Salem State University - Clipper Yearbook

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by the appearance of Abbie Croscup, fussing and fuming as usual. ff Millie, whatever shall I write in this thesis on the geographical significance of streets? I'm sure I don't know, and it must go in to the editor by Tuesday. Assuring Abbie that we hoped her thesis would get in all right, we thought it best to 4' get out. We had not gone far when our attention was attracted by a large sign, LOCKE THEATRE. In the hope of escaping for a few moments from the strange encounters we had experienced, we entered the theatre. Just inside the door we met Helen who cordially greeted us. She informed us that she was the proprietor and at once signed two com- plimentaries which admitted us. We offered them to the lady in uniform who ex- claimed, 4' Complimentaries, row 683, class F, tier I, slot 2fbj. H She must be a most orderly and particular individualf' I said. ff Does she remind you of anyone? asked my companion. VVhy, yes, Mildred Wetmore was always just like that. As we took a second glance, great was our astonishment to find that it really was she. Mil- dred was so busy that we thought it unwise to trouble her, so we went directly to our seats in the orchestra. The house filled rapidly until only one seat remained vacant. Our curiosity was excited, for it was the seat just beside us. The first announce- ment appeared. Imagine our surprise when we read, The Dancing Wonder, Mme. De Carleton. The curtain rose. Then for a few moments, transported with delight, we followed the maddening whirl of the dancer as she flitted over the stage and finally disappeared. As the curtain dropped, Miss Locke mounted the stage and made the following announcement, 'f I take pleasure in presenting Marion Remon, the great- est, funniest comedian of the day. This is positively her last appearance in public, as she intends to retire immediately into private life so that she may have more time for -sleep. Amid tremendous applause the curtain rose. As we turned to see how heartily the rest of the house was applauding, we saw a figure strolling, with calm, serene face, leisurely in manner, down the aisle. She was the very counterpart of Innocence. She seated herself beside us. My companion nudged my elbow and whispered, ff That's Florence Davidson. lVe learned from her that she had inherited a large fortune and was therefore spending her days in the enjoyment of life. After the performance was over we left the heiress to saunter out at her leisure, while we made haste to escape from the crowd into the street. For a few moments we walked along in silence, when all at once we heard the drone of a bagpipe and who should pass hy hut Annie McCabe, doing her old stunt, the barn-dance. We watched her until.she had disappeared from sight and then continued our journey. From one side of the street a little path led across a stretch of meadow land. The cool, green grass and shady trees looked so inviting that we decided to leave the main thoronglifaro and follow the footpath. We had not gone far when in the distance, be- hind a clump of trees, we saw two tigures wandering along together. They seemed to have their eyes fastened on the ground and each was carrying a huge basket on her arm. There was something ahout them which was strikingly familiar, although we 1-onld not see their faces. As we came closer to them, however, we discovered that they 22

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A Modern Fairy Tale. ffldaptedfrom the meager notes taken in the reading classfj A heavy, damp fog had rolled in from the sea, enveloping the town in its gray darkness. Night closed in without a moon. As we walked or rather groped our way along, occasionally the dim rays from a street lamp straggled through the mist and re- vealed the way for a few steps before us. Then all was darkness again. Berne on the chilly night wind came the dreary, sullen roar of the breakers as they dashed on the near-by shore. We shivered, drew our coats closely about us and hastened on. Gradually the mist in front of us seemed to be illuminated with a weird light which, as we advanced, grew more and more intense. Suddenly we found ourselves before a huge archway resplendent with brilliant lights which formed, over the entrance, tl1e signiicant words, Quo Vadisf' Impelled by some unseen force, we drew nearer. At once the portal sprang open. We entered, and the great gate clanged behind. Before us stretched a broad panorama of strange buildings and towers. Peculiar sights and sounds greeted our bewildered senses. We hurried forward and in a moment would have entered the wonderful city. But, alas! we were startled and stopped by the sharp tones of a familiar voice calling us by name. There, craning her neck through the small aperture of an office window, was our old classmate, Marguerite Kelley. After we had answered numerous questions in regard to our ancestors, their birth, life. religion, habits, etc., and our own public and private affairs, she was evidently satisfied and gave us a passport into the Mystical City. We had ventured forward only a few steps when someone brushed us rudely aside, shouting, ff Get out of my Way! I'm running for the 7.167 When we recov- ered our equilibrium, we saw Dezzie rushing along, hair loose, belt in hand, shoes un- buttoned, and coat flying. ff We might have known? We followed closely behind and caught up just in time to see her throw herself and belongings into an airship. Evidently someone else besides ourselves had arrived too late. Standing on the land- ing, with her arms outstretched and her eyes gazing upward in a most beseeching man- ner, was Ethel Crocker. ff Why, Crocky, what can be the matter? we volunteered sympathetically. In answer, she pointed despairingly to the slowly receding airship. f' Can it be that he has taken to the air? I asked. Why, sure enough, there he is at the gea1'. Poor Chapman l Uncertain as to what would happen next, but prepared for the worst, we started on again. As we turned a corner, we were confronted by someone who extended to- ward us a small collection box bearing the inscription, 4' Foreign Missionsf, Thought- lessly dropping in one small coin, we continued on our way. Forced to glance back by hearing our names spoken, whom should we see following us but Millie Isaac with her little box. 4' You might at least have recognized me, she said. Apologizing for our oversight, we stopped to inquire what was to become of the small coin we had sac- rificed. ff Oh, she replied, this money is to be sent to Sister Alley, who is doing noble missionary work in the wilds of Africa. At once interested, we loosened our purse strings and graciously filled the box. At this point our interview was out short 21

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were 44 the inseparablesf' Rosalind and Joyce. Every few moments one of them would stoop, pick up something from the ground and put it in the basket. 44 What are you girls doing? I asked. My question startled them, for they had not noticed our ap- proach. A broad smile overspread Rosalind's face, but before she had time to answer, Joyce, peering over her glasses, asked, 44 What's that? O, yes, we're collecting speci- mens g we're assistants in the zoological and botanical department at the Salem Normal School now. We sat down together on the grass for a few moments to indulge in reminiscence. Suddenly Joyce exclaimed, '4 Say, girls, have you heard about Marion Hamilton? She has a first grade down in Skihuble, Maine. You know Mary Dowl- ing is the principal of the largest school down there and through her help Marion has, I guess, secured a permanent position. 44 Marion in Skihuble! That's pretty good! But it's not at all strange to have May come to her aid, for May always was Marion's last resource when they were at Normal. Good-by, girls! We must be off for it is already getting late. So glad to have met you! As we sauntered along we came to a little white cottage at the end of the path, called the 44 Manchester. In front of it was a delightful little pool of water. Around the edge, sown eight inches apart in rows in the clayey soil which evidently had a large capacity for holding water, were hundreds of minute clam shells. There in the center of the beach thus formed, with sea-shore pail and shovel, was a forlorn figure. 44 Why, Theresa, what are you doing here? Are you married yet? 'l Toss- ing her head, she replied indignantly in her old-time phrase, 44H'm, I could be if I wanted toll Since she seemed to have abundant leisure, we stopped to inquire about some of our old friends. 44 Do you know what Fannie YVelch is doing now ? 44 Fan- nie Welch? H7IH! The last I knew of her she was at the head of the lately estab- lished monotone society, furthering that new brand of tone that she demonstrated so dramatically in the history class in Normal. Don't you remember ? 44 Oh, yes l we sang in chorus. 44 Say, girls, have you heard the latest love song? No? Why! Elizabeth Merrill composed it. It goes like this, 44 Carroll, O my Carroll. We should have liked to hear the rest, but just then we were attracted by the shrill whistle of a passing freight train. A crowd seemed to be gathering along the track, so from 44 in- stinct and 44 by reflex action, we hurried to join them. Vigorously waving a red flag on the top of the rear car stood Lydia Anderson. Now what do you think of that? When Lydia caught sight of us she Hourished her flag in the air and shouted: 44Hi ! The train passed on and we followed the crowd up the busy street. Evidently they were all going to the same place, for they walked on in the same direction and soon turned in at the entrance to a large brick building. VVe followed. Just inside the door there was a huge poster which read: Lecture on Subjective Spiritualism by Miss Juliette Ryan, Ph. D., D. D., S. B. Since We were not in a philosophical frame of mind, we decided not to enter but to wait until the lecturer should pass by. We were rewarded in a few moments, for Juliette, heavily laden with degrees, came tripping sedately along. Close at her heels 23