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Page 22 text:
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Every article looks expectant, but most anxious of all to be freed are the two young ladies imprisoned in the prune whip: Esther Jensen and Bertha Thoma. There is the irresponsible spaghetti—now you have it and now you haven't it— Wilma Eikenbary. Ralph Sorenson blossoms forth from the half baked sweet potatoes: Raymond Turpin from the meek, submissive lamb; and Aage Johnsen from the apple sauce and Mae Coss from the goose. She knows even before the key touches them that Marry Copeland is goiijg to be the pickle, and Daniel Kjeldgaard the mutton. In the same way she knows that Gapen Dean is locked in the potatoes, and Adna Forrest in a dinner plate. The pickled crabapple frowns: she unlocks it next: Frank Pitkin. A little shrimp rises in surprise. From it the key releases Donald Richard. Now Miss Bleasdale sees the salad—oh. it’s enticing salad. There are nuts, and jello. and oranges, a touch of lemon, peaches, raspberries. Helen Potter is the peach. The date that tops the cream is Willard Richard. There are wafers to go with the salad. Vera Malchow is freed from the gayest “sweet cookie” of the lot. Nothing remains except the cake, the duck and the clam. That wasn't the order of serving them but that is the order of unlocking them. The angry little dwarf thought Florence Pifer reticent enough to be sealed in the clam. Elva Raichart agreeable enough to be a duck, and Elmore Fries sweet enough to be the icing on the cake. Miss Bleasdale and her party must have food; the key must be returned; the dwarf must be appeased. We know you don’t believe us but if you’ll come back again some day we ll try to tell a better one. When the game is on and your friends shout. And you could put your rival out Bv a trick that’s mean, but wouldn’t be seen: COME CLEAN, my lad. COME CLEAN! When exams are called and you want to pass, And you know that you could lead your class, But the plan’s not square—you know it’s mean : COME CLEAN, my lad, COME CLEAN! With the boss away you’ve a chance to shirk. Not lose your pay—not have to work; He’ll neither fire you nor vent his spleen ; COME CLEAN, my lad, COME CLEAN! For a home awaits, and a girl that’s true. And Church and State have need of you, Thev must have your best—on you thev lean; COME CLEAN, my lad. COME CLEAN! Selected f is |
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Page 21 text:
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I, Danial Kjeldgaard, do bequeath my constant questions to Lucile McMurray, who can probably answer them. I. Vera Hagler, do will the brevity of my skirts to Lucile Watson. I. Elmer Cross, do will my little red car to Frank Pitkin, who will probably know what to do with it. I, Wilma Eikenbary, do bequeath my inclination to get excited to Harold Wetzbarger that he may quicken his pace a bit. I, Richard Laugensen, do will my audacity to Chester Myers that he may overcome his reserve with the girls of League towns. I. Elva Raichart. do bequeath my Spanish vocabulary to any Junior girl that she may employ it when English can't express her pent-up fury. I. Esther Jensen, do will my idea that silence is golden to Josephine Sorenson. I, Aage Johnsen, do bequeath to Ruth Hutcheson my magazines that she too may learn to read and love good literature. I, Bernice Day, do gladly will my red hair to Marie Honebein that next year’s Seniors may have a guiding light. I. Raymond Turpin, do will my good behavior to “Christie that he may be a gentleman when he grows up. Closed, signed, subscribed and sealed this twenty-ninth day of May, nineteen hundred and twentv-five. (Signed) THE SENIOR CLASS. Senior Qlass Prophecy By Theresa Lewis It is 1930. Five years these Seniors have been out of school. For five years there have been auto rides, cokes and malted milks, and crap games to complete the downfall of the young folks. About the auto rides and the crap games the Stomach Dwarf, who has to work every time a Senior eats, doesn’t care, but about the constant eating—that’s different. Now he gives them aches and pains. Now he gives them throbbing beads, now he makes a girl too plump, but no—they eat. and eat. and eat. The Stomach Dwarf gets angry because he has to work so hard, so he gets a little key, and in the soft, rosy light of dawn, he changes some of the Seniors to food, the rest to silver, to dishes, or to table ornaments, and locks them there for the niftiest restaurant in town. Miss Bleasdale and a party of friends go to that restaruant, ravenously hungry. They order—oh, a sumptuous and remarkable dinner. It looks tempting, delicious. As Miss Bleasdale moves the silver, just ready to eat, a fork strikes the water glass. It vibrates: she hears words; she listens. Do not eat these tempting morsels. They are not food. They are old friends of yours. Somewhere in town you will find the dwarf who put us here. He has a tiny key. If you can get it. you can release us.” ’Tis Allan’s voice. So. still hungry, but too merciful not to do as she has been asked. Miss Bleasdale goes on the search for the tiny dwarf and his key. The flowers on the table are drooping, the butter is melting, and the cream nearly sours. Hours pass. Then she comes and lo, she brings the key! First she turns it in the heart of the modest violets in the bowl on the table. They tremble, and lo! Dorothy Acre steps forth. The slick little announcement card, that looks so perky in the center of the table, reveals Genevieve Giaque. From the fish Elmer Cross is released. She unlocks a bowl of salad made chiefly of hard boiled eggs. There are two of them: Florence Dean and Bernice Day. Miss Bleasdale now turns the key in the butter: Hubert Madsen; and in the cheese: George Gibbs. [17]
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