Class of 1918

The news of the Big Green team's great victory over Cornell at Hanover has just come over the wire, and naturally whatever meagre thoughts we had for this column have vanished into thin air for the present. There remains nothing but a roseate feeling of intense gratification. Yet we have a vague sort of regret, which if expressed might say something like this,— "Why couldn't it all have happened in 1916 or 1917?" But we must proceed.

One of our numerous self-imposed exiles, Mel Southwick, has graciously consented to visit the U.S. However, it seems that it wasn't so much the love for his native land that has lured him away from China, as that for "the eternal feminine." He has been busy lately arranging his nuptials, and was married on December 5 to Miss Frieda Becker at Rye, N. Y. Now he and his wife are already on the way back to Hankow, China, where he represents the Standard Oil Company of New York. Mel says he occasionally meets up with Stew Teaze, who originally accompanied him to the Orient back in June, 1919. Teaze is also in the Standard Oil service, and is located in Tokio.

Stan Jones, who went abroad last summer to collect his share of the reparations, has returned, minus his shirt,—says there are no reparations left. He reports having seen considerable of our Mr. Rhodes in London. Stan and M.O. (his domestic millstone) and Dusty took in several of the sights and sounds of the ancient city. On one occasion Dusty conducted our president through devious mazes into a night club. Subsequent events are a bit hazy, though Stan is certain that Dusty accounted for enough ale-and-so-forth to float a barge in. He avers even that the vice-consul gave forth a clearly audible and soothing "slosh, slosh" as he placed one foot gingerlyahead of the other. (A man of infinite capacity, beyond the peradventure of a doubt. A man to know when in London.)

On Dartmouth Night, Louie Huntoon, Dusty Rhodes, and Stan Jones got together and bent the festive elbow in London's murk. Louie was over in the British Isles initiating the English in the proper postures to assume when recovering his famous "captive-cap" from the mazes of plumbing on the bathroom floor (if any). According to the tale, Mr. Huntoon was interviewed by a reporter from the London Rotary Club in regard to the tooth paste outlook in his rooms at the Cecil. "All I will say is this," said Louie, corrugating his brow, "if all the tubes of tooth paste in the British Isles were laid end to end, and simultaneously squeezed by trained men "Yes, yes," breathed the reporter, pencil flying. "Well, there'd be one hell of a mess," concluded Louie, and turned to other and weightier matters on a tray at his elbow. Huntoon was last seen a few days ago in the grub room of the Hotel Roosevelt in New York, looking for

some appreciative reporter to announce his approaching return to Rhode Island in the Providence Journal.

According to Dusty, Dick Willey, his rival vice-consul, has been sent to Calcutta. His health was none too good in Dublin (and why should it have been? we ask.)

We also hear that Hort Kennedy, formerly of Paris, has been recently transferred to the offices of the Guaranty Trust Company at Havre, France.

Our more nearly eminent young barrister, Clarence (Pop) Opper, has been globe-trotting over the European continent most of the summer. To equalize his good fortune the law of averages laid him low upon his return with an attack of diphtheria. However, we understand he is now well over his illness, and again rising legally.

Herm Whitmore, former "Bull of the Campus," was observed on Tremont St., Boston, after the tea-party at Cambridge. He was advancing with a series of mighty leaps, high, wide, and handsome. With each leap he would emit a horrible, frenzied cry and clutch in the general region of his horizontal coat tails. Someone was right behind him,—someone who knew him well.

Having acquired the proper amount of Oxford polish (whatever that may be), Ye Vegetable is back in the fold. He is again up in Hanover as chief propagandist for the College, or something of that sort,—ask Tom Groves.

Joe Converse's business card bears the strange device of "Advertising Manager, Loyal Legion of Loggers and Lumbermen," Portland, Oregon. There were some other "L's" in it, but we can't recall them.

Louie Lee ("Velvet Joe") and Blimp Morey were recently observed by the all-seeing eye occupying Class A seats (with Class D tickets) at the Cornell-Columbia game. From where we sat, they appeared to be either (1) scouting plays intently with highpowered field glasses, or (2) upending small glass receptacles at distressingly frequent intervals. Knowing both men, you can take your choice.

Ernie Earley, the agent, has but recently sold a kind of policy that he never sold before. On the 2nd of October he sold Miss Mary E. Sexton, formerly of Tarrytown or thereabouts, a life contract to darn his socks and wait up nights for him to return from calls on clients, prospects, and alleged prospects. (Our private opinion is that he rung in this wedding at this time to celebrate the attainment of his maturity. Three or four years back he told us in all seriousness that he was going to get married at the age of 30, the proper age for such an event as computed from his insurance tables. To his credit it must be said that he has not deviated from that schedule.) The wedding was a very quiet affair in one of Fifth Avenue's churches, where Don Aldrich tied the knot. It was so quiet that almost no one knew of the place and date. According to the dope Ernie had been tipped off that some dozen disappointed society belles were to be on hand. And, well, you know Ernie can't stand tears. The rumor, accredited to Jones, that Ernie's announcements would read, "Make your present a good $10,000 policy and you'll do us both good," turned out to be entirely false. However, Earley has made no statement to the effect that he would refuse that sort of gift. Ernie's new home address is 16 East 98 St., New York city.

Mike Pounds, dressed in Burberry's nobby cut clothes, is back from Europe. Mike and Mrs. Pounds in company with President and Mrs. Stanley motored over the Continent during July and August. Pounds reports an excellent time as had by all, and can recite on the slightest provocation all the latest French drinks and so on. You can just imagine how a printer would behave turned loose in Paris.

Stan and Mrs. Jones stayed in England for five or six weeks longer under the pretense of writing, but some more recently returned travelers say that they would scarcely stretch the word to cover what they saw him up to. Jones seems to be completely flapdoodled by the English people, and his correspondence to friends in this country has been nothing but a long series of such adjectives as lovely, nice, beautiful, charming,—applied to the inhabitants, golf courses, and the drinks.

While Stan was looking for the assistant ambassador in London, Dusty Rhodes was absent on a two months' visit to the land of his birth. On one occasion he exhibited to goggleeyed 'lB-ers the latest fashions from the place where all our clothes are said to come from. Earley organized the lunch, and made a short speech which started out as a welcome to Dusty and wound up as a stirring insurance solicitation. Among those present at this notable event were Karl Hutchinson, Danny Shea, Stump Barr, Chris Christy, Wart McElwain, Eddie Mader, Ned Ross, Andy Ross, Syl Morey, and perhaps a few others of the "three hours for lunch club."

Secretary, 953 Madison Ave., New York