The young gentleman had that clean, healthy, vacant look--the kind that permeates the air round a certain species of Freshmen who are already staggering under the vast culture of a whole four months at college. He stood in one of those semicircular mirrors which are the best lure yet devised for selling a fellow a suit-- and he was being shown a suit. He was not being rushed into this affair, though. This gentleman was cagey, and what's more he was in the know as regards clothes.

He swayed there, preening himself. With the aid of the mirror he cast an eye over the unfamiliar territory at the nape of his neck, and noted with pleasure that the hair removed from that vicinity by a crew cut last October was already coming in nicely. His eyes, too, be noticed. They drooped at just the right angle for a fellow who's studying up until eleven or twelve at night to keep from getting "bounced out of the old place."

The salesman, dressed in the kind of clothes the Club men will be discovering early this spring, teetered back and forth on his crepe soles and hummed a Harvard football song to show the young gentleman they were really both just typical college guys.

"And how do you like that one, sir?" he warbled, coyly snatching off the price tag.

"Naw," snarled the '41.

"Good buy."

"It's out of date. Definitely out of date."

"I'm sure you're mistaken, sir. This JUST came in YESTERDAY. You won't find anything newer in the Square. Got lots of demand for this suit."

"It hasn't got the latest feature."

"What are you thinking of, sir?"

The young gentleman glanced at his reflection again and expanded his chest to a neat 32. Then, sliding into his well-pressed reversible, he announced:

"Well, it's baggy enough, all right. But I want mine like the rest of the fellows are wearing--one of those new kind with the classy suede patches over the elbows. Thy're the latest thing with upperclassmen, you know. When in Rome . . ."