Where Loitering Lovers Linger

   "Some hate mathematics and some hate French, but every one likes 'bench work.' Its charm is as irresistible as the fascinating eyes of a beautiful girl. They all say they are going to study--yes, they are going to work, they are going to accomplish something, they wouldn't miss a class for the world. Just then Spring comes with its warming sunlight, its singing birds, its budding trees and shooting grass. Worse yet, one of the opposite sex smiles a greeting. They sit down on one of the benches. The

class bell rings, but it is so nice out-of-doors; why are classes held in a stuffy room? Most of this study is useless, anyhow. To be sure, Engberg will be mad, but what of it? This is so delicious. They meet again in the evening. The night is much better than the day, especially when it is too dark for passersby to see how close these two are sitting. Wily, he has his arm around her waist! But then, there's no wrong in such harmless pleasure, provided no one is looking. Isn't it exquisite.
   You can't mean it. Both of them flunked? The professors must have had a grudge against them. I always did hate professors. Those two had studied so hard they just deserved to pass. Anyhow, it is the meanest trick I ever heard of--leaving them in school all this time and then acting so cruel at the end, when there wasn't a moment left to think. Their folks must feel terrible. No? So, then, the mammas and papas are glad they are engaged? Well, don't that 'beat the Dutch' you get in Baumgartner's class.
S. 0. C.

   On Nebraska's Campus there are no "game laws"; hunting licenses are not required, and we know no "season" limitations. From early in September until there is no longer the faintest hope of bringing down a bid to formal, informal, or house dance, the season is "open."
   The man in the case--whether he be an Alpha Ape or what-not--"dolls" himself up a bit, immediately following registration, lays in a ready store of effective ammunition, and sets out on a still hunt for party "cinches." He camps on the trail of big game or contents himself by creeping up on a flock of fair co-eds, and by the rules of good marksmanship pours into the bunch such a running-fire that he is bound to wing at least a half dozen "birds." His ammunition is not of the common variety. He brings down his game with a volley of Orpheum tickets, hot chocolates at the Paris, joy rides at Dad's expense, and numerous house parties, which confidentially, are very effective and easy on an "emaciated" bank account--for policy "hunting" takes money.
   But occasionally even the wariest veteran, out for big party "cinches," gets "treed" himself. Then he must come thru and drag a "squab" to his "formal," when he had planned to take a "dove." It has happened more than once that a novice at the game has winged a jay when he aimed at a humming-bird.
   Without exception, the policy hunter stays by his game only long enough to take count of what he has bagged. Then he strikes off on another trail. But a hunt wouldn't be a hunt if there were not the inevitable masculine "croaker" sitting on the edge of every duck pond making himself hoarse because he hasn't the nerve to go in for the game and produce the desired "splash."
   There is no question that although "fussing is policy" and "policy means fussing," the game you bag is worth the effort. If you don't believe it, just ask Harry Coffee, Frank Long, Biddle Mead, and "Beaner" Cline--and well!--others too numerous to mention.G. RYAN.

When Good Fellows Get Together

   Some people of a procrastinating nature, who feel that they should be apologizing for something continually, talk about the evils of the Great American Game among College students. They fall to see that it is a pleasure rather than a vice. Besides, what would college life be without it? Nothing can be more soothing to one, unnerved by the excitement of the class room or the ingratitude of a fickle co-ed, than to sit down to a nice quiet game of "penny ante." Again, when one has fallen into a stupor of exhaustion there is nothing so stimulating or exhilarating than trying to keep the clothes on your back during the progress of a game of "strip poker." It is hard to see why any one should be opposed to such a beneficial game. The D. Us. have been able to dispense with the services of a doctor since they have adopted it. Some of the sororities are using it to a limited extent, and a lot of the professors should.
   Poker is the least expensive amusement known to the University man. Leaving out of consideration the superior entertainment, it costs less than half as much as rushing a co-ed and is not so likely to change in favor of the other fellow. But since chips are not obnoxious to rats, it is probable that the practice will be prevalent with the gentler sex in a very short time. It is most likely that Miss Ensign will look upon it with approval, although Dave Rogers has not yet recommended it to the Y. M. C. A., nor has he made a report upon his investigations. The situation may be summed up: men sometimes tire of books, co-eds, and professors, and need the good wholesome enjoyment furnished by the Great American Game.
S. O. C.

   A tall gaunt form muttering strange incantations and making wild gestures approached the Sun Dial. He laid his hands upon it, and this much of his jargon was Intelligible:
   "Speak, 0 Meter of Time! Tell thy tale to man."
   The marble quivered from cap to base, and a deep voice spoke as from the great unknown:
   "First understand, base intruder, that I contain a thousand secrets too delicate for thy vile ear. Yes, I see the thousands pause at the fountain and then linger on the library steps; and I watch the hundreds reclining on the grassy earth and wooden benches. But Ear, Fountain, and Steps read only the outward signs. But on me lean the broken-hearted and the joyous as they pour out the inmost secrets of their souls. I hear the gushing songs of hope and the harsh curses of disappointment. I am acquainted with the sorrow of

death and the gladness of life. To me the Freshman brings his homesick tale, the Sophomore his egotistic hopes, the Junior his newest ambition, and the Senior his sad farewell. Poet and orator read to me the first draft of their abominable creations, while "Pinkie" Holmes come here for the inspiration of his editorials. Ardent lovers seek my presence to speak the words which none should hear. The jilted and the fortunate tell me their griefs and joys. In short I am the leaning post of the lazy and the weary, the happy and the sad.
   "Though many intruders tarry here, few understand me. They can not read what is plainly written upon my face. I hear their stories, but neglect not my humble task, the while I listen. Filled with the wisdom of the past, I live for the present without worry of the future. Though cloud or co-ed's hat may hide the sun from man, this little shadow ever leaves upon me the indelible trace of time. Across my face the procession of the hours moves, and I record its progress.
   "Now my tale is ended. Release me from thy spell. cruel sorcerer."
S. 0. C.

I have heard Kubelik play upon his sweet strings
   With technique that sure was entrancing;
I have heard comic opera and numerous things
   With chorus girls singing and dancing.
I have heard flowery orators rage in their might,
   With rhetoric, story, invective;
I have heard many plays that stay but a night
   Thrilling stories of Burns the detective.
But all of these pall and cease to amuse
   When the Band gives a concert enchanting;
When I see a short notice in some evening's News,
   These plays then become idle ranting.
I love the trombone as it slides to and fro,
   The cornet with its tones sweetly tinkling,
I love the bass drum and the shrill piccolo--
   Of their charms I can give bar an inkling.
So I've spent my four bits for two tickets tonight,
   And we'll be there to give the glad hand
To the boys of Nebraska who sure are all right--
   Three cheers and a tiger--The Band.
HARRY BURTIS.