Galesburg Augusta High School - Rambler Yearbook (Galesburg, MI)

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I goes) aw if lie had been drawn through a knot-hole and a small one at that; so that he had been stretched to a great length and had never quite recovered from the strain. The wagon with its load of rags and old iron seemed ready to collapse at any moment without much cause “Well!” I exclaimed to myself, “such is life.” As 1 walked on down the street, a large show hill stared me in the face from a saloon window. I stopped to read it. GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH! Come and hear the great star actress, Ethel Rice. Famous Comedian Ralph Steuard. See the Wonderful Three-legged Sheep. Admission 10c. Manager Nathan Nichols. I had just a quarter to my name, but 1 could get trusted at the grocery, so 1 decided to go to the show. It was a one horse affair, but the comedian w r as pretty good. It was always natural for Ralph Steuard to ‘ act up” for the amusement of others. Ethel Rice did not look very natural because she wore a w ig of light hair and her face was so covered with paint that she might have been a negro for all anyone could tell. After this the scene seemed to change, and I was back in my old Galesburg home. It was a bright after¬ noon in May and as I sat reading on the porch, I heard music down the street and, turning my head to see from whence it came, I discovered some street musicians. There was an Italian woman, with a bright colored bandana handkerchief on her head, playing an accor- dian. With her were two little dark skinned girls. One of them accompanied her mother on a tambourine, while the other danced to the music. After they had finished their performance, the smallest one started through the crowd which had gathered to pick up the pennies which kind friends would give her. When she came to mo she begged so prettily for, “just a penny,” that I could not refuse her. A few momenfs afterward, as I was walking down the street with a friend, she said, “Did you see that pretty street musician? She said that she used to live here and that her name was Zoe Wells.” “Why, I used to know her,” I said, “I wish I had spoken to her.” Again I seemed to be in the city, and I was dis¬ turbed front an afternoon nap by the cry, “Umbrellas to mend, Umbrellas to mend.” I suddenly remembered that l had a parasol which needed mending. So I went to the window and rapped upon it and the man came to the door. I asked him if he thought he could fix my parasol. Of course he could, he said, and so he set to work. He had a more intelligent looking face than the average umbrella mender, so I engaged him in conver¬ sation and found that he had at one time lived in my old home at Galesburg. I then questioned him and he turned out to be Will Pearson.

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NEW STREET. IMioto by .loy X CLASS PROPHECY. X Amy Lillian Whiting. What a beautiful afternoon this is, I am thinking as I swing idly to and fro in a hammock on the lawn. Ah! here comes my friend Miss Smith. We can have a nice quiet little chat. “How are you today, dear? I have just been wish¬ ing that someone would come and let me talk to them, for 1 had the queerest dream imaginable last night. It amuses me too, because it is so unnatural, so unlike the real lives of the people of whom I dreamed. I thought that one day I was on my way to the grocery with a basket on my arm when I heard a cry of “Rags o’line, Rags o’line,” in a voice which sounded strangely familiar. In a moment the owner of the voice came in sight around the corner. I looked at the man in the wagon and as the cry came again I was seized with a resistless impulse to go and speak to him. So 1 walked out into the street and accosted him with the question, “What is your name my good man?” “Fhat for you vant to know?” he asked. “0, 1 was interested in your looks and your voice sounded familiar.” “Veil I don’t care if I do tell you,” he said, “It is Mike Haessig.” “Mike Haessig!” I exclaimed. “Yes, Mike Haessig.” “Do you remember of ever knowing anyone by the name of Amy Whiting?” I asked. He scratched his head a moment and then, dropping his accent, said, “Yes, I think I do. Did you graduate in the class of 1901 at Galesburg?” I answered that I did; and then without a word he staited on. I stood watching him as he drove down the street. Such an outfit, I thought to myself. The horse was a large animal that looked (as the expression

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1 thought that one day when 1 was down town I went into a small restaurant to get a lunch, and recog¬ nized in one of the waitresses, Lizzie Doit. She did not seem to have changed in appearance at all, except that she was dressed very gaily. We had quite a little talk about old times before I left, and she promised to come to see me. After I had been home but a few minutes, I heard a knock at the door and, upon opening it, confronted a personage who looked as if he had seen better days. I was rather surprised when he asked: “Is your name Whiting?” I answered that it was and asked him what he wanted. He said that his name was Harry Crittenden and perhaps I might re¬ member him. He explained that he had suffered great reverses of fortune and was much in need of a little ready money and, hearing of an old friend, thought per¬ haps he might get help. I told him that there was plenty of wood in the wood shed that needed splitting, but he didn’t seem to care to get money in that way for he turned away and went on down the street. The scene then seemed to change again and 1 thought I was lost in the mountains. I wandered on and on, and it was becoming dark, when I saw a cabin a little farther up the mountainside. I thought that I could probably find shelter there for the night and so I went on. When I reached the door, I was met by a large woman with faded yellow hair and, as I came up, she said, “You must he a stranger in these parts.” “Yes,” I answered, “and I am lost. Can I find lodging here for the night?” “I guess you can, such as it is,” she said. “My old man s just gone up the mountain after a bar he saw this morning.” 1 went into the cabin and sat down, while she busied herself in getting me something to eat. I no¬ ticed that she watched me very closely and seemed to be trying to recall something. But it somewhat sur¬ prised me when she exclaimed. “Amy Whiting, I know it must be you!” She then told me that her name was once Mabel Ralph, and that her “old man” was Harry Hunt. Just then that gentleman appeared and, in appearauce, he was, a typical mountaineer. Upon l eing told who I was he recognized me. Just at this moment I was startled by a noise which I at first thought to be an avalanche; but which after my mind had become clearer I discovered to l e the alarm clock on my dressing case. It isn’t very strange that I should have had such a dream, for within the last two weeks, I have heard of, or from, all of my old classmates. It was only this morning that I read in the paper that Senator H. H. Hunt of Montana was re-elected. There was quite a