Glens Falls High School - Red and Black Yearbook (Glens Falls, NY)

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25 THE RED and BLACK Instead of a bartender I now perceive that Mr. Cowdery is the chauffeur of a soda water fountain. ' Next, I see a dark cave, hidden in the wilds of Prospect Mountain. In keeping with the scene, I see an extremely wild figure with long hair and beard, clad in a tattered gown. How sad! My eyes grow dim as I gaze. Poor Ralph Wells, disappointed in love, has become a hermit, and has foresworn all society. The next person appearing before me is Miss Gertrude Morrison, who has had great success as saleswoman for horsehair corn poppers. Miss Morrison carries her wares in a handsome concrete suitcase. . Next there floats before me a vision of the Sheriff with a warrant for the arrest of-Miss Kathryn Eddy. It seems that Miss Eddy, as editor of 'Snappy Stories,' has exceedingly annoyed the board of censors, who have therefore issued the aforesaid warrant. How touching is this next scene! I see two small children being shamefully maltreated by their French governess, Miss Genevieve Bazinet. I gather that Miss Bazinet, her nerves worn to a frazzle with the futility of trying to instil any appreciation of Racine's 'Esther' into the minds of her charges, is taking it out on them. Poor dears! How I pity them! A What a strange foreign scene now presents i self! Nearby I see a sign post on which I read the words, 'Czecho-Slovakiaf In the midst of this interesting landscape appears an inn. On entering the door I see as a barmaid her who was Miss Mildred Fosbrook and her Czecho-Slovakian husband, selling vodka. At a table fnearbyj are seated two familiar figures, whom on closer inspection I discover to be Mr. John McKernon, now member of the President's Cabinet, and Mr. Loyal Gibbs, president of the oil trust. The two friends, I understand, are spending an extensive vacation in the aforesaid country on account of the continued dryness of the U. S. Too bad, John, that there's nothing in the way of liquid refreshment in the President's cabinet. Out of the scene gradually unfolding before me I hear a voice. 'Yes, Mr. Vanderbilt, table this way, sir. Special today, stuffed bees' knees on toast, sir, Yes, sirg very good, sir., Ih the haze before me, I now see a figure. Mr. Ralph Smith is now none other than head waiter at the Waldorf. The G. F. H. S. may well be proud to claim this majestic figure as a product of her halls of learning. And now before me I see a magnificent apartment, which is but a background for a still more magnificent woman, who is fbe prepared for a shockj Miss Ruth Bennett, successor to Theda Bara. As I gaze, I hear her say in a languid voice. 'Marie, you may tell Mr. DeMille I will positively consider nothing under Sl0,000 a week., Miss Margaret Crosby now comes before me as a country school teacher. Miss Crosby is at present employed in the important pastime of reading 'Advice

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THE RED and BLACK 24 Again I see a stage and this time Hitting about it, gracefully attired inashort white skirted affair, I see Monsieur Cashion, famous toe dancer of the Russian Ballet. Monsieur Cashion's love for fancy dress was first manifested in l920, when, as 'C-ratiano,' attired in a dazzling costume of blue and gold, he wooed the fair Nerissa. This time I seem to see before me, a broad expanse of fields, and in the dis- tance a small farmhouse. The dawn is just breaking over the pastoral scene, dis- closing to my view an industrious figure clad in blue overalls busily engaged in digging apples. Ah! now I see that this prosperous farmer is indeed Mr. Bloomfield Russell. Although it is now barely four o'clock in the morning, he has already been at work over an hour. lGood work, Russell, say well Next there floats before my sight the vision of an-extremely pretentious building. At the entrance I perceive a sign reading 'Mn Merritt Braydon-Famous Spiritualistic Mediumf And now, I am entering his seance chamber. It is hung with dark, somber draperies and an air of mystery pervades the place. In a mas- sive chair I see Braydon himself, attired in a red and blue bathrobe, with a Turkish towel artistically wound around his head, gazing fixedly into what seems to be anin- verted goldfish bowlfpresumably a crystal. But this vision is not yet ended. The door of the seance chamber opens, and in steps an extremely prosperous looking young man.fIt is Cordon Partridge. 'Well, Braydon,' he sings out, 'I sold 250 ouija boards to-day. Not so bad, eh?' Braydon smiles and rubs his hands. 'Cood work, partner,' he answers, 'there's sure one born every minute, eh, Red? This scene gradually fades from view, and another takes its place. I see this time before my eyes a poor tenement district swarming with rather foreign looking people. A woman attracts my eye-a woman with a kindly benevolent expression- and on looking closer, I can make out Miss Harriet Smith, missionary to foreign lands lwhitehalll. This angel of mercy is busily engaged in handing out copies of 'Hamlet' to the starving population. This vision over, there arises before my eyes a stately ancestral castle, home of Count Meout and his wife, formerly Miss Mary Wilson. On entering the castle, I am struck forcibly by the bareness of the place and the thought comes to me that the furniture has been sold to pay the taxes. Though sad, 'tis true. For al- though Mary's husband is a Count, alas! he has nothing to count. S S S S I What a change! I now seem to be standing before a long counter, while be- hind it stands Mr. Arthur Cowdery, bartender, passing out liquid refreshment to thirsty souls. Ah! now the scene grows clearer. Oh, pardon me, my mistake.

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THEQRED and BLACK 26 to the Love I..orn.' by Beatrice Nearfacts fonce known as Ruth Doughtyj. Margaret is seeking the answer to her query, 'Shall I marry the village pastor or the janitor?' The wild acclaim of thousands meets my ears with the enthusiastic shouts of 'Norris, Norris, Norris!' In the prize fighting ring I see Wilber Norris trium- phant, while at his feet lie eight fatally injured men laid low by his mighty hand. Mr. Norris is graciously allowing himself to be photographed for the newspapers, having won a purse of 350,000 There gradually comes before me the picture of Kenneth Ellsworth as deacon of the church at Smith's Basin. Dear Deacon Ellsworth seems to be quite the idol of his small congregation-bless his soul! What an uproar! The whir of machinery and the sound of voices meet my ears. In his private office, I see Clendon Bush, editor-in-chief of 'The Daily Blastf Mr. Bush, as usual a great patron of education, has just finished signing a 55,000 check as first prize for a Latin translating contest, conducted by 'The Blastf It may be appropriate to remark here that the winner of the Latin contest is Miss Edna Everts. This time I see a stage, filled with gaily dressed people, and I perceive a musical comedy is being given. The figure which impresses me most is one whom Inow see to be Mr. I-Iarold Lambertson. But how strangely Harold is acting! Has he the St. Vitus's dance, or the shaking palsy? Not so. I now perceive by a program that Mr. Lambertson is hailed as a great exponent of modern jazz dancing. In this scene before me, in the front row of the audience, I see one other familiar figure, namely Simon Yaffee, eminent writer of students' encyclopedias. Mr. Yaffee is making a scientific study of Mr. Lambertson's contortions as material for his new book, 'The Close Relationship between Monkey and Man.' As I gaze far into the future I see that Wallace Reid, our once handsome matinee idol, can no longer hold our interest. But his place is not vacant, for it is now ably held by Harold Austin, who once sprang into national fame as 'Bassaniof As I gaze, I see Mr. Austin reading one of the 2,421 'mash' notes he has received on this particular day from love-sick girls all over the country. S' Alas! To what depths former greatness can sink. I now see our once famous athlete, M. Chapman, but ah! how changed. Poor Monty, broken in spirit, harrassed and henpecked, seems to be on a Sunday outing at Round Pond with his four-year-old son. From this sad scene of wrecked glory I hear his patient voice sayingf'No, no,-Oswald mustn't take home pretty pond in his pocket. Naughty! Naughty! Papa spank!' But let us haste with all convenient speed from this scene of placid domesticity! From one who has sunk to the lowest station of human existence. let us tum our attention to one who has attained the highest point of success. I now behold