Tonight one of the closing events of the winter season will take place, when, on the newly-waxed floor of Memorial Hall, the combined class of 1924 meets an all-star team from the world outside. The mere fact that the affair has been "fixed" will hardly make it less interesting, for when the gong sounds at the beginning of each round more than seven hundred are expected to be on hand,--not as large as the crowd at a football game, perhaps, but a good showing for so staid a place as "Mem" Hall, and one which may well draw smiles from the portraits which surround its walls.

The rules of the game have been drawn up by Mr. Webster. He puts them down under the head of dancing: "To perform a regulated series of movements, commonly to music; to trip, to glide, or leap rhythmically. To move nimbly or merrily.--The complicated aerial movements of a swarm of some insects, as midgets, gnats, or certain butterflies." As applied tonight, the last section will be hardly necessary, but aside from that a definition of the movements allowed is important, especially the clause regarding tripping.

Added to the interest of the event itself will be the testing of a recent announcement made to the startled world--one which, if true, should give the Juniors an added advantage, For woman, it is now claimed, possesses five ounces less of brain matter than does man. If she succeeds in winning the conversational battle, she will be credited with a moral victory, at least, and she will disprove the theory of the new scientist. But conversation, though important, is not the chief part of the evening. There will stand before every couple the recently made fourteen and a half hour record for continuous dancing, and when the dining tables are brought out in the morning, the waiters should not be surprised to see the end of a record breaking achievement. But for the most part, when the last dance is danced, each one on the wining team will lead his partner to the side lines, and then escort her home "even as you and I."