Seated on the rail of the greatest liner, coyly showing the rounded part of the famous knees, she may adorn the front page of the Mirror. She may return with the count whose title proved a misnomer at Monte Carlo. She may be hailed as the leading emotionalist of the stage, for all the world loves a lovable Lorelei especially if her diction is precious and her ankles thin. But though the world play suppliant at her feet, yet all this is as nothing if the keystone of her career has not been dropped into place. If the joyful tidings have not been shared in the corridors of Sever, if the word has not been whispered across the tables of the Reading Room, if the number two relay man has not given the news along with the baton to the number three runner, the plaudits of the world have been wasted on greatness unfulfilled. For only then can it be believed that she is not going to the Junior Prom.

Joyce Hawley at the Senior Spread was something the mind balked at. It was a master fiction, too mighty for the ordinary mind, and was given no credence at Harvard and only a brief consideration beside the Basin.

Not so the rumors whispered by the gentlemen ahead as one crosses the Yard. If all is to be believed, the Road to Rome has its other terminus under the awning that covers the steps of Memorial Hall. "Fair as a star", but more than one will be shining March 2. Greta of the round arms and tight curls will be there. What if it be difficult beforehand to find the leading men, or afterward to learn who were the lucky players in company-with? For it is written: As a prom committee sideshows, so shall it reap.