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Student epicureans often have had thoughts, many of them unspeakable, about the House dinning halls. And even the most unimaginative have had dreams of a highly colorful if distressing nature. But none of these mental gymnastics, however fancy-free, bear comparison with the actual occurrence.
The scene was Winthrop House; the time was dinner; the chief character a cockroach. According to our informant he was a well fed and healthy-looking specimen, as yet unimpaired by his diet. When first observed he was ambling steadily across the tiled floor. One of the House scientists spotted him, gathered him up and inverted a glass over him in the center of the table, with the apparant intention of studying his life habits.
The table, being largely composed of hardened biologists, was indulging in a scientific and more-or-less detached spirit of free inquiry when disaster suddenly loomed in the person of the headwaitress. Determinedly she scooped up the startled cockroach and aimed him unerringly, as one spectator thought, at his unprotected face. But, alas, such was not the case. Oh miserable fate, he was immersed and died a dreadful death in a cup of coffee-colored fluid.
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