"CRIMSON, huh? 'Fraid you won't find much copy around here." The student returned to his book, kicking the bedclothes into a more comfortable position, and relaxing indifferently upon the white-enamelled bed in a ward of Stillman Infirmary. After a while he looked back uncertainly at the reporter.

"Go away, go away! Don't you see I'm trying to study? Sure, I know what you want--human interest, that's it. Yeah, every once in a while one of you birds comes crawling around here looking for D-G stories. I know, I tried out for a competition myself. Well, you're an optimist if you think there's anything around here for your sheet. But now, please, can't you see that I'm . . .

"That fellow over there, you mean. Oh, he blew in the other day from the Business School. Had a little temperature, and said he was all done in. Huh! Now look at him cramming for a four hour exam he can't attend. Lucky bum--he's got permission to dictate it to a nurse.

"Nurses? Sure, lots of em around, but nothing to throw anybody, so don't get excited. The little one over there? I might have known it. Everybody notices here, but it's just too bad--she's married.

"Naw, hardly any undergraduates. They never get tried out, at least not from working. The Business and Law School fills this place. Sick? Not very often. Just run down, and if that isn't enough, they go out and catch a little cold, get a temperature, and then they're all set--peace, quiet, good service, good food. What price study.

"Law students? Oh, they all get into the ward upstairs, where they can talk over cases. Ah! My lunch! Well, so long. Hope' you can make up the time you wasted here. See that fellow over there? Well, he'd sell his soul for this piece of steak. Mmmm. But he's on a liquid diet. Broke his law at the Cotton Club."