Baizy Gamesters Undaunted As Gendarmerie Takes Over

The semiannual bluebook frustration and the icy roads between Cambridge and Northampton aren't the only things that have turned the healthy Cantabrigian in to a sniveling wreck this week. Cambridge police, smashing a highly-integrated gambling ring, which has been organizing College sportsmen for high-finance green baizery, have dealt a tolling blow.

Rumblings were heard first from Eliot House and the Law School, where green-eyeshaded sharps are went to congregate of a Wednesday eve for a session of poker. The reliable Jersey House, traditional entrepreneur of these lightfingered scholars, reports a sharp decline in trade since Police Chief John R. King's men moved in.

Seasonal vicissitudes combined with the necessity for secrecy have led many cardaddicts to a game involving less suspicion: the ancient pastime of Hearts, now raging from the smoky dens of Eliot to the leather-cushioned bistros of Jordan's Marsh. Inscrutable shyster Robert S. Takeacard (Anycard) '48 smirked over his demitasse last night, "It's better than making book on the mayoralty race. You don't have to buck Mickey and the CCA."

Early lead in the hearts derby has been assumed by a mysterious foreign trio, reported by some to be the same men who broke the jaywalking rule in front of the Coop last week. These three desperate characters have left a trail of broken banks and stacked decks after only a fortnight of gaming. Liggett N. Myers '50, consistent loser to the shadowy group, blamed his setbacks on the constant ape-like chatter and periscope eyes of the lanky ensemble.

Incipient trouble was averted Wednesday when the highly controversial movie "Walter Mitty" was removed from the bill at a local theatre to avoid possible censorship of a gambling scene in which certain illegal sleight-of-handeries were employed.

Avoiding such old dodges as the floating crap game, enthusiastic University scholars have developed a scoresheet arrangement whereby Police interrogation leads only to a reply that heavy losers must pay back by making the beds of the winners. "A little trick I worked up in Prep school," chortled Ale Bell, pudgy faro dealer.