Pekin High School - Pekinian Yearbook (Pekin, IL)

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c L A C Y Irene H. Joerger. Ii was early Fall, and I was sitting before the fire-place “mooning”, as I might say. The embers had spent their might, but they still gave forth a dull ruddy glow and in this mellow light I sat atnl dreamed of bygone days. The day had been a strenuous one for me. for 1 had completed my latest novel, and my joy, mingled with the strain the work contributed, had put my mind in a chaotic state, and left my nerves a-tingle. The open window behind my chair suddenly let in a gust of air. and the last dying ember sent up one bright flame and then went out forever. All was dark now—what was that! Had not my eyes told me a moment before that the death of the hearth fire had left me in utter darkness? Then, where did this strange new light come from and who was that monstrous type of humanity emerging from the ashen waste of the hearth? My speech had left me so I sat clutching the sides of the chair and waited for the heavens to cave in. Instead, the giant spoke in slow, tender tones and pronounced a familiar name. “Harley Rankin.' I jumped to my feet and rushed forward to extend my hand, and after I had gained my composure I commenced to converse with him, saying. But, Harley, how is it possible that the 4 ft. Harley has become the 7 ft. Mr. Rankin?” I hat is easily explained,” he said, “you see, I am travelling for the Mellin’s Food Company and they said I would make better sales if I could also be an example of their goods. So I made Mellin’s Food my diet—and here I am.” I was interested, more than interested, I was “tickled pink.” Here I was talking to one of my old classmates and I hadn't seen any of them for years; so I eagerly questioned him that, as his profession was globe-trotting, if he did not meet some of our old class mates now and then, and went further to ask him if he enjoyed travelling about all the time. As to our class mates, he replied, “I must admit that I am pretty well informed as to all their whereabouts, but as to liking to travel about, allow me to say that I am thinking seriously of giving it up. You know, it breaks up the home to a degree, and my wife doesn’t like it.” “Why, Harley, I cried delightedly, “and who is the lucky little woman?” You will remember her as Louise Hornish,” he said, all smiles, but touching the subject very lightly as any love-sick person would do.

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18. William Nordhoff to Neil Owens, his height and his feminine” tone of voice. 19. Helen Soechtig to Wanda Watson, her talent in shorthand. 20. John Steinmetz to John Pfanz, his ability to give oral themes and also his “power” to get a new subject each time. 21. Irene Stumm to Ruth Watson, her neat headdress. 22. Nellie Allyn to Dorothy Kraeger, her skirt length. 23. Irene Joerger to anyone who wants it, her originality. 24. Julia Maurer to Eugene Reinhard, her beloved hair ribbon. Take this Eugene, or visit A1 Nixon. 25. Oscar Hill to Rotha Logan, the biggest fete (feet) of the decade. 26. Agnes Smith to Helen Becker, her attention while in Glee Club practice. 27. Ruth Evans to St. Clair, her good behavior. 28. Louise Ricketts to future seniors, her art of posing for Mr. Konisek! 29. Walter Meyers to Ernest Kaylor, his dignity, manliness, and slimness of figure. 30. Louise Helffenstein to Lucille Grossweiler, her gray matter. 31. Roscoe Weaver to Henrietta De Silva, the privelege of being free from exams. 32. Martha Lauterbach leaves her “gossip in chemistry lab., to Louise Zerwekh. 33. Amelia Hoffert leaves her frame of mind to those who follow. 34. Irene Ripper to those in need of brown eyes, “her own.” 35. Gladys Byram to Nina Hammer, her dress patterns. 36. Helen Glunz to Bruce Crosby, the manner of being winsome and winning. 37. Carl Soldwedel to the future foot ball manager, his ability to match games with good players. 38. Frances Williams to Norma Hofferbert, her “rubber soles.”

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 aiiiPfffsewaj I congratulated him and rang a bell for tea and when it was served, we jj resumed the subject of old class mates. “Let’s see. Now there was Bill Nordhoff,” I hinted. “Yes, yes,” rejoined Harley, “Bill is chief grave-digger in the prosperous community of Sand Prairie.” “But Harley,” I remonstrated. “Bill was always of such a jocular turn of mind, and to think that he—” “Ha, Ha,” laughed Harley, “Maybe you’d sober down too if you lent some one a million and the person invested it in a munition factory which blew up the next day.” “Perhaps,” 1 answered. “But whom did he lend his precious million to?” To Roscoe Weaver.” continued Harley, “and that makes the seventh million Roscoe has gone thro'. “Poor Roscoe,” 1 whimpered. “Poor Roscoe’s wife, I’d say,” he laughed. What,” I gasped, “and whom, pray tell, did Roscoe Weaver ever decide to be good enough for him?” “Perhaps you remember Helen Glunz,” inquired Harley. “Well, she is Roscoe's chosen mate.” “indeed.” I mused. “Well, well! And who owned this munition factory g which blew up?” “Why. Clarence Heckman, responded Harley. “What! and did Hecky blow up with the factory and Roscoe's seventh million?” “Fortunately not,” this from Harley. “He was out of town at the time, paying a call to Miss Amelia Kraeger. “Great Scott,” 1 ejaculated, aren't they married yet?” “Not yet, but soon. he replied. “You see Hecky was ready long ago, but he lias been waiting for Amelia to finish her seventh domestic science course.” “Her seventh, I pondered. And where is Amelia studying now?” “She is in Chicago,” replied Harley, “and is staying at the Hill Hotel. Opie is proprietor of that, you know. He has made considerable money, but would be still richer were it not for a circumstance. “What is the circumstance?” I asked. “His wife,” returned Harley. “And who may Oscar’s spendthrift wife be?” I inquired tensely. “He married Dorothy Bailey of the Ziegfield Follies,” he remarked. Will surprises never end?” I questioned. “I don't know,” he returned. “I’m sure I thought not when I heard about our old friend, John Steinmetz.” “I am almost afraid to ask,” I said. “Is—is he dead?” “Well, I should say not—far from it. He is a great reformer. Why, he has even abolished the Saratoga from the streets of our old home town— Pekin.” That is a real surprise,” I admitted. “And what has become of the Saratoga?” “Why,” continued Harley, “He has changed it into Salvation Army headquarters.” ■ “Really!” I giggled. “I should not laugh at such a noble act, but to think that Baldy should think of that.” “Well, I should explain farther,” replied Harley. “You see, it was his wife who drilled these ideas of abolishing all places of amusement, even down to the ice-cream parlors, into his head.”