Rawlins High School - Roundup Yearbook (Rawlins, WY)

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typewriters?” We looked up with a sharp reply on our lips, but when we saw her smiling face and her eyes twinkling with mischief, our reply was mingled with gladness and relief, for here was Marion Johnson, traveling saleswoman for the Uuderwood typewriter company. As too much detail would only bore you, I will be satisfied by merely telling you that at last our motoring brought us to our old “home town” of Rawlins. It had grown quite a bit since our residence there, but we found many old friends still. We heard that Ruby Carlson was owner of the old Rawlins opera house, and had remodeled it quite a bit. We called on her one afternoon, and she laughingly told us iust “how it happened.” “Surely you remember,” she began, “the story Mr. Robuck told us about the two boys who began driving the delivery wagon, and how finally the one became owner of the business, and the other remained as his delivery boy? Well, his advice to ‘keep at a thing till we are successful’ led me to try to be owner of the opera house, and I really was very successful.” As Frances’ thoughts of a certain Chicago bungalow and someone who lived there, were always luring her on, we left, after a few days’ visit, for Denver. When we arrived in Cheyenne, we were driving about one day, and passed a modiste shop. The windows were so attractive that we decided to investigate. On entering, our eyes met with the most beautiful hats and gowns that we had ever seen, in fact the lure of one hat of georgette crepe was so irresistible that I finally added it to my wardrobe. It was a mass of fluffy white ruffles, with tiny pink rosebuds nestling here and there in its soft folds. A superb white chiffon afternoon gown next attracted my attention, and Frances added it to her already beautiful wardrobe. The beautiful young woman who had attended to our needs had retired to another room to get change for us, when a voice from behind us said: “I thought so; I thought I knew your voices.” After a moment of silence, caused by our susprise, we nearly knocked each other over in our hurry to embrace the owner of the modiste shop. “Hope,” I exclaimed, when surprise had at last released my tongue, and allowed us to speak, “How, when, why—tell us all about it?” So she told us in detail of her ambition to be a milliner, and how easily she had worked her way up to owning the most fashionable shop in the state. As Hope begged us to remain for a time, a week passed most delightfully before we again took up the trail. When we were within a few miles of Denver, bang! a tire blew out with all the noise that accompanies such occasions. Together we started to change the tire and were getting along famously, laughing and joking, when the jack suddenly fell and caught one of my fingers under the wheel. Frances finished changing the tire and we drove to St. Joseph’s hospital to have my finger dressed.

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—only the best would do for Frances—idle hours in which our greatest problem was that of personal ease and comfort. As I lounged on the wonderful, largo veranda of our hotel one drowsy afternoon, I saw someone pass, who caused me to jump excitedly from my comfortable chair, take Frances by the hand, and run madly after the fast disappearing form of one, whom 1 was convinced was none other than Eva Anderson. As we hurried along, 1 explained my “suspicions” to Frances, and was amazed at the wonderful ability she displayed as a sprinter. Eva was as surprised as we were over our meeting. Her rich uncle she told us had left her vast wealth, and she spent all of her time traveling around the world and enjoying life to the fullest extent. As she talked, and I watched her languid gaze traveling along the beach, I might have expressed my thoughts thus: “Some people have rich relatives thrust upon them!” From this place, after buying two new tires, we drove on, and after some time, came to St. Louis. One day as I scanned a newspaper, a picture seemed to fairly jump at me, and if the name beneath had been in letters four inches high, I am sure it could not have stood out more clearly. Eagerly rousing Frances from her beauty nap, I read to her: “Pretty young settlement worker, Miss Macey Lackey, leaves for her girlhood home in Rawlins, Wyoming.” Following this, a detailed account was given of this young woman’s activities as a settlement worker. The rest of the afternoon we spent in trying to imagine this old classmate in the charitable position she now held. When at last our driving brought us to San Antonio, Texas, where, as you may have heard, if you are interested in the matter, had been established a Gregg school for shorthand, we decided that since we were old friends of that system we would call upon the principal of the school, and see how many people were learning the subject and gather what other information we might. When we were at last ushered into the presence of the principal, we tried to think of some excuse besides our curiosity, and our old association with shorthand, for our call. No doubt the principal thought we were coming to join her classes. When she turned toward us—surprised? Oh, no! and you will be just as surprised as we were to learn that Helen Arthaud was still following shorthand as a means of earning her daily bread. From this place we went to San Francisco. Long had we admired a certain big liner from a distance and when a friend of Frances offered to introduce us !o the captain we gladly accepted. The captain was from Wyoming, and though you guessed for an age, you would never name him. If I introduce him to you as he was introduced to us, you will no doubt be as delighted as we were to meet Captain Andrew Peterson, U. S. N. On one of our trips by rail, through California, a young woman came up to us and said: “I wonder if you would be interested in Underwood

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The head nurse was the only one who could do anything for me, because all the doctors were busy. My hand was entirely forgotten when the pretty brown-haired nurse entered the room. Here again fate had a surprise in store for us, and also, I might state for Kathleen Fay, for she was head nurse at the hospital. As my hand had only been bruised a little, we filled up our gas tank, bought a new tire and soon left Denver far in the distance. How full of interest the rest of the trip was! What beautiful country we passed through. One break-down added spice to the trip, for nothing is quite so lovely as to walk to a nearby town for help. All the way to Chicago we laughed and talked over the four happy, care-free years in Rawlins High. At last we drew up before the bungalow. When Frances brought the car to a stop she said: “Now before we leave this car, let us draw up some resolutions. We set about our task with serious faces and soon drew up the following: “We here highly resolve that the class of 1920 of the High School of Rawlins, Wyoming, was the best that ever was, is or will be, and that the Rawlins H. S. and the Rawlins schools as a whole, are the finest possible.” And we solemnly signed our names. Doesn’t this make it a fact? EMILY V. MUELLER, ’20. Last Will and Testament of Class of 1920 We, the class of 1920, feeling that the end of our career in R. H. S. is approaching, do hereby give and transmit the possession of the class of 1920 to the various members of the other classes in the aforesaid R. H. S. We do give and bequeath the following: Juanita Howard leaves her powder puff to Mollie Morrison, feeling that Mollie well knows the use of one. Her position in the orchestra she gives and bequeathes to Charlotte Draper. Frances Phelan bequeathes and transmits her ability to play “Forward” to Chrystie Anderson; her lack of verbosity and her zeal for study, to the Freshmen, feeling that they stand greatly in need of the same. Hope Edwards, by these same presents, gives her premises to Marjorie Baker, believing full well that Marjorie can use it to advantage; her rosy cheeks she bequeaths to Alice Peterson. Eva Anderson gives her love for and grace in Jazz to Dale Magor; her standing room in Mr. Anderson’s office to her brother Harry. Andrew Peterson leaves his love and devotion to the fair sex, to Virgil Patrick. Frances Olsen wills her dainty appearance to Norma Meason. Marion Johnson gives and bestows her speed in typewriting upon