Northrop Collegiate School - Tatler Yearbook (Minneapolis, MN)

Page 15 text:

Chill ha 11 ('harm which is, as usual, hard to define, hut we attribute a pood deal of lirr success to the fact that she always seem to hove plenty of pep. Her clowning has broken up quite a few study period but we’re very Erateful for the fact. No doubt most of our uoks would have lieen pitched disgustedly onto the front lawn by this lime if someone hadn’t been funny occasionally, ('hill has been in the class a long lime and will always be re-tnemliered a one of it most valued members. Shirl goes on the theory that there’s a divinity that shapes our end.-. and let things slide accordingly, Hut in spite of her seeming nonchalance she carries more work thun anyone else in the class and does it a good deal Itetter than most of us. There’s no one who doesn’t envy her the ability to draw good looking people, clothes, and cars, not even the teachers whose classes have long suffered Itecause of her artistic propensities. ‘a; e TUitlf H

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15 a E I 9 2 7 POLLY SWEET A ' m,»e U y ,,, • « «Aaf u youft « mine V « - • JANE THOMPSON “I hnii rather have a I nett to make me merry than experience to make me iad. When Polly goes to France all the natives will probably sit around with their mouths open listening to her amazing vocabulary. In our humble French class she often leaps into the breach to rescue some one wrho is floundering hopelessly. Polly i“ also famed for her plentiful supply of jokes, which she cracks on all occasions, and for which we are duly grateful. A little humor is great to help us along our weary wav to college. We’re sorrv to hand Jane anything so hackneyed as a '•sunny disposition, but the virtue is so obvious that wc can hardlv let it go im-uienlioncd. We certainly appreciate anyone of this nature in our class of grouches. Besides this good quality lane has many other things to recommend her. among them Ix-ing her ability as a hockey player, and her talent as a singer. although she's extremely modest about this last mentioned fart. N, 1'age 7'nWtv

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the: 0 2 7 1927 — CLASS PROPHECY 1947 What do you nuppoK is causing all the excitement over there? I asked my companion a we were walking down tlie Hue de Kivoli. It was the summer after I had finally graduated from good old Northrop School and I was enjoying my graduation present of a trip to Europe. I can't imagine,” answered Margaret, unless it's a sale or something like that. 1 art's go over and see anywuy because we may lie missing something interesting.” “Maybe somebody has been hurt,” I suggested as we made our way across the narrow street, but there's no harm in finding out and I'm horribly curious.” As we drew near, we noticed that the people were all talking excitedly nml much too rapidly for us to understand whut they were saying. They were all huddled up together and seemed to lie staring at something in front of a small store. We endeavored to make our way farther in to discover what this object of awe could be. All we were able to see was an old Hindu woman, bedecked in her native costume and seated on a small platform. Before her was an old table and opposite her sat a young man who was gazing at something on the table, which was hidden from our view. “What are they doing? I asked of a friendly looking, old woman at my side. “Crystal gazing!” she answered. “Seeing the future! “Crystal gazing! I turned to Margaret again. “What fun! We must try it!” After we had patiently waited in line for what seemed hours, it at last became my turn to gaze into the crystal. I stepped up onto the antiquated platform and sat down on a rickety chair l efore the tabic. I have always had a weakness tor fortune telling, but it had never occurred to me that I should have a chance to gaze into a crystal. What should I ask to see? Only a short time ago, wc had been discussing what should liecome of all my clussmates and what they should be like twenty years from now. Here was my opportunity! I concentrated. “Janet Morison. I said to myself Janet Morison in the summer of 1917. Janet Morison! The Hindu woman removed a grimy silk handkerchief from the dazzling crystal and 1 gazed into it- depths, still concentrating on Janet Morison. I saw a large, bleak office. At one end was a huge desk, behind which was seated u thin, stern-looking woman dressed in a black tailored suit. Her hair was skinned straight back and done in a small knot behind. Could this be Janet? Oh. impossible! What was she doing? What kind of a place was this? While I was still wondering about all this I caught sight of a small sign on the front of the desk. It read, “Miss Janet Morison, Superintendent of the John Kyon Orphanage”—Then the picture faded and was gone! An Orphanage! Heavens, how times will change! Next. I concentrated on Charlotte Williams. Another picture came into view, but an entirely different one. This time it was a small sunny room with fancy covered pillows and bright window draperies. The room was in a general mess, with coats and magazines ffunp here and there, and on a small table rested a tray of dirty cups and saucers. I particularly noticed the large number of papers and books Page Fourittn