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"I'm sorry, I must be in the wrong room," apologized a slight curly-haired prowler to Dewey K. Ziegler '41 when the six-foot Yardling was aroused in the dead of night a month ago by sounds and light in his room at Wigglesworth Hall.
Awed by the formidable proportions of his victim, the 20 year-old burglary hastily departed. Ziegler reported the incident to the ubiquitous Yard Cop.
But the underworld enjoins perseverance on its adherents, and Ziegier was again awakened at 3.30 o'clock yesterday morning by the same determined thief, busily engaged in rifling the bureau drawers. Ziegier, a traffic bored with this repetition, muttered, "So it's you again."
"Jeez, I'm drunk! I guess I don't know where I am!" Apparently the fellow was resourceful; but probability was added to his statement net only by his evident discomfiture, but by the fact that he was working with the lights turned en.
Now frankly inhospitable, Zeigley coldly suggested that the intruder leave. "All right," he said resignedly, turning ent the light. "Goodnight."
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