Coquille High School - Laurel Yearbook (Coquille, OR)

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anything else, we stepped into the “Midnight Follies.” The girl on the end looked familiar to me, so I asked the girl next to me who she was. This is what she said to me: “Oh ! That pretty girl with the baby blue eyes ? Why, that’s Dorothy Newton, the big hit of the season. And do you see that woman in a severe tailored suit, a sailor hat and horn-rimmed spectacles. “Well,” the girl went on, “That’s Myrtle Newton, Dorothy’s sister. Being heart-broken at her little sister’s advent into the chorus, she has made a life career of the Chorus Girl Reform. She’s the author of The Reformation of the Future Generation of the Daughters of Eve.’ ” I repeated all this to Gertrude and, as you can imagine, she was as completely astonished as I was. After the show, we loitered along Fifth Avenue looking in the shop windows when a funeral procession passed. The Pythian Sisters were all out in their regalia and an endless string of cars came behind the hearse. We were standing there, wondering who, of so much importance, it could be, when a man behind us said that it was “The Most Excellent Chief” of the Pythian Sisters, Rosanna Schroeder. Why, it couldn’t be our Rosanna Schroeder, but deciding it could be no other but she, we followed the procession to St. Paul’s Cathedral. Upon entering the church who should we see in the pulpit but our classmate, Wayne Woodward. We remained after the service to talk with him of our old school days. He told us he had spent four years in the Cannibal Islands as missionary but for the last two years he had been converting Hula Hulas in Hawaii. He appeared to be much in love with his present occupation and anxious to return. Upon asking him of the cause of Rosanna’s death a look of intense pain shadowed his countenance. “It is a sad case, Her Most Excellent Chief hit her thumb and poisoning set in.”

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I SENIOR PROPHECY “No, it can’t possibly be the Almond Martin of our High School days.” The speaker was Gertrude Butler, who owned an exclusive shop in New York, and was a famous designer of French gowns. I had gone there shopping and upon asking to see the head of the shop I was greatly surprised to find my old school mate. “Well, here it is. Read for yourself,” I said, handing her the paper. She read aloud: “Greatest invention of the Age! Almond Martin! inventor! has just completed the construction of an airship in which he intends to sail for the planet Mars. Instead of gasoline it utilizes electricity from the positive and negative ions of the atmosphere. Mr. Martin, it is said, believes that he has distant relatives residing on that planet.” “Well of all things,” she exclaimed, “that boy always did have queer ideas. What do you suppose has become of all the rest of our old classmates?” “Why,” I said, “you surely have seen Veva Varney’s picture in the society columns of the Coquille Sentinel. Poor thing, her husband was a Coco Cola fiend and soon after their marriage died from excessive use of the strong drink.” “Oh, how depressing. Don’t you think a show would revive our spirits?” We acted upon the suggestion and started over town. Just as we stepped off the street car a huge poster caught my eye. It read: “The awe-inspiring and tear-provoking Flossie Radabaugh in ‘The Murderer of Death Valley.’ ” “Look, Gertrude, let’s go here,” I said. “I read her ‘Beauty Chats’ every Sunday in the Times.” We went up to the window but as there was a full house we went on, hoping to find another near. It began to get late, so more for curiosity’s sake than

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LMJUmiL As it was late we made our adieu and started for the Ritz-Carlton. On our way there, a huge crowd blocked the street. In the midst of it we could see a woman standing on a box and holding the attention of the awe-stricken multitude. These words reached our ears: “Open shop or ruin! ! Down with the advocates of the closed shops! !” Just then a man back of us said: “That’s Alice Barker, the noted speaker. Doctors say she has lost her mind on the subject of open shop, that she has a peculiar disease, the only known case in the civilized world, called ‘Open-Shopitis.’ ” We had heard of Alice’s wonderful career as a speaker but never before of her sad affliction. We made our way to the hotel and upon entering the dining room the waiter seated us at a table next to a dinner party of four, presumably two men and their wives. The men, we noticed, were very distinguished and foreign looking gentlemen, while the women both wore Parisian crations. Suddenly we heard our names spoken and looking up we saw one of the women standing at our table. “Why, you don’t know me, do you?” she said. No sooner had she spoken than it dawned upon me that it was our friend, Eunice Perkins. She introduced us to her husband, the Earl of Garbage Manor, of the famous Dishwater Estate. And who could the other woman be but our former Dorothy Bean, now wife of noteworthy Count Noe Count, the other gentleman at the table. He had first met her in Riverton, while there on a royal commission of investigating cabbage output of that city. A case of love at first sight, I took it. It seems that Eunice met the Earl in Greenland’s icy mountains, where she was traveling for her health. We happened to mention that through fate or luck, we knew not which, we had either seen or heard of all of our old High School Classmates, except Viola Knife, Mary