KNITWIT

At last the day of women has come in public affairs! No more shall newspaper editors and politicians spend months debating what course a man will follow; the thing to do is ask his wife. For it has just come to light that Mrs. Coolidge, five weeks before the famous "choose" message, embroidered into a White House coverlet the dates 1923-1929 in token of her stay there, thus predicting by her infallible womanly intuition what the mere men of the country did not accept as true for many months after. If only every candidate for office were married, the need for conventions and elections to make a selection would be avoided; but cases like those of the present Secretary of Commerce, who has neither wife nor official bed, might be puzzling.

Elsewhere, however, the system has great possibilities. How much worry and anxiety would be saved at Harvard after every exam if the female relatives of each professor would combine to work a large tapestry with each student's name and grade on it. This could be hung in the front of the room and would both let the student know his fate sooner and relieve the section men of the difficulty of correcting the papers. But best of all, and most saving of energy and time, would be the practice of sending to applicants for admission a lace handkerchief with the last day of his residence at Cambridge crocheted in it by the wives of the deans. Indeed, it might not be long before the deans, along with such useless masculine habits as reasoning, could be dispensed with altogether.