THE DRYS HAVE IT

Pity the poor bootlegger, whose life is harried by occasional federal drives and less frequent local campaigns. Pity him when home, brew gains adherents, in spite of Mr. Volstead; but most of all, consider his lot when the very mouth he supplies turns to whisper against him. Of all those among whom he plies his nefarious trade, rumor has it that the student is most addicted to his wares; that the student should bite the hand that feeds him, or more strictly, act against the man that gives him to drink, is incredible.

But this has been going on, and continues, here in Massachusetts. At Williams the Junior Student Council has decided to eliminate bootleggers. Its members have drawn their first blood by confiscating a car as its owner delivered liquor to the inhabitants of a dormitory. They have brought the matter before the law, and now the court is to pronounce judgment upon the dealer. The case hangs fire, while those concerned with the fate of bootleggers and of student councils watch, intrigued. Whether it is nobler to suffer in silence, or to take arms against this move--that is the question at Williams. Perhaps, with summer not so far away, there will be no protest this year. But autumn will come, and with it there may be a change of heart or at least a dry feeling in the throat of many a now law-abiding student.