Northrop Collegiate School - Tatler Yearbook (Minneapolis, MN)

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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

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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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X M EL 9 Z. 7 and glanced closely at the cover of one of the latter which bore the title. “The Open Window, by Charlotte Rittcnhousc Williams. I looked around for the authoress herself and found her sitting on a small window seat at the other end of the room. She was dressed in a bright green smock and was laboring over some manuscript which she held in front of her. I saw. with surprise, that the hair which she had struggled through growing stages with, was now clipped short in an extreme fashion. It was the typical picture of a famous writer’s room in Greenwich Village. The view disappeared as rapidly as it had come and I began to think of Virginia Little next. Again I gazed into the crystal, and what was this? Northrop School once more! It hadn't changed much except that it was a little weather-beaten and there were more fir trees out in front. There was also a new fence around the hockey field. But what had this to do with Dinnic Lit itle? It was evidently ihree-lcn for there were cars out in front ami children streaming out of every door. One group of six girls caught my attention because they all looked so much alike. Every one had fair hair and blue eyes and each was just a little taller than the other. They were making their way toward a fashionable looking car with a liveried chauffeur. In the hack seal of the car. sat a very stylishly dressed woman who scented familiar but 1 couldn't just place her. All ix of the children in their blue Northrop uniforms climbed into the ear with the woman. 1 looked at her more closely to decide who she was and -Dinnic Little, of course! The cur drove into the distance and the picture went with it. What was this coming into view? It looked like an African jungle with the sun Iteating down on it. As the picture became clearer I could distinguish rows and rows of narrow army cot and several nurse in white uniforms, moving about between tbr bods. The rows of cot were sheltered by a peculiar mud and straw roof, upon which the intense Ileal of thr sun was pouring down. One nurse at the front of the picture was carrying a basin of iced water and some snow-white cloths, hv means of which she seemed to he attempting to relieve the sufferings of her patients. As she turned toward me. I looked at her carefully and recognized Barbara Bailey. My curiosity was aroused for I was anxious to know what could Ik- the matter with all these people in a place like this. I looked up and down the rows, at the faces of all the sufferers and saw that all were asleep. It must he to African sleeping sickness that Barbara was devoting her time and energy. A huge brow n circus tent came into view next w ith hordes of hot. sticky people crowded everywhere. Who in the world was going to Ik- in the circus? On the right hand side was an enormous painted red and yellow sign, on which stood out the words, The World’ .Most Famous Snake Charmer. Elizabeth Lane Smith!” Betty? A circus! Snakes! I thought Betty had always loathed them. But sure enough, through the tent flap could Ik- seen crowds of people pushing each other in an attempt to get a belter view of the sight at which thev were gazing open-mouthed: namely. Betty Smith, garlwd in ieopard skins, with her frizzed hair standing out from her head in ull directions, ami uhout her shoulders a repulsive-looking. slimy, man-eating snake. Betty was Iteaming down on her awe-sirieken audience, while the foul reptile twined itself about her arm and struek out at the bystanders with murderous intentions. The picture faded away rapidly and I was left in a daw while I waited for the next sight. This was to be Shirley Woodward, and as it came before me I recognized La Comedic Franeaise which we had visited I’ayf Fiftttn