This afternoon between the steeply banked walls of the Union Living Room there will occur a spectacle to which only those lucky enough to hold the little blue pasteboard will gain admittance. Always a tense and thrilling affair, the gathering in the Union promises this year to linger long in the memories of those attending. But from the very privilege which is extended to the audience proceeds a peril. Thoughtful only of their own comfort the undergraduates who are expected to fill the living room this afternoon may overlook the fact that they owe a whole hearted support to the men who have worked all fall to make this afternoon possible.

So far this year the cheering in the Union has been unconvincing. One hesitates to fix the blame for this state of affairs, but the fact remains that last Saturday afternoon the Living Room was so quiet that a pin could be hear to drop, and this on the day of the last game in Cambridge. But from the very decadence of a past may spring the fertilization of new growth; let every man bear these words in mind when he takes his place among those who nourish fond hopes with absent treatment. And as the ball goes tearing down the grid-graph, damned be he who fails to cry "hold that line."