Belinda

Belinda Beaumont was a honey. She'd pots and pots of lovely money — a house in Westport on the shore — a pied-a-terre in Baltimore — near Sugarbush a crystal chalet — a hideout in Macdougal Alley — a penthouse with two dozen pents — and she was wooed by numerous gents. I might have wooed the gal myself if she had not exchanged some pelf for a most ornamental car from Britain, called a Jaguar, and tested out its splendid power at ninety-seven miles an hour on the abutment of a bridge.

Belinda, now, is but a smidge of common, if expensive, gore. Which shows us all what money's for.

Alexander Laing '25

Richard Eberhart '26