Always one for fair play, the Vagabond has been shocked lately by an abuse which rises like a viper in our midst and strikes at the very foundations of Harvard life. The commuter problem now appears trivial compared to this new and horrid situation that the Vagabond has unearthed right under our very noses, nay, in a place that one is wont to associate with all that is highest and finest in the University. We refer, gentlemen, (Stand back, sirl) to Widener Library.

Space forbids a detailed description of the Vagabond's efforts in tracking down this grotesque perversion, but suffice it to say he has always noticed that the chairs in Widener fall into two distinct groups: those that squeak, and those that don't. Everyone knows that. Well, yesterday morning the Vagabond was lolling in one of the new non-squeakers at table 21, when he noticed something about the arrangement of the chairs that made his eyes dilate with horror. All the non-squeakers in the room were concentrated in the immediate neighborhood of the central information desk.

What to do? Rise and proclaim this scandal to the room at large? Or wait and organize? Reason tottered! Was it imagination or was there indeed a look of furtive guilt on the faces of those wicked men behind the desk? "You dastards!" hissed the Vagabond (but not very loud) as he glided from the room.

Friends, there is only one course to pursue: boycott the non-squeakers until they're moved back to where they belong. Shall a more handful of scheming brain-workers hold all the rest of us at bay? Are we any more inured to squeaks than they are? No, this thing must be nipped in the bud before we find Housemasters stealing everyone's furniture for their own apartments! The Vagabond proposes to wave this dirty linen from every housetop in Cambridge until the overweening outrage is set aright and men can again study in Widener with some degree of dignity and confidence.