LOOK FOR HUEY IN THE BOWL HE'LL HAVE THE LADLE

Harlow everybody, Harlow. Don't you Lovett, bound for New Haven from Boston again! Did you Stack the Dyess, Pond my word, don't be Zilly!

Burr it's cold in this Brooks and I can't see a Whiteman in the group--Oh have a Tom Collins and you won't be Moody.

Huey, the Morey thinks, the more he's Fearon' cause the bigger they are the Harder they fall. If you want to know the score its Harvard 20 - Yale 7.

Dern your Hyde. You Gard - ella 'cause I gotta go to the John. Cohen, Cohen gone.