yed. It was actually a reality--our dream had come true for we were
at last garbed in those precious white robes for which we had been
striving for four years. Memories of these years rushed over me. How
burdened we were with our importance in being Freshmen; Seniors seemed
very old and distant. Suddenly we slipped from cock robins to
conscientious Sophomores. By this time rumors were heard of a
financial problem that we, as Juniors, must meet. Immediately we began
to save all our pennies in order to startle the Faculty and the
Seniors of 1925 with a luxurious Junior-Senior ball. So our Sophomore
year closed with many peeks into the class treasury.

Dancing, fortune telling, freaks, and so on, came to our rescue in
preparation for the J. S. We Juniors, as financiers, staged a Junior
carnival--and it was successful.

May the twenty-ninth, in the year of our Lord, one thousand-nine
hundred and twenty-five, was the red letter day of our Junior year.
Our hopes, not our fears, were realized. Gayly we danced to "Tea for
Two" in the green and white decked ballroom (alias the dining room)
and promenaded in a garden in Japan, otherwise the roof garden.
Sadly--ah, yes--the music hesitated and then ceased--as we unitedly
sighed, perhaps with relief, perhaps with weariness. Who knows? Our
Herculean task had passed, and our eyes were turned to the magnetic
red ties. Honored beyond recognition we were the first to abide in the
new Senior room, south-west parallel room 40, on the third floor. June
quickly slipped near and we fixed our hopes and ambitions on the now
approaching goal, graduation.

THE CLASS PROPHECY

In nineteen hundred and fifty-six
The year of our Lord, A. D.,
I sat me down, and put my specs on,
An epistle of length to see.
And that you may understand this better,
I'll herewith disclose the news of the letter:

"Dear Mike," the writer began, "you know
I'm feeling that life is far from slow.
As Mary B. Eaton, instructor in war,
My military academy's not such a bore;
Between drills, and luncheon, and chapel, it seems
That this life is not all that it was in my dreams.

"And Nance, instead of teaching the boys how to ride,
Prefers to smuggle them food, and candy beside.
By the way, did you know that Virge Leffingwell
Has given up art and horses as well?
She's opened a school, the dear old scamp,
To teach all the young ladies the b