Clifton High School - Rotunda Yearbook (Clifton, NJ)

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THE REFLECTOR reasonable restaurant. After having gossiped for a while, they parted, and Patsy arrived at her boarding house about nine o'clock. The words, You're wanted on the phonef' and a series of raps on her door woke Patsy the next morning. It was Kenneth Ronson asking her to dinner that evening. She will- ingly accepted. Good old Ken! He was the sports editor of the paper and had worked for Bitt and Company about two years, during which time he had become acquainted with Patsy. A mutual friendship had sprung up between them and they often had dinner and attended the theater together. Although the slightest encouragement from Patsy might have led Ken to attempt advances, she maintained a friendly air, resolved to be independent. Ken Ronson thought the antique plan all nonsense and wanted her to give up the idea, but Patsy was not easily disillusioned. Nevertheless, he was a great help in the following weeks, driving Patsy all through the suburbs of New York, looking for just the proper place as a shop. Finally, after much searching, they found the house Patsy knew she wanted. It was just as she had pictured it-a white farm house with green roof and shutters, and an ideal archway over the door for her sign Antiques. The house itself was situated in a shady lane, branching off from the main highway-an ideal location for both tourists and city trade. Everything looked well taken care of, although the house was shut up and there was no sign of habitation. But Patsy rode back to the city in high spirits, knowing that Ken would find out about the place. Exactly four weeks later everything was settled. The farm house was easily rented, as the old lady who owned it had decided to remain in the city for the winter. Patsy was delighted and had bought all the antiques her money would allow. The Hrst floor of the house was one huge room which was devoted to the shop. Of course there was a fire- place, old hand-made rugs, colonial furniture, deep comfortable chairs, dishes, pottery, and even old-fashioned quilts and jewelry. There were pictures on the walls, some oil paintings and others, copies of famous paintings. These made quite an impression on the bank-roll. There was also a portrait of Wfashington which Patsy had found in the tiny garret of the house and Ken had nailed on the wall over the doorway. As the owner had taken everything from the house, Patsy naturally supposed the portrait was not wanted, and so it was added to her collection of antiques. Her one prized possession was a tall grandfather's clock which, in spite of its age, kept perfect time. There was even a purring Angora cat which Ken had brought from Jersey. Ken was constantly bringing and sending novelties from New York which he thought might sell for antiques. Yes, everything was ideal-that is, all but the trade. Winter was coming on, and the tourists were not very plentiful. Now and then, Patsy sold some trifle to a neighbor, but most of her callers, from curi- osity, merely stopped to chat with her. Occasionally some of the friendly Nineteen

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THE REFLECTOR Antiques V iiHmi 'lATRICIA STEWART had worked three years for Bitt and ' Pl Company, a large New York newspaper concern. Six days A a week she struggled to write off two thousand words of latest L Ju! i-I fashion copy. At S o'clock, putting her desk in order, she ' slipped papers under the green desk blotter, filed other writ- ten material for future use, covered the ink-well, drew the shades, and after one last look around left the office. But today she lingered longer than usual, until everyone had left. The sun, streaming in at the window, picked her out as she sat staring into space. Patriciais thoughts were far from her surroundings. Today was her last day at the office! The resignation had been handed in two weeks previously, and the firm had expressed its regrets at seeing such an earnest worker leave them. But, oddly enough, the fashion writer was not thinking of future employment, for her mind refused to be troubled with such details. Instead of tea gowns, sport dresses, and children's clothing, Patsy visualized only a little white farm house, with green shutters, and a directing sign over the doorway, Antiques.U How fortunate it was that she had been named after old Aunt Patricia! And how lucky she had been to inherit 53,000 at the death of that particular aunt! Patsy had always wanted to become the owner of an antique shop, and now her dream would be realized. As she sat in the dim ofhce, she could pic- ture the huge fire place, the Oriental rugs, the spinning wheel, the colo- nial furniture, the pictures, and the old, hand-painted china arrayed on shelves about the room. Everything seemed to be in existence already, and Patsy knew just how to arrange it. Finally, shaking herself from her reverie, she rose, slipped on her hat and coat, took the accustomed last glance about, and left the building. Deciding to celebrate while in high spirits, Patricia took the sub- way uptown and visited Maureen, her pal and confidant. Maureen re- ceived her with open arms. Why, Pat, dear, what have you been doing lately? I haven't seen you for four days. Still dreaming about wormy chests and rickety chairs?,' 'lMaureen, you,re horrid to laugh at me! Aren't you glad that luck has at last found me? Or that I have found luck?,' 'IThere, I didn't mean thatf' consoled Maureen. But you know it amuses me to think of the sedate, intelligent, business woman engaged in the antique trade. After I finish this design, let,s go down to Daubys for dinner and celebrate. I'm starved, after painting all dayf, Patsy quickly acquiesced to this plan, as no one can live on dreams alone. So the odd pair-sensible, businesslike Patsy, and temperamental Maureen, who posed for silk stockings, hat, glove, and jewelry ads, and painted fashion plates during her spare time-had dinner together at a Eighteen

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THE REFLECTOR women folks would make little delicacies and bring them to her fresh from the oven or pan. The social life was delightful, but financial con- ditions depressing. One afternoon a car drew up, and a well-dressed young man alighted and entered the shop. After a friendly How-do-you-do? he glanced around and picked up two or three pieces of pottery. Handling one after another, he finally selected an imported Chinese vase, which he paid for. Glancing above the door as he prepared to leave, he gave a perceptible start when he saw the portrait of Washington. Just how much are you asking for that portrait, madam? he in- quired. Patsy, not knowing what to answer, as she had merely hung it for decoration, took the picture down. The gentleman inspected it closely. Suddenly, as they were looking at the painting, both seemed to see something at once. Yes, there it was! The name Rembrandt was written carelessly across the left-hand corner of the canvas. Q'Why, Patsy exclaimed, it's a masterpiece! I couldn't think of selling it before I found out the estimated value. I had no idea it was one of Rembrandts You see,,' she said, flushing as she said it, I picked it up in a small shop in New York. XVell,v he drawled, seemingly not at all surprised, I should like very much to take it with me now, as I am leaving shortly for England. I want to take the portrait to my mother, for Washington is a special favorite of hers. Couldn't I give you a deposit and leave my card? Send me a bill for the balance when you are ready. Patsy finally consented and, taking the man's card and a check for 5100, gave him the picture. She was delighted with the sale, but still dazed from the surprise it had given her. A few days later Maureen came out for a visit, but was disgusted with the rainy weather. Patsy told her about selling the portrait of Washington. I was certainly surprised when I found the painting was a Rem- brandt. I shall have to send Mr. Briggs a bill for the balance. How much do you think it is worth? i'Why,,, exclaimed Maureen, that picture could never have been a 'Rembrandtli Don't you know that the famous artist died in 1669 and Washington Wasnit even heard of until 1732? Some one is probably playing an expensive joke on youf' For goodness sake! gasped Patsy. 'KNever thought of that. What shall I do? The man will probably discover his mistake and blame me. How shall I ever explain it? Oh dear, do help me, Mauree! How could I ever have been so stupid? My success went to my head, I suppose. 'KWhy not call him by phone and explain?', suggested Maureen. He may be considerate and overlook the error iust to keep the portraitf, Patsy, in a frenzy, walked to the highway, and telephoning from the country club, called Mr. Briggs in New York City. She explained to Twen ty