Norton High School - Sojourn Yearbook (Norton, MA)

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X O k T O N H IGH SCII O O L face, Neil Burgess. Ah, he must be a chemist now, I murmur. He always was addicted to acids and things. My gracious, what a noise, what a crowd! Al), the state-house. Who is that tall figure on the platform, waving its arms and shouting, ' Give me liberty or give me death? ' Patrick Henry? No, Arthur Ross, a great statesman. Thump, bang! I awake with a start! What was that? Seven o ' clock. I shall have barely time to dress for my appointment with Marion and Wilfrid. Two days later we land in England, and I bid farewell to my two friends and depart, promising to see them again soon. I call a taxi and am about to get in, when a pleasant voice says, Let me assist you, and I look up into the smiling face of dear old Buster Fales. Buster, is it really you? I cry, clasping his hand warmly. We arrive at my hotel and it seems that he is registering there, too, so that makes things more interesting. He tells me later that he is a lawyer now and has come to London to work on an interesting- case. Our mutual friend, Wilfrid Yelle, who, by the way, is leading- man in the movies, is being defrauded of fifty thousand dollars by his manager, so Buster has come to put his affairs to rights. I have an appointment with my manager the next morning, so F decide that I will go to have my hair waved. I look up a famous masseuse and make my way to her salon. I enter and put myself in the hands of a charming person dressed in black and white. When T am ready to leave, I nearly collide with a very business-like person who is rushing in the door like a whirlwind. She looks familiar hut 1 cannot place her exactly. Hello, Flo, she cries as she sees me. Helen! I shout. Sorry I haven ' t time to talk, she says, but I have an engage- ment at four-thirty, and it ' s nearly that now, and I must get my hair waved before I meet Mr. Peck. Mr. Peck? I ask. ' k Yes, of Peck Peck, of New York. I am an interior decorator now, you know, and I am going to do their whole store. Marvelous, I gasp. Well, good-bye, see you later, and I go out to the street. I look into a window as I am passing by, and see some very inviting ice cream tables and things. 1 think I will eider and refresh myself after my recent excitement, so T do. As I sit down, who should come Page twenty-four

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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

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X ORTON HIGH SCHOOL forward with a pleasant smile hut Karl Paddock. Bere ho is, pursu- ing liis ice cream business as usual. We talk awhile about our mutual acquaintances, and then I go to keep my appointment, where the signing of my name assures me success on the stage for the next four years. Then descending the stairs of the office building-, I make my way to the Poet ' s Corner of Westminster Abbey where, in the quiet of the afternoon, I think over the wonderful fulfillment of the youthful ambitions of my classmates. And with these reflections comes the remembrance of the place where I first met them - Norton High School — whereupon I draw from my pocket my check book and write a check for five thousand dollars. I determine that I will straightway send it to that honorable institution, so that it may continue more easily to lay the foundation of learning for other boys and girls. E. Florence Nvgrex.