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Page 26 text:
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THE SNOWDRIFT THE OFFICIAL ORGAN OF THE STUDENT BODY OF SNOW COLLEGE STAFF Co-editors ...... Lynian Peterson, Veola Breinholt Scribbler Editor. ....................Vcrl Ogden Sports reporters—Eugene Peterson, Ray I. Johansen, George Smith. Snap shot editor .............................Reese Anderson Reporters — Millie Domgaard, Spencer Squire, Margaret Lund, Eleanor Peterson. Typist ......................... Frances Jennings Artists ........... Merl Knudsen, Joseph Crane Advisers Lucy A. Phillips, Fern A. Young Contributors—Zola Christensen, Alfred I iirson, Ixniisc Larson, Opal Christensen, Frances Jennings, Eva Olsen, Julia Modccn, Viola Madsen. Why Not Now that the year is practically over and this is the bust Snowdrift, the editor can make a few-wise cracks without fear of a return editorial making fun of them. The editor of this last edition hereby takes the opportunity to thank all those who have been so longsuffcring during this spring quarter in helping to make the ancient history of the school into modern news for each succeeding issue. No doubt it would even tax the powers of Will Rogers to make a two or even three week old assembly into an item that one out of ten students would read. This has been the job of some of the reporters, but these reporters can probably now-look back with pleasure to such occasions. The editor has enjoyed working for Snow-students, has learened a few things, and wants to pass them on as a heritage, though without obligation on the part of the receivers. To future Snowdrift editors: Develop a newspaper morgue which shall contain all the best material gathered from the English classes and elsewhere; improve the paper by getting a definite policy to follow; stir up enough interest among students that they will voluntarily keep one column hot with controversy, and perhaps divide the Snowdrift for the year between strictly news and strictly literary editions. To the students: Be more sympathetic in making news; don’t leave all your big doings until the end of the quarter or until the day after the paper goes to press; have a few more marriages (for the sake of job-seeking trainers), have elopments even, but please let your editor know before you let the parson. Seriously, when you have your class and club elections, do not elect reporters for the school paper but let the editor select his own. This year it took half the year to run down some of the reporters, only to find they were in training and had no time to report. Final Word No doubt some of the students of Snow College will be disappointed to think that this commencement edition of The Snowdrift is the best substitute for a yearbook we can have. The editor hopes it will at least partly fill his readers' expectations. He has tried to do his best to make this last issue what the students would like to have. If it satisfies, give the credit to the reporters from the Scribblers' Club, to all the other students of the school who willingly contributed pictures, writing or other effort, to the officials of the school who came to our aid, and to Miss Phillips who had the patience to persevere until the end in the making of this edition. Special credit is due Reese Anderson, who furnished the majority of snapshots for the edition. As to the mistakes in the issue, use them as objects to improve upon for another year, you who have the opportunity. Perfection is always in the distance. This year has been one act in the melodrama of life, a good act, for it has or should have taught us students that we can not always luive the things we want in life. We can if we will pay the price; anything may be had for a price, but sometimes that price is too dear. We students could have had a yearbook, but if that had been the case, some brother or sister at home or more likely some father or mother would have worn his or her coat another year in spite of its being worn and threadbare. Which is the most important? We hope this commencement edition will have a value to you worthy of the funds and efforts expended on it. It contains the pictures of those who arc willing to face the photographer’s gun, records of what all the students have done both in curricular and cxtra-curriculuar lines, a few scenes by which you can remember your Alma Mater as you dwell in near or distant lands, andd a few words of home-made literature to comfort you and cheer you on in your declining years. Bon Voyage. Patre Twenty-four
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Page 25 text:
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The End of the Vaudeville By RUBY LEWIS Dean I.arkin felt dazed—sort of numblike. He want cd to laugh, but a stab of pain prevented It. As he open cd his eyes, a face hovered over him, gravely and curi-usly. Feeling better?” the man asked. It- it doesn’t hurt so much now,” Dean replied, wincing at a new dart of pain. Did—did you send for Dorothy Allen, like I asked you.” He was assured that Miss Allen was on her way over to the hospital. After a thorough search of the city, the hospital authorities had found Drothy Allen batching, by herself, in a little two room apartment in the poorer district of the city. With a weak smile. Dean closed his eyes. Dorothy Allen,” he whispered. Of all people to ask for. when I am cracked up.” For five years they had teamed together in vaudeville, making audiences laugh as they had never laughed before. He would make a wise crack and she would answer. The audience liked that Theirs had been the biggest act on the circuit. They had been known from coast to coast -Dot and Dean, the two comedians. They had been sweethearts; he—had loved her. But this had all happened ten years ago. What had they quarrelled about. Some other fellow, he supposed: but that didn't matter now; he loved her and he wanted to see her. He had thought about her every day since that night when they had parted. The Teakettle’s Tale (Continued from Page 22) it were the Sandman coming, and then the teakettle slept. Old Copper, as it grew older, was always ready to give advice and consolation to anyone in its own modest way. It talked to the children, when they were not too impatient to listen, about all the big things to which one could look forward to in life; it talked rather instructively to the mother about how to handle the children, and even tried to discuss crop conditions and prospects with the father. When big sister entertained friends at a candy pull. Old Copper was right there to help with hot water and with the entertainment as well; and when the oldest boy went steppin’ out, the teakettle had a generous supply of instructions ready on how to behave—in his harried state of mind, it is doubtful if the boy heard them. Only after spending a few times home alone on a Sunday eve- and their vaudeville act had been broken up. Since then he had quit the vaudeville, quit everything that reminded him of her, tried to put her out of his mind. But he had failed while trying to do this, he had failed at most everything else, as well. The last year things had gone hard with him. He had taken any kind of a job to get his bread and butter. Today the automobile had crushed him. Oh! yes, he remembered, he had been crossing the street, the automobile had struck him, and then he had awakened in this hospital. Dean,” a small voice was saying. That was Dot’s voice cutting through the veils of grey mist. Hello, Dot. thought you'd never get here, he said, trying to smile in spite of a new pain. ‘Thought you'd never send for me, she answered. The room was growing dark. He couldn't understand why. Perhaps the doctor had turned down the lights to ease those new pains of his. But he was feeling fine now. Thanks to Dot. Still workin’ in the vaudeville? he asked. No, I haven't made a success of it since you left me flat” Want to start all over again, this time as Mrs. Larkin ?” More than anything in the world,” she whispered. He was happy for the first time in ten years. She loved him; she wanted him. He wanted to laugh, loudly, widly, but somehow he just couldn't laugh. The gray mist turned a deeper gray. The numbness left him. He smiled up at her, and then he closed his eyes for the last time. Dot knelt beside the bed; she took the still hand in hers. Wait for me, she whispered, we'll do our vaudeville sometime—not now—but, sometime.” ning did the boy calm down enough to listen to the sage advice that all is not merry-making in this world but that there is toil and suffering, and worry also, which we have to look forward to; then the teakettle picked up a merrier slant to the subject and told him it was all right to go out and have a good time sometimes; in fact, he must if he would keep a heart light enough to get along in this life. After the advice was given the children and all the childhood good times were spent, after the children had some day moved away and were probably listening to the newer song of a modern teakettle, Old Copper stayed behind and tried its best to hum Home Sweet Home” for the gray-haired father and mother left there alone. - Has Susie an impediment in her speech? —Yes, there are only 24 hours in a day. Although there arc many diseases prevalent in the country, by far the commonest is high blonde pressure. Page Twenty-threa
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