe, and in North and South America, but all in vain, for the screw has not been invented, and I cannot be inspired to make the thing. But, here, please pardon me. I have raved on and haven ' t told you what my last invention was, the one which turned my hair gray. It — but how can I utter its sacred name, even to you, an old class mate? But if I must — it is a powder puff run by electrici- ty. Here the porter came for my trunks and I was obliged to delay reading Robert ' s letter until later, but after I had estab- lished myself comfortably on the train, Robert and his prob- lem again occurred to me, and I wondered what had become cf his invention and whether the inspiration had come for the much longed for screw. Just then the porter came through the coach and I purchased a paper. After reading the local news of the day I turned to the society column, and there, half asleep, I looked over the weddings, parties, etc., until I sat sud- denly up, wide awake, realizing that another of my old class was embarking upon the sea of matrimony, for the paper an- nounced the marriage of Mr. Robert Burroughs to Miss Helena Hermania Haynes on December the twenty-fifth, nineteen hun- dred and thirty-one. It was December twenty-third and I found myself hurrying tc Happy Valley Mass., to attend the wedding of my old friend. It was midnight and I; being tired, went to sleep. Soon I was awakened by the porter for the purpose of changing trains. Gathering my baggage together and getting off the train, I found that I had missed my connection. Now, this was a problem, as I could not leave Boston, (the place of my change) until the next night. This would mean, of course for me to miss the wedding. While I was still wondering what to do, a train came into the station and I saw a slim blond woman who