Those who have read "Conrad in Quest of His Youth" may wonder how it is that so many men every June undertake a similar pilgrimage with equally disappointing results. We do not mean to imply that all alumni going back for commencement approach their reunions, with Conrad's objective in mind. Many are too young still to feel the urge. Others have obeyed it in the past and are now too wise. But those grads who have arrived, say, at the stage of their twentieth reunion are neither too young nor too wise--Conrads all!

Conrads, Conrads, ever since we were boys.

An alumnus may let all the intervening commencements slip by with hardly a thought for his perennially expectant Alma Mater. Not so the twentieth. The reasons are fairly obvious. At forty-one or forty-two years of age even a human dynamo feels strongly the temptation to pause for breath and take a look backward. He discovers then a strong curiosity concerning his forgotten classmates. How do they look after twenty years. How much have they got? What do they know? It may be assumed that he has attained by now to what he considers a respectable position in life. Hence his vanity prompts him to measure himself in their company.

All this is part and parcel of the young-old grad, or Conrad, complex. But one of its principal ingredients has not been mentioned the challenge to middle age implied in the class secretary's facetious and back-slapping form letter. "Here are the old names, the old setting," it says in effect; "we dare you to fit yourself again into the picture."

By all means take the dare. The resulting disillusion is part of your college education. Judge.