The other day a Dartmouth freshman came to call. He lived down the street and his home-coming in June had been a pretty big event in the village. He came up on the veranda in a white shirt and white fiannels, smoking a pipe.

"Well," he announced after suitable courtesies, "I think I'd better start to work this summer. You see, it isn't that I have to, but last winter I met a girl and she's got pretty serious ideas about life. I mean she just doesn't think about the present all the time."

He drew moistly on the pipe.

"I mean she doesn't care just about dancing and having a good time every night. We talked it all over. It's sort of hard to explain, but what I mean is even when you feel pretty serious about a girl, you're apt not to think much about the future. That's why we talked it all over, I mean."

"That's why you're going to work?"

"As a matter of fact," he said, pointing the stem of the pipe at me, "did you know a couple can live on twenty-five dollars a week at first, if they economize.

"My!" I said. "You must be serious. What's her name?"

He smiled for the first time.

"Woll" he said dreamily, "I call her Scummy and she calls me Louse, but we may not be married for a few years. --The New Yorker.