Monroe High School - Hayu Saghalie Yearbook (Monroe, WA)

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floor chanting aloud their lessons. A little way apart, on a slightly elevated floor, sat the teacher. I started as I thought i recognized her. then quickly turned and looked at Madame Latour. “Yes,” she said, “you guessed right— that is Minerva Healy, sent here to San Quan, Porto Rico, by the government of the United States to teach these little fellows the American language.” Poor Minerva! thought I, but you always did like children. When 1 again looked into the crystal, the scene had shifted back to Annapolis. The Navy and West Point were at their annual game of Rugby. The game waxed exciting and I was astonished to see that it was always the same young lieutenant who made the goal for West Point. Upon inquiring, I found it was Webster Augustine, unexcelled as a football player and that his name ranked among the highest in the field of athletics. The scene quickly changed and I found myself looking into a ballroom, with highly polished floor and large ferns in all the corners. Then I saw before me a beautiful young girl, blue-eyed, rosy cheeked and ruby lipped, clad in a wonderful gown of clinging, goldish colored material. As I looked about the room I found that other eyes besides mine were fastened upon her and in a moment she was completely surrounded by laughing, admiring young cham- pions. I raised my eyes to Madame Latour. “She,” said Madame, “is Mary C. Gauthier, society belle of New York City.” When I again gazed into the crystal the scene had changed and I found myself watching a figure on a plat- form as he addressed an assembly of people. He was hand- somely dressed, while his words carried such power that the people were changed from blood-thirsty demons to a peace-loving people, and again to a riotous crowd crying for revenge, all in a single moment just as he wished. Again 1 looked up at Madame Latour and she, sensing my question, replied, “That is Ernest A. Cowell, President of the United States, giving his inauguration speech.” This time when I turned again to the crystal I saw the smooth floor of a dance hall. Both sides of the hall were lined with pupils waiting for their turn while in the center, gorgeously dressed, was an old familiar figure care- fully showing a pupil the latest steps. “One, two, three, hop — One, two, three, hop,” etc. I turned to Madame Latour. “That,” said she, “is Elva Adams, the greatest dancing teacher in the United States. If you want to learn the latest step just go to her.” When I turned again another picture had already started. It showed a long winding stair and a figure

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For you must have guessed that they were soldiers of the Irish Free State. I turned again to the crystal, but lo! the vision had vanished and in its place I saw a small shop cluttered with all kinds of machinery, and in one corner of the room, sleeves rolled high, hatless and coatless, I saw a familiar figure bending over some object on the table. Then I be- came aware of a great commotion outside and gazing out of the window I saw an immense crowd clamoring at the window and shouting at the tops of their voices. The fig- ure, however, never raised its head, but swiftly went to work fitting a screw here and there in the object before him. Again I turned to Madam Latour, and again she smiled and replied: “That is Fred Peck. He has just in- vented a cap which will, when worn, enable the densest person to understand and remember anything he has read. The crowd is already gathering to purchase his invention.” While meditating on this I was aroused by a cry, “Look! The scene changes.” 1 turned and beheld a large gym, covering an acre. Hundreds of girls in uniform were lined up along the wall, while marching defiantly up and down the middle of the floor, and swinging her dumbells, was none other than Katherine Mitchell. Dear Kate, I thought, you always did want to teach gymnastics, and I am so glad. rl hen I was brought back to the scene again by the command, “Forward, March!” The column of girls moved slowly forward, step by step, arm swinging by arm. Then they formed in twos and threes, still in the same uniform motion. “The Grand March!” How beautiful, thought I. The picture slowly faded and the air was filled with the most beautiful music I ever heard. First one loud blast from the clarinet, followed by the sweeter notes of the saxaphone, and ending with the throbbing wail of the violin. Then into sight came a uniformed band, headed by a figure which seemed familiar to me. Could it be? I looked again. Yes, it was. I raised my questioning eyes to Madame Latour. “That,” said she, “is William R. Faulds and his orchestra. He plays tonight at the Grand Orpheum. I heard he gets six hundred seventy-five for the job.” “Hurrah!” said I. This time as I turned to the crystal I was rewarded by a strange sight. First to my excited gaze came a lit- tle white schoolhouse completely surrounded by palm trees, and as I exclaimed aloud over the beauty of the sight the scene shifted and I gazed upon the interior of the building. It was nothing but one large room and a lot of little picaninnies were seated cross-legged on the

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that looked strangely familiar hurrying up them as fast as he could. Upon reaching the top he thrust open a door and, not waiting to close it, seated himself at his type- writer and began to write with a speed that seemed impos- sible. His fingers fairly flew and I held my breath, know- ing right well if he made a mistake—well the miracle of it is that he didn’t. This time Madame Latour did not wait for my ques- tion. “That is Clarence Gering, private secretary to President Cowell, and the greatest speed demon in the world.” This time 1 gazed into the crystal I saw a long, low room completely filled with engines and other machinery. There were men working on them but I could not make out one that looked familiar. “What can this symbolize?” thought I. Then from another room came the hurrying figure of an engineeer. He held a notebook in his hand and would stop at each man in turn telling him just what to do and how’ the engine should be put together and run. “That” said Madame Latour, “is Phillip P. Stucky, a multi-millionaire who knows more about electricity than any other man In the United States.” The picture slowly faded and I was confronted by a beautiful girl, standing on a stage while she was laughing and bowing to an immense crowd of people. Then the music started up and the girl stepped back. Then the play began. It was so good that I sat breathless through the whole act and wrhen the curtain finally fell, hiding her from view, a cry went up of “Hurrah for Miss Stanton.” “Miss Stanton?” I asked Madame Latour. “Yes.” said she, “Lillian Stanton, the world’s pet idol of the stage.” The next scene was that of a beautiful home in the country. It was built on a hillside with great, green slop- ing lawns. A brook murmured just back of the house and a circle of old oak trees shaded the front lawn. But hist! what is this? On his knees just before the gate is a man, whose figure seems strangely familiar. He is training climbing loses and honeysuckle to climb up over the gate. Just then the door flies open and a little girl, with flying yellow’ curls and blue eyes, calls, “Daddy!” T he man looks up. She is holding out some pink roses tow’ard him. Reluctantly I watch the scene fade aw ay and I turn to Madame Latour. “That,” said Madame Latour. ‘is Earl R. Ross, retired radio operator, million- aire and the best sport in King county.” EDNA TRABOXT, ’22