Either the discpline is relaxing around this school, or we've become so accustomed to it that we've gained an illusory freedom. The first few days of classes found all of us scrambling desparately to our feet whenever our instructor so much as poked his head in the door. Our Class Leader would call, "Attention," when the class was dismissed and the routine would be carefully executed again.

But all that has changed--now, when the class is through, we all stand up automatically, hold our position for a respectful second, and are halfway down the stairs on our way to chow before our leader knows the class is over.

Pride Goeth Before J. G.

Many of us thought the ignominy of saluting a Lieut. (j.g.) would be almost unbearable, but once you become used to it, it seems quite natural, and your pride suffers relatively little. Even the restrictions as to study hours are rendered harmless by the amount of material given out to be studied every day.

With all that to do, we're glad to have the arbitrary "Lights Out: as an excuse for inadequate preparation. If these remarks on the discipline of the School have any meaning whatsoever, it must be that we have acquired an immunity to it--but we would be move than willing to exchange said immunity for a movie on Friday night.

For some nefarious and obscure reason the course in Disbursing has been speeded up, and this has upset our whole way of life. Before this week, we thought, "Hmm, this isn't so bad after all," as we sat reading the evening paper after dinner. But this, too has changed until now we consider our selves lucky if we can scan the front page without a feeling of impending disaster. The bright and cheerful pages of the New Yorker are neglected, as we dedicate the entirety of every evening of the solution of weird impossible financial situation.

But today was payday, so--