TAKE ME TOO

John Harvard, Esquire, seated before University Hall in the jade calm of many years of honest effort likes his Sunday afternoon peace as well as the rest of mankind. He does not get it.

From the hinterlands and the outskirts come ladies of one-sort and the other sort to have their pictures taken by loving cavaliers. And they come on Sunday afternoons. Hour after hour old John sits behind these giggling groups of visitors (one hopes they are all visitors) and watches them at their sport. Thus does he lose his rest--and, occasionally, for beauty is not always rouge deep, his appetite.

The Yard cops are powerless. Easier by far is it to move three Packards, twelve Fords, and a baby Renault from the steps of Widener than to move these creatures from the lap of John. They twine febrile arms about him while love clicks the shutter. They spill powder and musk about him while love says, "Dearie, watch the birdie." And like the true gentleman he is, John never grimaces. He merely waits for Monday.