You can always tell a Harvard man and sometimes you can tell him something.

For who can deny that the 1000 Harvard men who besieged the New Lecture Hall yesterday noon were there for any other reason than to "laern more knolege"? They would not be there to see the New Lecture Hall, for undoubtedly many of them had seen it before. They would not be there to meet the renowned Dr. Arnold N. Childes, for few, nay none, had ever heard of him. A man who looks before he leaps would have looked up Dr. Childes in Who's Who in America to see "how well known for his work" in the field of birth control he was. But oddly enough, he would find neither birth control nor Childes, largely, perhaps, because the famous doctor isn't in Who's Who; in fact he isn't at all. There is certainly no doubt but that their thirst for knowledge had eclipsed anything else.

There were no supercilious airs, no cocky hats. The scene was one of intellectual humility. They avoided their best friends with squeamish grins, as though they had encountered their grandmother in a bar. No, they did not KNOW. This is the cue for the Hygiene Department. It has been saved the trouble and expense of disproving the common belief that Harvard men know too much. Entrust the subject to one who is not only well known in this field, but who is also in existence; unite the Hygiene and the Raised-Eyebrow Departments, and the latter will perish. Then perhaps you will not be able to tell a Harvard man anything. But until that millenium Vassar will lead the fashion in marriage and Harvard will succumb, an innocent victim of superior and scientific strategy.