Down in New London, Connecticut, where the population doubles on the day of the boat race and J. P. Morgan's "Corsair" riding peacefully at anchor on June 22 sets the natives gasping annually--down in New London there is a newspaper entitled the New London Day. Nobody ever hears of this paper except on the day of the boat race when they print their extra in blue ink, but the other day this insignificant little sheet broke into the headlines of other papers.

One of the Day's reporters, an ambitious fellow he must be, although ambition is strictly against newspaper tradition, broke a story that caused more than one raised eyebrow and more than one blush on the part of Yale officials. It seems that this noble fellow was travelling one Sabbath afternoon, not so long ago along the road that leads by Gales Ferry. Whether he was out on assignment or wandering back from his Saturday night off, no one knows, but we shall give him the benefit of the doubt.

At any rate as this news hound journeyed past Gales Ferry where the Yale football team had taken over the crow headquarters for their own use, noted more activity than was usual in New England on the Lord's Day. Perhaps he heard the bark of signals; perhaps the thud of boot on taut pigskin; perhaps the creaking of the tackling dummy. In any event his curiosity was aroused and he started to investigate.

"What this?" thought he. And like the good reporter that he was, he took a peek into the forbidden territory. And there on the practice field was the entire Yale squad busy at work on fundamentals, pass defense, assignments. Thus was conceived the story that Yale hasn't yet forgotten.

The Yale team practicing on Sunday. What a horrible thought? Right in New England, where Puritanism and conservatism still hold sway and John Harvard with his somber garb still is the traditional caricature of the population--right here in New England I say, the Yale football team was practicing on Sunday.

There must have been just a bit of consternation at the story down on Morningside Heights the next morning and adjust a bit of a chuckle to temper it. For what else could worry Yale so that it had to practice on Sunday if it were not the thought that Columbia's Lou Little and his boys would only wait about another week before devouring the Bulldog, stub tall and all.

There is only one thing that Harvard could say when it heard of Yale's broach of etiquette, and that was, "You never caught us doing it". It was left

with that ambiguous remark and since the last Sunday has passed when the coaches would have wanted to practice, there isn't much that can be done about it.

But all you other reporters, and most certainly of all you CRIMSON candidates, take note of the sleuth in New London and never let it be said that you have looked too much on wine of a Saturday night and were unable to concentrate on Sunday. The time when nothing happened in New England on Sunday is past. The New Deal has put seven days in the New England week.  By TIME OUT