here now, we Siwash men. Down near
Gramercy Park there's an old-fashioned city dwelling house, four stories
high and elbow-room wide. It's the Siwash Alumni Club. There are half a
hundred Siwash men in New York, gradually getting into the king row in
various lines of business, and we pay enough rent each year for that
house to buy a pretty fair little cottage out in Jonesville. Whenever a
Siwash man drops in there he's pretty sure to find another Siwash man
who smokes the same brand of tobacco and knows the same brand of
college songs. We've got one legislator, four magazine publishers, two
railroad officials, a city prosecutor and three bankers on the
membership roll, and maybe some day we'll have a mayor. Then we'll pass
a law requiring the boys and girls of New York to spend at least one
hour a day learning about Siwash College, Jonesville, the big team of
naughty-nix and the formula for getting credit at the Horseshoe Cafe.
We'll make it obligatory for every newspaper to publish a full page
about each Siwash game in the fall, with pictures of the captain, the
coach and the fullback's right leg. Hurrah for revenge! I see it coming.

Join the club? Why, you don't have to ask to join it. You've got to join
it. Ten dollars, please, and sign here. When we get a little huskier
financially we won't charge new-fledged graduates anything for a year or
two, but we've got to now. The soulless landlord wants his rent in
advance. You'll find the whole gang there Saturday nights. Just butt
right in if I'm not around. You're a Siwash man, and if you want to
borrow the doorknob to throw at a hackman you've a perfect right to do
it.

I'll tell you, old man, you don't know how nice it is to have a hole
that you can hunt in this hurricane town, when you're a bright young
chap with a glorious college past and a business future that you can't
hock for a plate of beans a day! Leaving college and going into business
in a big city is like taking a high dive from the hall of fame into an
ice-water tank. Think of that and be cheerful. You've got a nice time
coming. Just now you're Rudolph Weedon Burlingame, Siwash
Naughty-several, late captain of the baseball team, prize orator,
manager of two proms and president of the Senior class. To-morrow you'll
be a nameless cumberer of busy streets, useful only to the street-car
companies to shake down for nickels. To-morrow you're going around to
the manager of some firm or other with a letter from