Norton High School - Sojourn Yearbook (Norton, MA)

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NORTON IIICll SCHOOL Oh, don ' t you know? I am a classical dancing instructor at a girls ' boarding school in Virginia. I am taking this class abroad for the summer. Why, how nice. It seems so good to sec you again. You really must give me a day, when we land, so we can do the sights of London together. Surely, it will seem just like old times. Oh, Flo, guess whom I saw in New York just before I took my passage, Paul Runge! He is the Comic Section Editor on the ' New York Herald ' now and seems to he doing pretty well. I was told that he stands in a fair way to become Editor-in-Chief soon. Great. I knew that boy would amount to something, I reply. What are you doing now, Flo? Oh, I ' m a comedian on the stage. I ' m on my way to London to sign a four-year contract now. Didn ' t I always say you ' d make a good comedian? Of course your experience as Yennie in the Senior Play was reference enough for any manager. Oh, here is the Herald! Let ' s look at the Sports. For goodness sakes, look at this! Alex Stewart, manager of the League Baseball t earn ! ' ' Yes, I knew that. And say, I have the strangest experience to tell you. One day, about a month ago, I was strolling along Fifth Avenue with one of my pupils when I noticed a superb limousine roll up to the curb. Out jumped a fine looking young man who clasped my hand, saying, ' How do you do, Miss Fields? ' He had the cutest mustache, but 1 failed to recognize him until I looked at the twinkling brown eyes. Then, ' Charley Flaherty! ' I fairly yelled. Before he had time to answer, out popped a brown head from the limousine and said in a blithe voice, ' Hello, Marion. ' And will you believe it, it was Peanut L ' Amoureux. She and Charley were just returning from school where she is a teacher and Charley is the principal. Ahem! Pardon me, ladies, but could I interest you in a newly invented automobile that goes without gas ? It is a remarkable auto- mobile, very remarkable, its sterling qualities could not begin to be enumerated if I took — Why Flo Nygren and Marion Fields! Wilfrid Paille! cry Marion and I together. Then we all laugh, as we remember his speech on the virtues of his gasless automobile. He begins to tell us then of what he is doing to make both his finan- cial ends meet. H seems that he is advertising his new motor that Page twenty-two

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N 0 R TO X H [ G H SCHOOL To Alice Becker, Florence Nygren ' s comb because we are afrairl Alice ' s will be worn oul with its frequenl use. To Alum Burgess, Helen Andrew ' s blushes. To Wemyss Denton, Wilfred Yelle ' s seriousness of purpose. To Ruth Green, Lois Whipple ' s ability to dance. To Norma Haskell, Myrtice Puller ' s talent Tor writing poetry. To Albert Jackson, an opportunity to lake pari in the prize speak ing coldest. To Charlotte Swan, Marion Field ' s demure manner. To Donald Stewart, his brother ' s place in the Athletic Association. To Frances Thurber, a position of great height. To Annie Watterson, Hazel L ' Amoureux ' s witty sayings. To Helen. Wheeler, Sweet ' s unwillingness to talk. To Frank Wilder, Charles Flaherty ' s dignity. Seventh, we will and bequeath to the High School a clock for the main room and may it tick away minutes filled with happiness, knowl- edge, and prosperity tor all future classes. Eighth and last, we nominate and appoint Wemyss Denton, presi- dent of the present Junior class, to be executor of this our las! will and testament. In witness whereof, we have hereunto set our hand and seal this 25th day of dune, A. 1). 1925. (Signed) The Senior (Mass of 1925. Alary F. Mealy. CLASS PROPHECY It is a warm, sunny day in June, 1935, and T am aboard the steam ship Leviathan bound for London. As 1 am turning the corner of the upper deck, T hear a surprised, Why, Flo! what are you doing here? Turning quickly, I see, in the midst of a crowd of pretty school girls, Marion Fields, the old chum of my high school days. How do yon happen to be here? I exclaim. Page twenty-one

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NORTON 1 1 1 (i 1 1 SCHOOL runs without gas, and he has advanced so far as to have a secretary who is none oilier than Gert Pike. I used to have all my work done by Lois Whipple. She is a public stenographer now, you know, lie says. Yes? I answer. I can remember how her fingers used to fly over the old typewriters in Norton High. And speaking- of stenographers, did you know that Hazel White is John D. Rockefeller ' s private secretary: ' asks Marion. Why, no, say Wilfrid and 1 in the same breath. How thrilling! You ' re not looking as Ave 11 as usual, Wilfrid, have you been sick : ' Yes, I was qnite seriously ill with typhoid fever and might never have pulled through had it not been for the faithful efforts of Myrt Fuller.. She is a nurse in the hospital where I Avas in New York. Yes, says Marion, 1 knew she intended to be a nurse, but did not know Avhether she had fulfilled her ambition or not. Didn ' t it seem good to haA T e a familiar face around Avhile you Avere ill ? Yes, and a merrier face 1 never hope to see! returns Wilfrid. Ah, here is our luncheon, 1 say. Won ' t you join us, Wilfrid? Do try one of these California Oranges, they are delicious. They were sent to me by Howard Sweet. He is the owner of a great orange grove now, and money seems to adore him. Just then along comes the ship ' s boy with an armful of the latest magazines. Oh, I must have one to read tonight, cries Marion. Here, boy, let me have the Cosmopolitan. Oh, isn ' t this cover design wonderful? Well, would you believe it, Kay Foster ' s name is signed to it. Isn ' t it marvelous? Well, he always was an artist, it runs in the family. ' Member the funny things he drew for our Year Book. ' We soon finish our luncheon and depart to our rooms, promising to meet again that evening. I am a little tired so I lie down, not intending to sleep, but soon the objects in the room grow blurred and away to the land of dreams I go. What is this 1 see before me? Someone thrusting her arms upwards, sideAvays, and forward, and downward. I hear a sonorous A r oice shout, ' Class halt! ' Mary Healy, with her class in Physical Torture. Then again 1 hear, ' One, two, three, four, class halt ! ' Marx ' s pretty face turns around. No, she hasn ' t changed a bit. My, my, what ' s this? A school house? No, a kindergarten, and Addie Whitman is the teacher. The picture fades away, and 1 seem to be in an atmosphere of gases and vapors, and out of the gases and vapors arises a well known Page twenty-three