"Women appeared in court scantily garbed, and men unshaven, complaining that an irate landlady and confiscated their respective clothes and razors." So runs the CRIMSON report, and let every undergraduate pray that it encountered no dean's wary eye. Not that any august member of the administrative board would consider attempting a second-story entrance into a seventh-grouper's room for the purpose of confiscating his neck-ties and garters. This would be clearly impracticable, for if the dean didn't accidentally get his room-mate's apparel, the delinquent could. And besides there might be unfortunate publicity if a yard-cop should collar the administrator of justice, and turn him over to the Brattle Square police for investigation of his previous court record.

Far more probably, there would issue from University Hall a dire ukase. An individual clothes license, to be surrendered on demand to any "goody" or section man, might be issued to each undergraduate. Men on probation would be forbidden shirts and sock; none but Dean's List students could flaunt purple night-shirts: and P. B. K. scholars would maintain a sole monopoly on Oleaqua.

Wise deans would be quick to realize that this is no Utopian scheme. Its ofticacy is scientifically assured. For who can contest the overwhelming evidence in support of the theory that when a man has divested himself of his coat, his vest, his shirt, and his undershirt he comes to himself.