After convincing the docile Economics 4-A men that balance sheets are balance sheets because they balance, Prof. Chamberlin straightened his glasses and proceeded to a hasty consideration of the principles of accounting.

"Now, gentlemen, if you meet the weekly payroll with cash, you must credit to the asset cash and debit to the expense account which is equity, of course, since expense is a debit item under the gross revenue account. Thus a deduction from cash can be accompanied by a debit entry in the other accounts, but the credit of cash must be accompanied by debit items. But if you paid at the beginning of the week, then you would debit the labor and credit cash, that is debit an asset and also credit an asset."

He passed and brushed a speak from his glasses.

"Now where are we gentlemen?"

It all happened in the quiet dust-laden corriders of Widener late last spring. Immersed in ruminations about the profoundest of themes the famous Professor of English was leisurely wending his way along the scholastic labyrinths when his wandering eye lit upon the figure of a man proceeding him through the corridor and, horror or horrors, the man's head was not bared in accordance with the tenets of convention but boldly, jauntily attired with a felt hat. The professor's composure was, to put it mildly, upset and without a word of warning he swept down upon the hapless figures and with one expert swipe of his cane divested th head of its burden. It was only then that he discovered the identity of the offender. He was a very important visiting professor. Showing no signs of upset the guardian of maners stamped off leaving the visiting scholar somewhat confused as to the way things are done in America.

The French table at the Union which has been the source of so much satisfaction to various members of the department and the object of wary albeit interested glances of the uninitiated held no horrors for a certain blithe members of the class of 1938; that is, until a few days ago. The congenial young men sat himself down at the table in question one day this week, but he know it not as it really was. His entrance caused a momentary hesitation in the smooth Gallic flow of conversation and food, but soon the gentleman on his right asked him what his name was, in French. Considerably surprised, the young man parried with a brilliant, "Oh, Yeah" and turning to the man on his left he queried, "Do you speak Canuck, too?" Professor Morize just gave him a piercing glance.

One of the more interesting side-lights on the new administration comes right from the center of the Conant family, young Theodore Conant. When questioned recently with regard to his new home, the young man did not seem so enthusiastic; the old places had been pretty nice after all. Somewhat surprised the questioner asked young Conant what he thought in general about his father being President of the University. He thought a while and then responded, "I think that it is just swell; we get the very best seats for the football games."

You readers of the Boston (Seven Times) Daily Record will recognize this little item, but for those who don't ride in the subway after 11 o'clock in the evening it will be news.

The lead story in the Record these past few days has been the case of one Miss Renke against Cyrus Dmitri Cominos on charges of breach of promise. Now, this Cominos was formerly a student at the Harvard Dental School, although that institution is keeping quiet about it just now. He was there from 1920 and 1922 and during 1923-24, but never seemed to get anywhere.

Some of Miss Renke's testimony is rare:

Q. "Was he more like a European than an American? A. "I wouldn't say say so."

Q. "But he kissed your feet?" A. "Yes."

Q. "Wasn't that more like a European than an American?" A. "Yes."

Q. "Was it love, or just a summer romance?" "A. "It was love."

"Miss Renke said she had received no engagement ring from the doctor, but that he showered here with gifts of fruit, candy, flowers, perfume, and a historical medal."

The historical medal is clearly more European than American.