Oct. 6th. Stayed in bed until almost eight o'clock, when I decided that if I were to have breakfast and get to class, I had better rise. They say Professor Merriman gets awful mad if you come in even one minute late. His nickname, so one boy said--an upperclassman, I gathered, from his green bag,--is "Friskie." I wonder why.

After History class came back and found the maid cleaning the room. As my roommate was out, I thought it a good time to ask her name. But as she kept her head bent over her work, I decided it would be a little foolish to disturb her.

I made it clear to the family that just because I had a phone, they needn't think they had to call me every night. Also I rejected the idea of their sending up a bedspread, because I haven't seen one on my roommate's bed, nor on the beds of the fellows across the hall. College men just don't use those things; the family will have to realize that.

Oct. 7th. My roommate borrowed my last shirt today, and I haven't yet discovered the name of the laundry with whom I signed a contract. Gosh, I've only worn two shirts since I got to Cambridge!

The maid used the vacuum cleaner this morning, again spoiling my chance of learning her name. She said, "Good morning, Mr. Clay, may I come in?" Which greeting was more cordial than any I have received from the people in this dormitory.

When I returned from the movies tonight, my roommate squirted a siphon of water all over me. Not only that, the snake had covered my toothbrush with soap, and to finish off the dirty business, had carefully arranged Concord grapes all over my bed, so that when I got in I slipped back and forth and squashed the grapes until I felt like a jelly fish. I think he had been drinking.

Oct. 8th. Spent all morning trying to see my adviser. Not finding him in his office, scurried down to his room. A note was tacked on the door addressed to the instructor living with him: "If you can pay me the bet on the Yankees, send it airmail to the Roosevelt Hotel, New York. Thanks, Pericles!"

Late tonight my roommate still had my shirt on. I finally asked him what we should call the maid, and he said: "Biddie." Tomorrow I must do some research to see if this is a peculiar New England appellation.

Determined to do all of my History I reading before the section meeting, not look at the Radcliffe girls (especially that redhead), and write my family every Sunday.