The noon sunlight of a clear, biting November day showed the air of the class-room in Sever to be a bit dustier, the walls a bit dingier, the benches a bit more battle-scarred than could have been suspected in the morning half-light. The instructor listened with a faint boredom to the halting translation which mangled one of the better odes of Horace, and from time to time made impatient corrections in the well-modulated clipped syllables which only an Englishman can acquire from Oxford. As he turned the pages with his pale fingers he wondered vaguely what sort of a meal would refresh him at one o'clock.

Suddenly the class tensed as a bugle shrilled in the Yard, staccato commands barked out, and there was a sound of marching feet. As every neck craned to get a view from the high old-fashioned windows, a band crashed into a swinging melody, and there was a scattering cheer from the dormitories opposite. The suave instructor walked indifferently to the window, heedless of the forgotten Horace. He watched the maneuvres below a minute, smiled, exclaimed "Cripes, ain't that great!" and then, "Class dismissed!" The army had come.

MONDAY

9 O'Clock

"Athenian Democracy," Professor Forguson, Emerson A.

11 O'Clock

"The Constitutional Convention," Professor Merk, New Lecture Hall.

"Christopher Marlowe," Professor Matthiessen, Emerson A.

"Pragmatism," Professor Hecking, Emerson D.

"Gascoigne," Professor Lowes, Sever 11.