A little six-year old boy with list clenched crept stealthily along the Eliot House fence one afternoon last week. He paused in front of the Master's residence for a brief moment, and scanned the horizon up and down Memorial Drive. Then, after a cute pitcher's wind-up, wham! went a rock right through one of the Master's prize windows. First came the pleasant tinkling of broken glass; then the awful silence that follows catastrophes; and finally the horrible roar of the outraged being within. Ten seconds later the front door flew open and out thundered Roger Bigelow Merriman, Gurney Professor of History and exalted Master of Eliot House, brandishing his cane like the bloody brand of Rollo. The little lad turned pale and fled for the river, but Sir Roger, undaunted, steamed after him in hot pursuit, and, reaching out with the crook of his cane, hooked him by the belt of his trousers on the steps of Weeks Memorial Bridge. Then, muttering something about the uselessness of the Cambridge Police, Master Merriman took the law into his own hands in true baronial fashion, rendering immediate justice and chastisement with his cane on the little one's upturned bottom.
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