West Side High School - Legenda Yearbook (Saginaw, MI)

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Flooded with sunlight is an old-fashioned garden, hedge inclosed, where roses and four-o ' clocks blow, and sweet pinks and blue forget- me-nots are tucked away in corners. The prim maiden who has been kneeling beside a small rosebush, throws off her quaint pink sunbonnet and rises, as the manager of a noted seed house comes to inspect the superior plants cultivated by Hazel Baskin. In a large, well-lighted schoolroom many typewriters are busily clicking. The noise stops and the students look up as their teacher, Hazel Beach, begins to speak. At the show are all kinds of dogs, big shaggy fellows with droop- ing ears, sleek, close-haired ones, keen bulldogs with haughty air, all sit attentively watching a trim young woman who has just stopped playing with a bunch of frisking, fuzzy puppies. As she approaches him, the great, white Russian wolfhound leaps up and eagerly shakes hands with Nellie Blackstone, the girl whose friendship with these pets has led to her being made president of the Hyset Kennel Klub. In a cozy kitchen, savory with steaming pudding and delectable viands, in preparation for the evening meal, stands Lauretta Bluem, in a blue gingham apron. The becoming flush on her cheeks deepens at the entrance of a tall young man, in shell-rimmed glasses; and she hastens her preparations as he tells her that he must soon return to the oflfice for evening work. The courtroom is growing uneasy at the length of the debate, and at the hopelessness of the poor man ' s case, when Elma Bradford begins her plea. In a very short time she establishes proof that this poverty- stricken man is in the right. The decision is made in favor of her client, and Elm.a is happy because she is satisfied that her efforts to bring justice into the courts have not been altogether in vain. Up the steps and between the great fluted columns of the doorway walks a tall, gray-haired man who retains the erect and dignified bearing of his youth. He is Harry Burrows, president of the Federal Reserve system of Banks. All heads are bent in attention upon the boxers in the ring below. The lights shine down fiercely, and with a sudden turn of his hand, Maurice Brown deals a clever blow which ends the match in his favor. A richly dressed woman appears, wearing about her shoulders, furs of unsurpassed beauty. Luxurious, warm-looking, comfortable, she is confronted by the customs officer, Walter Bohnoff, who gruffly demands duty for the furs she is wearing. After much evasiveness and complaint, Sylvia Kaiser pays the exorbitant price demanded. A busy factory, humming with smoothly-running machinery, is teeming with active workers, contented under the efl?icient management of Bessie Close. The ruddy glow from an open fireplace illumines the tapestried walls and heavily carpeted floor of a spacious room, and plays upon the faces of the young men who sit about in deep-cushioned chairs smoking and merrily conversing, and then flickers upon the elks ' head on the wall, lights the old pennant above which bears the inscription Bachelors ' Club, and shines upon the face of the host, disclosing him as Arthur Curran. A white light illuminates a screen upon which is flashed the face of a beautiful woman whose deep, soulfull eyes surpass those of Theda Bara in their lustrous splendor. Immediately this girl is chosen as a star. Her name is asked. The answer is, Ethel Curran. In a large hall, a lecturer is to speak before an assembly of pro- fessors and teachers — the literary department of a noted college. In this audience is Harry Gnatowske who has gained wide recognition through his stories. He recognizes the white-haired woman who steps

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Truth Truth — Prophecy — Truth While traveling in Egypt, I was much impressed by a strange belief, current among several of the nomadic tribes there, that to whomever sleeps in the shadow of the Sphinx on the first night of a full moon, she imparts some portion of her secret. Upon first hearing of it, this seemed to me a silly superstition, but after viewing for myself that solemn image hewn from rugged stone, I myself felt the silent influence which writers say has for centuries awed the world. Then, I was converted; and I resolved that in exactly one week, the moon being at that time in the first quarter, I would spend the night in the shadow of the Sphinx. I went the customary round of sight-seeing during that week; and having climbed the great pyramid in the afternoon of the day set for my weird experiment returned, to the hotel, partook of a light repast, and then ordered that a donkey be made ready to convey me to my odd sleeping place. It was nearly dark when I reached the Sphinx, whose mysterious features were now well veiled in riddling shadows, adding life-likeness to the expression of immutable wisdom which I had before observed in them. No one, who has seen the Sphinx at this hour, can doubt that it holds a most profound secret. I did not doubt, at that moment, that the Sphinx knew everything in earthly history. I cannot describe the sensations I felt as I curled myself up in my blanket at the foot of that weird creature — for the Sphinx seemed almost alive to me then — and strangely enough, I wondered where my classmates were. Then I watched the darkness creeping toward me over the gray, brown sands. I saw the stars come out, one by one, then the full moon rose, and soon, wearied from my afternoon ' s exer- tions, I fell asleep. I do not know how long a time elapsed, I only know the moon was high in air, when I was awakened by the thong, thong, of caravan bells, and saw a long train of camels passing by from the desert into the town. I was about to lie down again when I was suddenly arrested in my action by perceiving near me, in the air, a pale, white light, which steadily brightened as I sat rigid and motionless watching it. Then, as it flared up into a burst of radiance, it appeared to me as a beam of sunlight streaming through an open window, and illuminating the fair features of a saintly blue-eyed girl, whose cheer and gentle touch comforts and soothes the suffering. A soft smile lights the face of this angel of mercy who is Elizabeth Alderton. This vision pales, then the light brightens into the glow from a lamp, lighting a newspaper which is spread out upon the table. Great headlines announce the Presidential nominees, and among the names, is that of Robert Allardyce. A group of hungry, dirty children crowd around a young lady whose kindly face and sweet smile seem to enchant them. She is telling them lovely stories and giving them things to eat. These London slum children have never loved anyone more than they love this kind American girl, Ruth Appleby. A woman, in white cap and dress, walks through the Foreign Immigration Halls. She goes from one group of people to another, everywhere giving cheer, and to the little ones, candy and cakes. She is ' Ruth Avery, interpreter of languages at Ellis Island.

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upon the platform, as Margaret Curtis, one of his former classmates, now a titled doctor whose clear reasoning and literary tendencies have gained for her wide renown among the scholars and intellect of the country. Broadway appears with its flashing lights and many theaters. Crowds of people wend their way toward the Metropolitan, attracted by posters which advertise Duane Chamberlain in his most successful play, The Returning Tide. A business man appears seated at his desk. A perplexed ex- pression passes over his face as he tries to solve a difficulty. Then an idea comes to him; his visage clears, and picking up the telephone book he calls Lydia Christ, and asks her to take charge of his office work. Lydia accepts as she has much sympathy for her old school mate, Edward Cherry, who is suffering from a severe attack of Spring fever. The rays of light from a dim oil lamp steal through the chinks of a little hut that sits deep in a dense forest. Within is Claude Clark, working out a powerful experiment which will prove to be of great value to the world of Physics. Along a woodland path mottled with sunlight, walks a young woman dressed in khaki suit, low-heeled, strongly-built shoes, and brown corduroy tam o ' shanter. Altogether she presents a very pic- turesque figure with her canvas and brushes on her arm. She is Helen Claflin, painter of woodland scenery. An old, wizen-faced man rides along the dusty road in a creaking, worn-out vehicle drawn by a lanky horse. A case of medicine falls out of the back of the carriage. The occupant at once gets out to replace it, and as he stoops to pick up the case, the wind snatches his tall stove-pipe hat and rolls it rapidly down the pike. After a mad chase and a final rescue, he returns, flushhed and triumphant, climbs into the buggy, jerks the reirs, and rumbles on his way. He is Carl Compton, who is devoting his life to the service of suffering horses in a country village. The pretty little millinery shop on the corner is filled with enthu- siastic customers, to whom the milliner, Dorothy Doerfner, aided by busy clerks, is showing hats that are chic and simple, all reflecting quality and good taste. A flock of chickens, white ones, brow n Plymouth Rock hens gather around a woman who is calling them and scattering feed from her apron. The owner of these chickens is none other than Frances Duff. Leona Dollhopf appears on the scene of a great fire. She is there as soon as the firemen, and her keen eyes miss nothing. With a small kodak she snaps several of the most thrilling scenes; then, as the fire is checked and the flames are being extinguished, she walks around gathering details for tomorrow ' s issue — for Leona is a reporter on the daily paper. A large cigar store, much frequented by men who desire the best, appears. Behind the desk, looking over his accounts, is Bishop Davis, proprietor. The light struggles through the small, smoky window pane, upon a man who sits at his desk, thoughtfully composing a newspaper editorial. Frequently he runs his fingers through his rumpled hair, which hangs in two dark points over his eyes, that stare fixedly upon the paper before him. He is Leslie Eynon, editor of the Blinkes- ville Daily. In a schoolroom are groups of girls industriously learning to sew. The quiet, patient teacher who has won their love and respect is Irene Gelinas, whose once brown hair is now streaked with gray, but her countenance still radiates kindness and good cheer as it did long ago.