The faculty have pleaded with us; students have beseeched our humble billets; the dicticians at Cowie have demanded that the Lucky Bag be written. Morale, studies and appetites were falling off all because your favorite column wasn't in front of Marion's legs last Friday morning. So here it is; you asked for it.

With the issuance of the long-awaited Year Books one of the most novel and worthy ideas other than the concensus that Berna Tool oughta bagga head of the past six months has been suggested by the Battalion idea-man, and bride-groom-to-be, Jock Brunner. Jock proposes that when the long twilight of senility and retirement descends upon our new effervescent lives and we look not to the future, but back upon our glorious past, we will, as is customary, hearken back to the days we spent here at Harvard. In any relationship in which a group of human beings live together for so long a period as a year there are bound to be many friendships started. These friendships will be nipped in the bud by sea billets, it is true, but the memories will live on.

Therefore, proposes Jock, why not do something about it so that such valuable friendships can grow as we grow--both during and after the present war. To this end, Ens. Brunner will, in the very near future, distribute to the members of Company 3 forms to be pasted into the back of their Yearbooks. These forms will give Jock's home address and various other data, so that whenever a notable event such as a promotion, change of duty, marriage, birth or death occurs, such information can be transmitted to the Brunner Homestead where periodically a mimeographed Alumni Bulletin will be sent to each man's home from where it can be sent to the man out in his little DE. In this way, individuals, cliches and the whole gang will be, in some small way, united.

What Jock would like to suggest now is that Company 4 should go to work on

the idea as soon as possible. It is a worthy one.

And thus is formed the Company 3 Alumni Society.

ABOUT THAT DANCE

These days are trying ones. Midshipmen go around with eyes dreamier than usual, and with feet a whole lot clumsier. You bump into them, you step on them, you ignore them, but all in vain, for they are all up in the ozone about their coming informal hop. Nothing matters anymore. What if Osage is practically bankrupt, who cares about Lifo or Fifo, aren't they going to take a real live girl to their first Harvard dance? And so it goes, just showing you what an important event tomorrow night's affair at the Parker House is going to be. You all know what a success our dance at the P. H. was and this amounts to the same thing. Every Junior who got paid last Monday should attend in reciprocity for the way in which the Middies supported our event. Tickets? Braz Pryor and Piggety Sigety in Co. 4 and Chase E-23 for Co. 3.

THE WEEKEND

It should be quite a shore-leave. The Boston College-Harvard game (for free through the courtesy of both institutions) Saturday afternoon, the Middies dance, the Wellesley dance and McBride's in the evening.

About that B.C.-H tilt. In pre-war days the spectacle of such a game would be virtually fantastic because of the fact Boston College always fielded a big-time (Cotton, Sugar and Orange Bowln in 4 years) team whereas Harvard chose to disregard her football prowess of the 20's and de-emphasis football. Ed. Note: Ever hear of Dick Harlow? The Ivy League? Now tomorrow we find the situation reversed as Harvard drawing from her V-12 units fields a fairly potent eleven, whereas the boys from the Heights have only civvics and Discharged vets to choose from. At this writing the choice is Harvard with odds at 5-2. However, no matter the odds, it should be a great game.

LETTERS

After Lt. Beckham's very interesting class in what amounted to "Naval Indoctrination for the Bashful D.O." or "Who's Afraid of the Big Bad G.A.O.?," we have found our usually overflowing letter-box (damn those girls) even more super-saturated as bewildered ex-Seniors turn to the Lucky Bag for succour in hour of DEspair. Bear with us as we quote a few of the missives rec'd:--Dear Carpet (or is it Lucky?) Bag:

After having had one last look at the Touraine, I caught my DE at New York, N. Y. Immediately upon coming aboard I found myself in hot water (Cowie coffee to you). As I stepped from the gang plank I saluted the Flag and tipped the Doorman. How did I know he was the Officer of the Deck-

Since then I have been having a terrible time with my Sk3c. It seems be he has been in the Navy for 55 years and insists upon using the only desk in the engine room which is also called the Disbursing Office. He continually slaps me on the back and calls me "Sonny". But what is worst of all, he will not give me the combination to my safe.

Now what I want to know, Lucky Bag, is, "Is it true, W. H. B. is still wearing that moldy old red sweat shirt?".  Saltily, Jack Smellvile Whitney, I