to think of the play yet, he told himself, feeling his mood slip down another step.

They confronted Mr. Hall in a body, and talked, at first impersonally, of "subscription dances," with what they considered diplomatic emphasis on the qualifying word. It turned out, their diplomacy, to be the weakest possible; since, upon disclosures definite and personal, Mr. Hall relieved Martin and delighted Lottie by objecting, and he objected precisely on account of "subscriptions." He invited people to dances to give them a good time, not to make money out of them; his wife should preside at no public amusements; when he was a boy, and so forth; understand you, he appreciated the practical side of it, but there were other things in the world, sir, besides money; he had ever insisted on a certain nicety in such matters

"Give the money to the church for a lectern," suggested Lottie.

Bravo! the enemy was theirs; and as at once struck Martin, he would not have to write a play. It but remained to capture patronesses and subscribers; Percy had signed a shrewd contract for a hall.

Martin, stripped wholly of his mood, went home and confided to Diary "B" his opinion of Percy's dishonesty in the matter of the contract. The diary, at any rate, bored him least.

V

The Halls bored him extremely; for two weeks he saw nothing of them, nor of St. Gabriel's. He had no adequate excuses for asking people to the dances, and recalled none from the days of his enthusiasm. Poor Bessie wore badly. As to Percy, both his and his tutor's interest let up, but the latter's first.

To these, the real reasons of Martin's resolve "to drop them all," he added pompous motives, as in "C": ". the stage, also, where they are actually, by unconscious example, harming me, in taste and manners; and so, here goes!"

He went, primed with explanations, and found Lottie alone. She saved his face by speaking first. "After everything you thought you'd do these days! It seems to me you're a great deal better at thinking than doing. Well, it doesn't matter—it's all up-we absolutely couldn't

get a single other patroness. And Bessie's gone. To her aunt's. Canada. Of course, didn't you know it? Ridiculous. Percy's college is up, too; he's got another job-lot of money and show. Please come back to your Sunday-school class. Oh! Call on me, then. Fifteen, next May; you've no right to ask, anyhow."

Diary "B" reverted to an old topic. ".

the mark of

the type. Perhaps it is brains and push, and all theirs is concentrated in her. Or it may be plodding stupidity, and she, the imp, a freak of heredity, a biological sport. Which is she, sport or true scion? The joke is, that they're not typical Americans at all; they're Canadians, not even naturalized."

Hereafter there occurs no more mention of the Halls in "B", and but little in "C". Either the diarist had exhausted them as material for "artistic-scientific" observation, or his friendship with Lottie exempted her and her family from further exploitation. The latter reason he would probably have explained, in his youthful, heavy manner, thus: "My attitude towards them, that is, as constructed in my own head, originally objective, saving the superficialities of courteous intercourse, later, almost despite of me, tinged with deeper motive-interest by the several relations in which I involved myself, has now become, in respect to Lottie, ordinarily subjective, in respect to the others, ordinarily colorless:" a threefold scheme upon which he harped. It formed, in general, the outline of his diarial philosophy; "A" the real events, "B" the constructively objective, "C" the apologetic. In general, also, "A" bored him extremely; "B" and "C" he delighted in.

Arbitrary, you say, useless? Yea, more; the whole dawdling business was sterile, morally corrosive; and he knew it. He was "better at thinking than doing." Yet he couldn't get away from it, except for brief flashes he was temperamentally bound-and after all, as he said, it kept him from worse mischief.

In the course of events, he fell in love with Lottie and married her. That, however, is aside from the point; his real tangible experience always lacked even ordinary interest.

Ralph Montgomery Arkush.

JOHN THE ORANGEMAN.

An Epitaph.

Here lies an ancient wight who sold

Gold oranges for gleaming gold;

A man of parts and of repute
As spotless as his shining fruit;
A friend of rich and poor was he
From College House to Claverly;
On Soldiers Field a loyal son

While games were lost and games were won.

Historian he of matters hid

That once our sires and grandsires did.

In days when still the Yard pump flowed,

And drinks were strong and oats were sowed.

No more from him those tales shall come, The tongue and mumbling lips are dumbThe beaming eyes, the old bent form

That weathered wind and slush and storm,

The head that wagged and in its youth

Had borne full many a stately tooth-
Alas! in age it held but one !—
Dead are they all and dead is John.

Sunk to his fathers in the dust

As even orange-mongers must.

But if, as ancient legend says,

The gods on high eat oranges,
Perchance John's mission is not ended,

But to new spheres may be extended.

And if St. Peter, 'neath heav'n's banners,
Should want a soul to sell bananas

And oranges at heaven's gate,

Though through the ages he should wait,

None better could he find there than

John Lovett-John the Orangeman.

T. L. McS.

Reforms

Editorial.

It has been a custom of late-ever since the spirit of reform fell like a comet on this western world of ours and precipitated a fiery splinter with particular violence into the zealous hearts. of Harvard-that each new board should, on its first appearance, present a list of "improvements." We regret deeply that we cannot follow this precedent. Unfortunately for us, we are born so late that all visible improvements-if we may judge by the promises made in past years-have long been exhausted. Only the invisible, the slow and unpretentious ones remain, and of these it behooves us not to speak. That departed boards should have bequeathed no reforms to us with which to inflate our chests and our first editorial page, grieves us deeply. We should be much pleased could we promise a new variety of "snappy yarn" or another fifty per cent. reduction in the subscription price. We might even imprint ourselves on pink paper for novelty, could we feel that our future were roseate enough to permit the extravagance. But, alas, the springs of reform have run dry; we have nothing to promise save our good will. Beyond that, we can only hope for the best and pray that there may be no printers' strikes.

In the leader of the present issue, the rules that will govern the game of football as it will be played at all the great universities this fall are briefly set forth and commented upon. The Rules Committee has apparently struggled very hard with the problem thrust upon it by public sentiment last fall, of "reforming the game of football" and the result will be awaited with curiosity by all who are interested in the game, and with considerable

football