When resident Tutors grow Philosophic over a bowl of fresh vegetables soup there is a distinct possibility that the story will be good Crime material. Last night one who had been a Senior in Hollis in the golden days of the early twenties revealed that even the age which produced so many hard headed Faculty members was not without its sense of the ridiculous.

Among those who ruled the destinies of this institution in those days was a Mr. Puffer. The Seniors in Hollis discovered that upon sufficient stimulus Mr. Puffer would become delightfully apoplectic. A common practice developed which reveals not only the wonderful personality of Mr. Puffer but the sense of humor which lived in a Harvard of long ago.

While a group of undergraduates gathered around to listen, one asked the operator for Mr. Puffer's number.

"Hello," was the part of the undergraduate funster. "Hello, is this Mr. Puffer?"

"Yes," Mr. Puffer would say in a quiet voice, "this is Mr. Puffer."

Is this Mr. C. M. Puffer?"

"Yes, yes, this is Mr. C. M. Puffer."

"Is this Mr. Charles M. Puffer?" the undergraduate wanted to know, still anxiously sincere in his desire to get the right party.

"Yes, of course this is Mr. Charles M Puffer. Charles M. Puffer. What do you want?" Mr. Puff at this point allowed his voice to slip slightly beyond control and those who were gathered around the other end rolled in glee as the thunderous tones rolled through all of Hollis.

"Well, is this Mr. Charles Martin Puffer?"

"This is most emphatically Mr. Charles Martin Puffer talking. Do you have anything to say?"

"Well, Mr. Puffer, puff away, Puffer old boy." Mr. Puffer's answer constitutes the Crime. Mr. Puffer pulled away in language that a resident Tutor can reproduce, but the Crimson cannot print, even in the Crime.