NEOPHYTES

The hills and dales, usually deathly still in the long evening watches, of late have had their customary tranquil calm boldly intruded upon. Shouts and screams have been rending the midnight air. Tired feet have been pounding hard dusty roads. In other words, the initiation season is upon us once more. We can think of few things which are much pleasanter than being abroad upon these moonlit nights with a good companion and a few bottles of some pleasant malt liquor as long as one is not a member of the fledgeling group.

We had been led to conjecture that the old or high school type of initiation had become a thing of the past. We were rudely jolted from this smug opinion in the Nugget the other night when four sheepish sophomores shambled to the stage in the midst of a picture and began in no dulcet tones to render "Happy birthday to you." Bob Bennett, majordomo of the theatre at present, this time without his customary Virginia cheroot, promptly ushered the offenders to the door with the boos of the audience ringing in their ears. They were severely reprimanded and made to stay after school the next day and clap the erasers and empty the waste paper baskets.