FRESHMEN

Freshmen have been buying pipe racks, obsolete text books, malfunctioning desk lamps, college bureaus, and tickets to last year's Holy Cross game. They buy and- irons, tennis rackets, light bulbs, crystal sets, roller shades, green corduroy jackets, and stationery. A freshman, if handled right, will buy anything.

Freshmen are always looking for a bargain. Some astute junior will advertise a desk at an almost reasonable price. Al- most before he can get back to his room, freshmen will be pouring in from all sides. "Sorry," he'll say, "the desk has just been sold. But here's a genuine elephant foot wastebasket. Only fifteen bucks and it's yours."

Let's have it understood. Freshmen aren't complete ninnies. Most freshmen don't want elephant foot wastebaskets. And the beanie-headed '54 is just about to say "no thank you" and take his busi- ness elsewhere, when another "freshman" comes bouncing into the room. He is also attired in a green beanie, identification tag, and eager look. He forgets that he has been at Dartmouth for two years and is known in White River Junction as "Two-Beer Tommy." He acts his part to the hilt.

"Say," he pants. "Do you still have that swell elephant foot wastebasket for only fifteen bucks? Do ya, huh?"

"Well," says the proud owner of the African hoof. "I'm afraid it's just about sold."

"Oh, no," gasps the well-coached con- federate. "And I was willing to go to fifteen-fifty to get it!"

At this point the bona fide freshman takes another look at the wastbasket. It doesn't look so funny after all. How many other guys in the Class of 1954 can boast of a genuine elephant foot wastebasket?

"Fifteen-fifty," the junior sighs, and turns to the freshman with an Tm-on- your-side' look. "It's too bad that you just bought the basket for fifteen, isn't it?"

"Oh yes," grins the freshman, pulling out his bill fold and putting space be- tween himself and fifteen bucks. "Too bad." And he triumphantly picks up the wastebasket (leaving the bottom on the floor) and walks out.