BUT THE MELODY LINGERS ON

Harvard, freezing in the chill distances of the unfleshed thought, was perishing in her own too-much of bloodless intellectualism. Then:

One goalpost was traced to the railroad station, half of the other dove into the ditch after it had failed to gore four citizens and a ticket booth . . . The other member of the second goalpost was checked for Straus Hall by the unfailing courtesy that is the Taft Hotel. . . . Six men found a trolly car roof the thing that was being done in transportation from the Bowl to Chapel Street.

Rinehart never lived so wildly in the Egyptian hotel as he did that night in Harkness. . . . The Grand Central Station saw two hundred alumni, and wife, dance "Up the Street" by the light of red flares, until two policemen arrived. . . . At eleven o'clock in Cambridge the great drum of the band, accompanied by one trumpeter, marched Mount Auburn Street until Sunday made victory old.

The greatest miracle of them all is that life will go on, almost as it was. Life, especially near Harvard Square, has a tired, orthodox trick of doing that.