There was some discussion as to just why that canine was barking so petulantly at Jawn Harvard the other morning during muster, and the best explanation seems to be that they tried to pass off another mutton bone on him at the Union. If he'd had a little more time he'd probably have had all the student officers barking with him.

Not wishing to change the subject, but deeming it the discreet thing to do, your scuttle broker once thought that one of the funniest things he had ever seen was Zemlin, the gremlin, playing tangle-foot with the signal flags not so long ago in S.C.A. Funny, but it ain't half so funny any more. Hanged if that muslin can't get aggravatingly hard to handle with about 270 wolves howling at you.

The-last-straw department--Professor Woods surreptitiously sleeping through one of Professor Mimno's lectures. It wasn't told to me, I only heard.

Our old friend A. J. Gregory came through with another beat the other day. Some "pal" rushed up to him just before his ascent to flickering filament and said, "I see you've got the zero to 7:30 watch next Tuesday."

"You mean I got messenger dooty?" asked the one and only A.J., apparently forgetting that he is a drate big Bee man now. When the war is ever Bill (Flag) Asker is a lead pipe cinch to have trouble computing his income tax, because it is doubtful that he will ever got out of that 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 rut he now is in. The government won't like it, Bill.

That siren you heard the other noon was a squad car on the way to south Matthews to clear up a traffic jam in the hall caused by James Guinn Zea III describing bull fights as she is run off in Ma-hi-ko. The guy simply needs more room, than that for his descriptive narrating. Incidentally, wonder when he's going to start speaking good old United States again? . . . he and John Vlahos and Carl Fisher and Ed Weilepp.

We've been trying to get it in here for some time now that Weilepp is a married guy now. Several weeks ago we had all the details jotted down, and then plumb forgot to write them up in the smooth log for publication, the scratch-paper memorandum coyly hiding amongst the stile smoker cigars, sawed-off pencils, signal cards, tooth branch, oranges--Lanka, shoe polish, clothes brush, collar devices, tobacco grains and ink bottle in the drawer. We apologize to Patricia Sanborn, the bride, and formerly of the Harvard library.

Say, who was the Tuscon-indoctrinated gent who didn't know what "meet "or" meant the other day in S.C.A.? And did you hear about Douglas Kelly saying "K, like is Kansas" over the telephone, in South Matthews t'other night? It just ain't Navy, Kelly.