CONFESSIONS OF A GENTLEMAN

Collegiate

Now you'll have to admit that the place for a ribbon is around a candy box or the head of a child. Therefore these colored bits of happiness which adorn some of the more collegiate headgear around the Square ought to make you just excited as I, for compared to them most of the other affectations of the parvenues pale into insignificance.

I don't mind people who invest in yellow carnations with a big red "H" pasted on them, and my gizard stays pretty steady on seeing Harvard Square golfers buying their winning feathers after the game, but there are a couple of things which makes my gorge rise. The first and the lest offensive is the sticker craze. I suppose I'll have to stomach the exhibition of foreign baggage labels. I've got a few on my bags myself--but the stickers which explain in bold-faced type that Harvard College is responsible for a bag or a trunk and the manners and personal appearance of the twirp it belongs to are altogether too much for me. The only thing which is worse, and it's nothing short of nauseous, are painted slickers. I saw one yesterday and honestly on it was drawn a big green and red parrot. Above it was a pair of huge tortoise-shelled spectacles and a be-ribboned hat. Well, I was sick. You can forgive Harold Lloyd--he gets paid for it. But I'll bet you wouldn't and him dead in such a get-up outside a movie studio. This collegiate business just about finishes me. And we few try so hard to keep up the standards and yet have to fight for our "C's." The college authorities certainly don't appreciate good men when they see them. That's all I can say!