t's still the custom to elect a co-ed to some Athletic
office. They do say that the only way to teach a politician what the
people want is to bore a shaft in his head and shout it in, but our
experience ought to be proof to the contrary. Why, all we needed was the
gentle little hint that Mary Jane Hicks gave us.

CHAPTER XI

SIC TRANSIT GLORIA ALL-AMERICA

How did the Siwash game come out Saturday? Forget it, my boy. You'll
never know in this oversized, ingrowing, fenced-off, insulated
metropolis till some one writes and tells you. Every fall I ask myself
that same question all day Saturday and Sunday, and do you suppose I
ever find a Siwash score in one of those muddy-faced, red-headed,
ward-gossip parties that they call newspapers in New York? Never, not at
all, you hopeful tenderfoot from the unimportant West. After you've
existed in this secluded portion of the universe a few years you'll get
over trying to find anything that looks like news from home in the daily
disturbances here. And I don't care whether your home is in Buffalo,
Chicago or Strawberry Point, Iowa, either. Go down on the East Side and
beat up a policeman, and you'll get immortalized in ten-inch type. Go
back West and get elected governor, and ten to one if you're mentioned
at all they'll slip you the wrong state to preside over.

Excuse me, but I'm considerably sore, just as I am every Sunday during
the football season. Here I am, eating my heart out with longing to know
whether good old Siwash has dusted off half a township with
Muggledorfer again, and what do I get to read? Four yards of Gale; five
yards of Jarhard; two yards of Ohell; and a page of Quincetown,
Hardmouth, Jamhurst, Saint Mikes, Holy Moses College and the Connecticut
Institute of Etymology. Nice fodder for a loyal alumnus eleven hundred
and then some miles from home, isn't it? Honest, when I first hit this
seething burg I used to go down to the Grand Central station on Sunday
afternoon and look at the people coming in from the trains, just because
some of them were from the West. Once I took a New Yorker up to
Riverside Park, pointed him west and asked him what he saw. He said he
saw a ferryboat coming to New York. That was all he had ever seen of the
other shore. He called it Hinterland. That made me mad and I called him
an electric-light bug. We had a lovely row.

But we're blasting out a corner for the old coll., even back here. We've
got things fixed pretty nicely