Central Middle School - Ceejay Yearbook (Kansas City, MO)

Page 93 text:

f'X I IlgllillliilliillISIIEIQIESSEIQQIHIEISIEEIM- K! pert surgeon and I was not capable of doing so until too late in life. I wish my nephew to be a living example to the world of what I would have liked to be. Relatives crowded around to congratulate him but Gregory was still in a half- trance. Finally he collected his wits sufficiently to inquire when the Will was to go into effect, to which the lawyer replied, At once . Later the old silver-haired lawyer placed his hand on the boy's shoulder and said, My son, you are now a millionaire, without labor on your part. Your uncle was a wise, though eccentric man. He wanted you to make a success of yourself with the aid of things which he :acl not have in his youth, so please, for the sake of him, and for me, his best friend, do it! Five years later Gregory was firmly installed in the house of his uncle, but now it was one of the 'ishow-places of the city. Huge fire-places, warm red draperies, thick Persian rugs and heavy over-stuffed furniture made it a home of beauty. It was a night of joy in the big house. Young Mr. Gregory was bringing home The most wonderful girl in the world. The doors of the drawing room opened and the young couple walked into the softly lighted room. Gregory looked into the small piquant face of his bride with adoring eyes. Her hair beneath the small fur turban was indeed black, black as night. She was his ideal. He was telling her of the visit to the fortune teller five years before, and how she had said he would marry a blonde. When he reached this part he did not notice the girl had removed her hat and with busy lingers was pulling hairpins from her long black hair. VVhen he looked up at her again he cried: Marjorie, what have you done? The girl's hair was a golden blonde and in her hands she held the brunette transformation which told the story. flhe Seashell RUTH TITTERINGTON, '25 First Prize Second Year Poem I love to listen to the song the seashell sings to me, Of roaring waters, murmuring waves. or of a peaceful sea. Perhaps it tells of a sunken ship containing wealth untold, Describes those robbers of the sea, The bloody pirates bold. Perhaps it might, if we could hear, be willing to confide What makes the shining crystal caves in which the mermaids hide. Or why the seaweeds are not like the flowers that we see, And, oh, so many secrets could that seashell tell to me, If I but had the ear to hear them all and understand, But that is not for such as we who live upon the land. 4 I n naswana:ue:eszaxsa:emumansal:ana:1Q2Ieuanz:sizes1uaeiesaiiasss:aiezazaesssss::aa.mai.aiia.::a:s1:asa::s:aa:s: '1 Page Seventy nzne

Page 92 text:

mnql, lISHS!llEERE!!IFS!IHIQIEEBEEHIEEIIIQIEHIIF- I Cldlonde or Clgrunette MYRTLE ARNETTE, '27 First Prize Sophomore Story The old, wrinkled, gray haired woman in her soiled, unkempt dress, shuffled the dingy, sticky playing cards and laid them down, chanting all the time, to the great discomfort of the nervous, immaculate young man sitting opposite. You will marry a fair haired, light-complexioned girl, whose Christian name be- gins with the initial UM . You will achieve success as a doctor. tHe had already told her he was a real estate agent.J You will live to be old and will be prominent in social circles. You will be wealthy early in life, Qhe had 328.75 in the bankj and you will make your home in the East. The fortune-teller rose and this ended the reading. The young man laughed to himself as he walked briskly from the tiny, ancient house. The absurdity of her statements, to him, was evident. He was twenty-three years old with no money for a medical education so that prophecy was taboo , but the other thing that she said f that he would marry a blonde was indeed the silliest remark N s '- imaginable for he detested blondes and only a long-haired, olive complexioned brunette could capture his heart. He ' , ' proceeded on his way to the Southwest Realty Company. lm. if QP' E, l 4 Llllvli Q few f 1 V Q f f x X When he entered the oilice he was greeted with guffaws . lx , x X 3 Hal Ha! Gregory has been to hear his future. How X i w wn..gg..m.... Mama was it, old man? Did she tell you that you were the future XXX , j President? The speaker, a short, fat man with an unnat- W f all Z X X l f QN urally large, bald head, slapped Gregory on the back and 70,1 addressed the ofiice force again. Come one, come all, here ,a f it V , of 3 is a man who needs not fear the future. He knows it.', ff 'lk Laughter greeted the joker's remarks from all but the un- comfortable Gregory. A sheepish grin finally spread over his features but he said nothing. About a month after this, the postman left a letter addressed to George Wainscot Gregory from a well known law firm of the East. It told of the sudden death of his bachelor uncle and called him to the reading of the W'ill. He was not excited, though the uncle had died a very wealthy man, for he had never been associated with him and if he received anything it would only be a small sum acknowledging the relationship. He left the next day for his uncle's city. It was the first time he had ever visited at his uncle's home and he found it to be a large, cold, brown stone building that re- sembled a public library more than a home. Most of his relatives had arrived before he had. A few maiden aunts were sniffing at white handkerchiefs edged with black, a second cousin or two had arrived as well as several nephews and nieces of his father's younger brother. Dinner was served to the relatives and then the Will was read in the dreary, musty drawing room. Gregory found himself yawning at times during the reading. It was as he expected, the uncle was leaving each member of the Gregory family a certain small amount. He supposed the bulk of the estate would go to the city to build a museum or an addition to some library. Suddenly he became alert. And to my oldest nephew, George Gregory,I bequeath the remainder of my estate, provided he live in my home, and become a physician, graduated from the Medical University of this city. I say this because it was my life's ambition to become an ex- 4 ' ' lil -,Z - ese vm pa IIEil!!iH?EIIllglliillillililliiifiil IIIEIliEIli!IEEIEliQi!!iiiESII3iEllI235535211595E2IIIEEEI!5iIiiliiliiHiliiiilliiliiflll Page Sevenly-eight

Page 94 text:

. 229,555 .N I '...s- I cvfln Encounter JAMES MUZZY. '26 ' First Prize First Year Poem A shapeless hulk in the water And battered wreck in the night Is all that is left of The Bulldog, The ship that had lost in the fight. Her men are all dead or wounded: Her colors torn from the mast: The colors of proud Old England Are down from on high at last. The fight was hard and tiresome. It had raged the whole day long. They knew not who, at nightfall Would sing the victor's song. And then there came a maneuverg By the Yankees it was staged. They drew up their ship alongside, And a hand-to-hand battle was waged. Suddenly, there started a panic. Some one in the crowd had yelled The magazine's fired! To the ship for your lives! If you tarry you'll all be killed! The sailors all scrambled aboard their ship They hoisted their sail with a reel. Ropes were thrown offg cables were cut, And the helmsman threw over the wheel. The laurels have gone to the victor She sailed away in pride To be met on the shores of the U. S. A. With shouts of, t'Hurrah for the Clyde . 1 IIEiIllEH52IIEiIZZIEESIQIRIIEEE!!HIE!IIEIIESH5313HERE!IEEiigI!EiEillS!lI!IEE3IH555552252ElEii!55IiEEiii'Si 'nur u Q Page Eighty