Pekin High School - Pekinian Yearbook (Pekin, IL)

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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.”

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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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iMIli li!l!li!l!l!ll!IIIIHI!illlll!lll!ll!lilllllllllli:i!llll!llll!lllll!lllll!ll!!!llllllllllllllll|l| I was now so used to his surprises that I did not change color at this one, but inquired casually the maiden name of John’s helpmate. Harley replied, just as casually, “Kate Rollins.” “And Kate did so love ice-cream,” I ruminated, “I marvel at her changed ideas. Speaking of Kate, makes me think of Lois Velde. What of her?” “O, Lois poses for the labels of the canned goods the lobster factory puts out,” Harley explained. And who owns this lobster factory?” I demanded. It isn't a lobster factory,” corrected Harley. It is a canned lobster factory.” “That changes the situation a trifle,” 1 acknowledged, “but come. I’ll bet it’s another class mate.” “So the story goes, and so it is. Miss Christina Petri, after making a careful study of all degrees of lobsters; and Miss Sadie Van Osdol, after making a careful study of how to do them up so as to satisfy the palate, have gone into the canning business and are making a success of it, too.” “Good,” I cried, “and how do they make their sales?” “O,” he informed me, “Amelia Hoffert has donated her services to the cause and is, at this time, illustrating an advertising pamphlet which they send to all parts of the U. S. Besides illustrating for this publication, Miss Hoffert does some notable work in ‘Shade’s Monthly', now published weekly.” “Ah, yes,” I responded, “and who writes the ‘ads’ for this canned lobster factory?” “O, that is done by Louise Ricketts,” explained Harley. “It is all done in poetry. Miss Ricketts has attained great fame as a poetess. She wrote the famous ‘Ode to Fried Eggs’.” “Indeed,” I replied. “Well, I must give her credit here. She is one person of verse that writes on a subject of which she knows something about.” “Yes,” remarked Harley, “and indeed, she knows a great deal about them. Her husband is so fond of them, you know.” “And her husband is —” I began. “Richard Allen,” he finished. “And to think after all of Dick’s planning to be a doctor, he has ended in becoming a movie star.” “That was naught more than a natural thing to do. Who is it, whose mind the thot never enters these days,” I said, “and who does he play opposite in his greater roles?” “Why, Elsie Waltmire, mostly,” replied the well-informed Harley, “but Elsie feels that she must withdraw from the cinema drama for her housework keeps her so busy.” “And her husband,” I ventured, fearful that I was tiring my patient conversationalist. “Why, Carl Soldwedel,” he replied, all alert and never letting me know how bad he needed nerve cure. “Carl,” he continued, “bought out Hyer’s and is running the pop-corn stand with great success. He has added Ginger-ale to his attractions, and, since Pekin has gone dry, you must know he does remarkable business along this line. One of his best customers is Walter Meyer.” “And Walter’s other occupation?” I suggested. “Is aeroplane agent,” supplied Harley. “How interesting,” I remarked. “And has Walter never thought of marriage?” “Well,” Harley answered, “altho’ Walter is not launched on the sea of matrimony, the fact remains that he has tried to leave shore more than once. He has proposed not less than five times to Vanita Schleder. Now Vanita has refused him with only one sole cause and that is she feels her duty toward humanity, and tours the country lecturing on ‘Lettuce as a Digestible Food’.”