A TROPICAL INTERLUDE

Some took a shower. Some drove automobiles in a general northerly direction. A few of the more intelligent paid ten cents and studied on the benches in the subway. Some looked longingly at the Charles, but realized that they had no place in which to take the necessary cleansing shower afterward. Everyone agreed, in Mark Twain's phrase, that something ought to be done about the weather, but no two opinions coincided.

The Phillips Brooks House hand-book for Freshmen, excellent though it is in design and execution, gives no hints for hot weather. In extreme cases, where a cool retreat in which to study is imperative, the harassed undergraduate may take a tip from the Irish ditch digger's wife, who replied, when taxed by her husband for not preparing a more elaborate supper: "What! Me slave over a hot stove and you working in your nice cool sewer?"

A cake of ice and an electric fan are all right as long as they last, and a certain number of showers at strategic intervals are not without their good effect, but in the feverish heat of preparing for examinations all that the studious sufferer can do is grin and bear it. That and acquire a shot-gun to be used on the self-appointed humorist who says: "Is it hot enough for you?"