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The silence that has cloaked with impenetrable mystery the whereabouts of Dr. Hu Flung Huey, the CRIMSON'S poor-less prognosticator of sports scores, was partially broken last night, just as the paper was going to press, when a breathless telegraph boy arrived with the following dispatch, from Ardmore, Pennsylvania:
EDITORS HARVARD CRIMSON CAMBRIDGE MASS
WILL KEEP FAITH WITH MY PUBLIC STOP ENCLOSING PREDICTIONS TOMORROW'S BEST GAMES STOP WATCHING JONES BEAT HOMANS SIX AND FIVE TOMORROW AFTERNOON STOP LLOYDS FEELING SICK STOP HERE ARE SCORES-- It is barely possible that these scores may have been sent in by an imposter, a low impractical joker, but by tonight, after the games have been won and lost, CRIMSON readers will be able to tell whether these scores spring from the all-seeing mind of the sage of the age.
It is barely possible that these scores may have been sent in by an imposter, a low impractical joker, but by tonight, after the games have been won and lost, CRIMSON readers will be able to tell whether these scores spring from the all-seeing mind of the sage of the age.
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