Commenting upon the University in general, Mr. Sinclair remarks: “But the secret societies come in, and now Yale is just what Princeton is, a place where the sons of millionaires draw apart and lead exclusive lives.” Disregarding for the moment the innuendo cast upon the societies here, it seemed best to interview the millionaire we know in order to ascertain whether he was really being secretly exclusive. The cause of research suffered when he proved to be out for the evening wearing the dress suit of his neighbor, who was working his way through college and could not use it himself.
Concerning societies Mr. Sinclair further opines that they encourage intoxication and venereal disease, but dictate the choice of clothing, slang, and tobacco, while preventing originality of cogitation. It is a sad thought, and the woeful plight of the American college lad is typified by the brazen indifference with which he bears his shame.
Mr. Sinclair certainly exaggerates—we are now speaking constrainedly, ourself—but his sincerity no one can doubt, as no one can sweepingly deny all his charges. He may irritate or he may distress or he may merely edify, but he always gets a reaction.
F. D. A.
Editor’s Table
Han and Cherrywold came across the campus together.
“What do you think of our first issue?” asked Han.
“Well,” replied Cherrywold, “a little thin, to be sure, but very fine goods—and mostly home-made, at that.”
“Yes,” mused Han, “and this one shall be better. I look forward to a short and pleasant evening.”