Joliet Junior College - Shield Yearbook (Joliet, IL)

Page 9 text:

Before the Bell Time— This Morning, Eight O ' clock. Place — Outer Office, High School Building. Girl— Stenographer, at typewriter, working on outlines for Botany. Enter Miss Van der Veen— Good morning. Mr. Brown in? Those post grads never report in my room during their free periods and if they do not conform to the regulations - - (goes into inner office, whence she emerges in a few minutes, apparently satisfied.) Enter Mr. Hawkins with an armful of pictures and cards. — 1 have here some data from the gymnasium class which show that all members gained one inch in height, ten pounds in weight and forty per cent in gray matter. Miss Cheeseman (after carefu l scrutiny)— Isn ' t that fine. Why don ' t you try it on yourself Mr. Hawkins? Enter Miss Mack who inspects the pictures and asks innocently, Does gym work make the clothes grow too? These first pictures show the students in decollette and the last in civilian clothes. Mr. Hawkins — 0, no; that merely shows, ah, that the increase, ah, in avoirdupois is due, ah, to natural causes. Not being in the sci- ence department, you may not understand — (avoids further expla- nations by passing into the inner office.) Enter Mr. Clute with a rush. — Got those outlines finished on the Flora and Fauna of Lockport? Miss Cheeseman — Not yet. I made a little mistake here, where I left out part of the third paragraph and the two succeeding ones, but I ' ll put them in at the end. (Applies varnish brush vigorously to obliterate Rooseveltian spelling while Mr. Clute is heard going up stairs, four steps at a time.) Aren ' t the men the limit? Enter Miss Woodruff — I want to see Mr. Brown immediately about those post grads. One of them tore the fly leaf out of the dic- tionary because he wanted paper for his note book. (Goes inside.) Enter Mr. Graves — ' (After a careful inspection of the table) — Any mail for me? Miss Cheeseman — Yes. A letter from Springfield, a paper and a lovely souvenir post card. Mr. Graves — Well, where are they? Miss Cheeseman — 0, here they are, back of my machine. How did they get there? Eleven

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Ye Special Roasts for Ye Teachers Order is Heaven ' s first law — and Miss Woodruff ' s — Miss Woodruff. A miracle of scientific Lohr. The best are with us always. — Miss O ' Leary. He ruleth all the roste. — Mr. Brown. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. — HNO,— Mr. Bush. My library was dukedom large enough. — Miss Sylvester. Oh Heaven, were men but constant, he were perfect! — Mr. Bush. Company, villianous company, hath been the spoi 1 of me. — Mr. Arendt. Men of few words are the best men. — Mr. Clute. I am Sir Oracle, and when I ope my lips let no dog bark. — Mr. Crawford. A merrier man, within a limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour ' s talk withal. — Mr. Spicer. It hurteth not the tongue to give faire words. — Mr. Hawkins. What would we do without women. Even a single hair casts its shadow. — Mr. Brown. An cozie here beneath the blast Thou thought to dwell — Till crash ! The cruel Coulter past Out thro thy cell. — Mr. Coulter. Be ye therefore wise as serpents and harmless as doves. — Mr. Clute. Sugar and spice and all things nice. — Mr. Spicer. Like Oliver Twist, she calls for Moore (Hinman.) — Miss Baldwin. A word to the wise is sufficient. — Miss Wood. Every man of true genius has his peculiarity. —Mr Potter. Young people are quick enough to observe and imitate. — Miss Mack. May mercy be shown to me as I show it to others. — Mr. Dur- stine. How much goes to a dose? — Mr. Lohr. To Caroline — A staidness sobers o ' er her pretty face, which something but ill hidden in her eyes, and a quaint look about her lips, denies. — Miss Woodrow. Freshman Girl— (after Soph-Fresh. Girls ' B. B. Game)— On. Mr. Coulter is such a splendid referee. He ' s really just as fair as he can be, but (in an injured tone) I do think he might have worn his white trousers for us, too! N. B. — I wonder why he didn ' t!!!! Miss Sylvester had a birthday, In April, the ninth day. Got an awful lot of roses, One for each year they say. Problem — If roses are one a dozen, What did the giver pay? Ten

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Mr. Graves — I wonder. Office gradually fills with teachers and students who line up, awaiting turns for interviews with Superintendent. Chicago tele- phone bell rings. Mr. Brown wanted. Hello! Yes. High School. They did. Sure it was high school boys? Turned on the faucet in your cellar and drowned your chick- ens? My advice? Why next time, buy ducks and let ' em swim. Good bye. As Mr. Brown turns from phone, Enter Student with all his books under his arm muttering some- thing that sounds like a chemical formula. What is the matter, Ki? The News is canned again. Canned? You ought to be caned. What are you up to now ? Didn ' t do a thing. Stopper came out of a bottle of carbon bis- ulphide in my pocket when I was studying in 55, and Mr. Stecker thought I did it. Mr. Brown— I ' ll give you to Miss Woodruff. Miss Woodruff — I don ' t want him. Mr. Brown — Perhaps 30 would be a good place for you. Go down and try it. Exit Fredericks, singing softly, ' I don ' t know where I ' m going, but I ' m on my way. Mr. Brown designates one and then another in the line and rap- idly disposes of several cases of petty larceny, assault and battery, malfeasance in office, malicious mischief, etc. — on the way to inner office, pauses at sound of familiar voice across the room : Miss Marquardt, beaming on her neighbor : I ' m proud of my room, 32, And glad as I can be They put the digits that way round, And not the other. See? Mr. Sears — replying: You ought to be, it seems to me, Removed from melancholy, With acrobats to cheer you up, Like Sehring and young Scully. Mr. Brown, turning — Here, how long has this been going on? Chorus — (Misses O ' Brien, Pollock, Shipman, Sammons, et al.) — About long enough. Mr. Brown, to tall man, who has almost outgrown his hair, Come in, Mr. Spicer. They enter inner office; Mr. Spicer ' s voice is heard saying: It is the finest place for a summer resort — door closes. Mr. Large looks over the mail for his weather map ; then makes Twelve