Bitter Pill

To raise money for some obscure and irrelevant fund, the girls of Simmons College last week auctioned off--sight unseen--dates with a Tufts man, an M.I.T. man for seven dollars, and the Harvard man--o woo of woes--sold for six dollars and fifty cents. The Simmons girls, showing feminine cunning much beyond their years, blamed the results on material circumstances. They said that they felt awkward about bidding for dates and when the Harvard man came up first, quite by chance, they were not very enthusiastic. Later on, as the bidding fever spread, prices shot skyhigh.

Thanks just the same, girls; but it's no use. Even without our glasses, we can see the handwriting. We can still feel the wound of two years back when one of our boys sold for fifty cents and an uneducated bulldog sold for six dollars. Twice we have entered the arena, filled with boyish selfconfidence. Twice, in the true spirit of free enterprise, we have backed our product in the open market. And twice we have had to retreat to the lofty protection of our ivied walls, thoroughly whipped, quaking neurotically.

Twice, girls, is too much. Henceforth, we shall turn our backs on the world which held much hope and take our waiting niche in the ivory tower.