Chico High School - Caduceus Yearbook (Chico, CA)

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Page Twenty CADUCEUS, CHICO

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El'b'6E AAAf'ud A A ' N M' F Page'NineteeH

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CADUCEUS, CHICO Page Twenty-one SENIOR CLASS PROPHECY ' THE breath of spring-time filled the air with the sweet scent of growing grass and flowers, the aroma of moist earth, and ,251 t,l.f-M , I the breath of forest pines, the bright spring sun hung it IQ is lazily midway across the great unbroken blue of the sky, as far as the eye could reach stretched pine-covered hills sloping gently down to be mirrored in the clear calm waters 51 'lfgysfswl of the crystal mountain lake at their foot. I lay upon a soft carpet of fallen needles from a pine, whose moss-covered roots formed my pillow. Surely this was an enchanted spot, and how long I lay looking out over the scene before me I do not know, but I slept, and the, future opened before me. I lived and saw what is to be. And in this way my vision of your lives twenty years hence began. I awoke in a berth on a trans-continental train and after dressing wan- dered through the train to the smoker, where I sat down to watch leisurely the fragrant smoke of a good cigar drift upward, and to await the call to the diner, which eventually came. Upon entering the dining car, I hesitated, as the tables were fast filling, and not wishing to intrude I awaited the steward, who placed me at a table with three women whose appearance was less modish than severe. While awaiting my fruit I took occasion to observe my table companions, and imagine my surprise when I recognized in them my old schoolmates, Doris Watts, Catherine Hurtle, and Vera Ann Nash. They were on their way to St. Louis as Western delegates to the Anti-Man convention, where they said a resolution was to be drawn prohibiting men from everything but work in order that woman might come into her own rights and take the place in life intended for her. Man! I lost my appetite from just listening to those ladies rave, and I beat a hasty retreat while still entitled to wear my trousers. I dropt off that train at Salt Lake for a brief period of relaxation, took a taxi and recognized in the driver the lady speed-demon, Helen Krikac, whom I asked to name the best hotel. Helen replied that The Fleece was by far the best, and added that it was owned by Frank Streeter, who used to go to Chico High with us, but was now the social lion of that Mor- mon city. Well, I went to Frank's hotel and when I paid the bill later I realized that The Fleece was appropriately named. That evening I thought I would take in a show and walked down the Broadway of Salt Lake City until my eye was arrested by a blazing line, Euland Payne Now Playing, The Greatest Hobo-Comedian of the Age. I walked no farther than the box office, and darned if I didn't buy my ticket from Helena Adams. She said she had been passing out the paste- boards there for three years. She had married Gordon Sigler, but he had been killed in an electrical attack at the battle of Santa Cruz during the war between Japan and the United States. Inside the theatre Euland had the audience roaring and a blind man could plainly see that he was making a bigger hit than any big league ball-slugger that ever walked across a diamond. Yes, and speaking of big-leaguers, I saw in yesterday morning's paper that the Pink Sox had sold Randall Gay to the New York Pigmies for' :B85,000, the highest price ever paid for a pitcher in the history of the game.