etics more or less and on organizing things for us--didn't believe
we mere college youths could get an organization together according to
Hoyle, or whoever drew up the rules of disorder in college societies,
without the help of some skyscraper-browed professor. So they saw fit to
organize what they called a general athletic association. Every student
who paid a dollar was enrolled as a member, with a vote and the
privilege of blowing a horn in a lady or gentleman like manner at all
college games. And just to assure a large membership, the faculty made a
rule that the dollar must be paid by all students with their tuition at
the beginning of the year. That, of course, enrolled the whole college,
girls and all, in the Athletic Association. And it was the Athletic
Association that raised the money to pay for the college teams and hired
the coaches and greased old Siwash's way to glory every fall during the
football season.

Now this didn't bother any for a few years. The men went to the meetings
and voted, and the girls stayed at home and made banners for the games.
Everything was lovely and comfortable. Then one day, in my Freshman year
just before the election, there was a crack in the slate and the Shi
Delts saw a chance to elect one of their men president--it wasn't their
turn that year, but you never could trust the Shi Delts politically any
farther than you could kick a steam roller. They put up their man and
there was a little campaign for about three hours that got up to eleven
hundred revolutions a minute. We clawed and scratched and dug for votes
and were still short when Reilly got an idea and rushed over to Browning
Hall. Five minutes before the polls closed he appeared, leading
twenty-seven Siwash girls, and the trouble was over. They voted for our
man and he was elected by four votes. But, incidentally, we tipped over
a can of--no, wait a minute. I've simply got to be more classical.
What's the use of a college diploma if you have to tell all you know in
baseball language? Let's see--you remember that beautiful Greek lady who
opened a box under the impression that there was a pound of assorted
chocolate creams in it and let loose a whole international museum of
trouble? Dora Somebody--eh? Oh, yes, Pandora. I always did fall down on
that name. Anyway, the box we opened in that election would have made
Pandora's little grief repository look like a box of pink powder. The
kind you girls--oh, very well. I take it