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Not for long can the University continue without a policy towards the man-eating shark. It is well known that the several types of this fish year in and year out cat as many as twenty or thirty persons without regard to color or occupation. Yet there has been no sign from University Hall of any interest in the matter, and persons who work in shark infested waters keep saying without much hope, "Wait till a Harvard professor is eaten by a shark. We'll see some action Then."
Few are aware that the man-eating shark has upwards of one hundred thirty teeth arranged in double rows around the upper and lower parts of the jaw. Flat on the sides, these teeth are triangular in shape and sharp at the points. There is only one way to escape a man-eating shark if a person is thrown into the water beside him. Kick the right and left legs alternately and move the arms in a windmill fashion; the prospective victim should also call for help in a sharp tone. If this does not work, go back for further instructions. The man-eating shark can often be seen following the wake of boats in southern waters in hopes of garbage, and whaling ships used to vary the monotony of long voyages by endeavoring to catch the huge fish. Man-eating sharks sixty feet in length not being uncommon, the whalers sometimes were forced to use, extra anchors as hooks. The cruelest method of catching of all is reported in the Edinburgh Observer:
"As they watched the monster's movements the negro suggested that they could destroy it by heating a fire-brick in the stove, wrapping it quickly in some old greasy cloths as a sort of disguise and then heaving it overboard. The suggestion was acted upon at once and the effect was triumphant."
In fairness to University Hall and its policy towards the man-eating shark, it must be stated that the officials do not favor this type of fish. (In fact it is doubtful if they would favor any type of fish if the officials took Friday lunches in college dining halls.) Persons in touch with the shark situation, nonetheless, sometimes dream of an express liner flying the flag of the Harvard Department of Shark Hunting and touching at lonely islands in the South Pacific, four full professors playing quoits on the sports deck and the watch singing out "Shark Ahoy."
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