SMITTIE had to get his rocks off, So he went to Bermuda and got them off, several times.

Smittie told us about it back in the hotel the first night as he handled his 12th beer. "We were all sitting around up in the Montgomery getting wrecked on beer." He said he was about to give up on this party. "Then this guy arrived with ten broads right behind him!" Smittie burped. "I really needed to get my rocks off."

"Let me tell you, these broads down here really want it. I ended up in bed with this one, and she wasn't bad. Not bad at all. And do you believe, I got laid twice? You ever gotten laid twice in a row? But then she started telling me she'd loved me from the moment she first saw me, so I got the hell out. I can't hack that stuff. I told her I'd see her later."

The three of us pondered Smittie's night. College Week III in Bermuda; like College Weeks I and II, is a seven-inning ballgame, and old Smittie was back in the dugout with a big head over whoever his opponent was. He was sorry to hear we hadn't scored. But unlike Daytona, there isn't that heightened sense of male competition in Bermuda. Of course, Smittie figured he was paying dearly for such services, to the tune of $45/day, so he deserved everything he could get. "Jesus, I really had to get my rocks off," he reflected. "Now they're blue."

BUT what of the Jenny Cavilleris? Had they saved up all their hard-earned money only to get to Bermuda and find a glorified pajama party?

This was the thought that passed through Judy's mind as she sat at poolside Sunday at the St. George Hotel. While guys like Smittie spent the week getting their rocks off, what was to become of a poor Rhode Island girl who didn't go to Radcliffe? She couldn't afford to buy herself drinks for seven nights. That would leave no money for postcards.

A Harvard frisbee champion was sitting by her beach chair. "Have you seen Love Story, Ken?" Ken, projecting himself as the intellectual type commonly associated with Harvard, said he'd only read the book. He called it "corny."

"Oh, I didn't think it was. It was simple," Judy asserted. "I've been really close to a boy, and that's really the way it is." Somewhere back in the States, Erich Segal was slipping a big bill out of his wallet to pay for his noonday steak.

That night, Murray tooled up to St. George's on his motorcycle, He'd heard the place was full of girls. Murray didn't call them broads; he was from Harvard. He got a drink inside him and then, all of a sudden, there was Judy. She was at a table talking with a guy, but Murray skated over and asked her to dance, and she was up. "She was talking to some Mafioso. I could tell she was bored," Murray explained later.

Judy liked the fact that Murray was a senior at Harvard. Then her heart skipped a beat. Murray told her he was a hockey player. Actually, a goalie for his House, but what she doesn't know won't hurt her. As it turned out, Murray was rich, and he was from Massachusetts.

So it goes on the island in the sun. For one whole week, Judy was Jenny Cavilleri. But then Saturday came, College Week III ended, College Week IV began, and Judy died.

It's that sort of happiness that agents like Crimson Travel Service hope their clients find when they pack them off for Bermuda with their little travel bags saying Crimson Travel Service on both sides. But the three of us wondered what sort of happiness Crimson Travel had in mind when we were shown to our ten by ten room with its cot and narrow double bed. We wondered why we were paying almost $14 a day each. In Daytona Beach for eight dollars a day I sort of deserve a double bed, but how could it happen again? Will I never ask what I'm getting for my money before I hand it over? Have I learned nothing from 21 years in America? Apparently.

Later on we were talking with Mrs. Ferrarer, who ran the place. By then we had realized that seven of us were to share a bathroom with one toilet, sink and shower. Mrs. Ferrarer said she was getting $11 a day for each of us from Crimson Travel, leaving nearly $3 unexplained. Another surprise was the $10 deposit we had to put down on the motorbikes which we had paid rental for in advance. We would get it back just before leaving Saturday, a handy time.

So it was exciting Monday at Elbow Beach, where we kicked off College Week, to see a guy in Bermuda shorts and sunglasses walking around with a Crimson Travel portfolio under his arm. Suddenly we were upon him, chewing him out for 20 minutes.

Poor Mrs. Ferrarer. Two hours later we returned to our suite, and as she cleared the sheets off our beds, said, "I don't want anyone who's unhappy to stay here. I've found you a new place." And so it was that we ended up at Skytop in a nice room for three and the Crimson Travel avoided a big splash in the CRIMSON the first day back.