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The Crime

(In the form of a letter)


The bright, cheerful expressions of the nurses at Stillman Infirmary are perhaps the only feature of the current rule at the Hygiene Department on which your newspaper has not to my knowledge glowingly commented. There was a day, under the ancient regime, when a smile from Stillman nurse was rare as a hen's tooth, but happily those times are past.

But behind the laughing looks and even tempers of Stillman nurses, new style, still lurks an occasional revolutionary thought. The following dialogue took place as the writer was looking at this morning Crimson. He was so shocked by it that he has since been prostrate in bed, his recovery perhaps indefinitely postponed.

"Who", asked the bright young thing, "is President Lowell?" pointing on the picture of the boy cutting his birthday cake on page one.

The patient almost swallowed a thermometer. "Why, he's the President-Emeritus of the University," he gulped.

"Oh," she said doubtfully, "well then, who's that fellow Conant with him?"

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