Santa Rosa High School - Echo Yearbook (Santa Rosa, CA)

Page 12 text:

THE PORCUPINE The time was drawing nigh When we no more may enter The dear old Santa Rosa High! Unconsciously I spoke my next thoughts aloud, “Where and what should we sixteen be in ten years from now, and— Heigho! I wish I had my class prophecy written.” Just at this point, “tap! tap!” rang the bell and a clear, pleasant voice called me to the front. I walked quickly forward and in the twilight I could just distinguish a girl, gowned like a court jester, half in black, half in colds ak know you well, child, and may be of some assistance to you. You must know that I am the High School Spirit. (I won- dered if it would be appropriate to say “Pleased to meet. you,” but she went right on). So you would like to know where and what your classmat es will be ten years from now Shall I tell you exactly what each member of your class wilk do during the sixth day of February, nienteen seventeen?” Should she! “Delighted!” I murmered, overjoyed at this easy solution to a problem that had caused sleepless nights- “Listen, then, and I shall give you sixteen pictures that will exist on the sixth day of February ten years from now:” First—Along one of the pleasant country roads, south of Sebastopol, a man on a bicycle is peddling easily along with his coat tails flapping gaily in the breeze. A square package is strapped to his back. At the first house he stops, tuns lightly up the steps to the front door and rings the bell. He greets the matron who responds to the ring with a dignified “Good afternoon, madam. Fine weather we are having. Ahem! I have here a book on the great San Fran- cisco fire in ‘06. It is a book at once so instructive, so en- tertaining, so ” and then followed a stream of oratory So convincing and materful that at the end of twenty min- utes the good wife fairly runs for pen and ink to subscribe for the book and Mr. Abeel rides off again breathless, with beads of perspiration on his brow, yet right gratified at the result of his labor.

Page 11 text:

THE PORCUPINE 3 Class Prophecy MARGARET RUED It was nearly six o’clock, Wednesday, when I remembered that my much-enduring old desk still contained some half- dozen soiled handkerchiefs, my mittens, a book-strap, at least four apple cores and last month’s copy of “Life,” all of which I was determined to remove, even at the cost of missing the six o’clock train for the ranch. So I ran back and explained the situation to Mr. Jones, who kindly let me have the keys to the school house. The hall was dark. I closed the door behind me, found my way to my seat, and slid leisurely into it, indulging at the same time in appro- priate sentimental reflections that ran about like the burden of that old song: “New ties perhaps may bind us To brighter scenes than this, But something left behind us Our hearts will always miss’— And I felt that I would miss nothing more than my old désk. Running my hand over its battered surface I was glad to find that cleverly carved reproduction of Happy Hooligan upon it. Resorting to poetry again I felt that—

Page 13 text:

THE PORCUPINE nea Second.—The scene is in a cosy little green room of a cer- tain home in this city. A stately woman sits reading with brows slightly drawn. It is an edition of the Santa Rosa Press Democrat, just issued, Feb. 6, 1917. On the first page is her picture, and the thick black head lines read: “Young Woman Who Has Made Sonoma Famous!” Below this is a beautiful poem, signed Rosemary Kobes. This famous young woman, known the world over, is no other than the demure maiden who received E records in English and wrote the class poem so aptly in ’o6. Third.—In a well regulated little parsonage in Southern ‘California Dora McHatton, that was, reigns as a rector’s wife. February the 6th is the day that the Ladies’ Aid meets, and her house is already filled with ladies. As hostess, and as president of the Aid, Dora takes the initiative. Their ttask this day is to fill a barrel for the Chinese, and it is her thoughtfulness that prompts her to suggest putting a hatch- et into the barrel before it is nailed shut so that those heathens would have a way of opening it when it reached its destination. Also if it reached there by the 22d it would serve as a reminder of the Father of our country. Fourth.—In a select Philadelphia Boarding House a jolly ‘woman, fair, fat, but far from forty, is loughing heartily. In her hand she holds a letter. She has taken the time from her editorial duties to read a letter since it comes from her old school-mate, Hazel Taylor. It is Elsie Whitaker ; she is the editor of the “Girls’ Heart to Heart Talks” department of the Ladies’ Home Jaurnal. Fifth—In a little school house on the Russian River. ‘Today young Mr. Smith, the new trustee, has come to visit the school, a thing which has occurred often of late. Miss Estelle Jones requires the little ones to “speak their pieces” —and they do—all the way from the little stanza “In winter I get up at night And dress by yellow candle light’”— to