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it is to have achieved great success and who, from his intimate acquaintance with the college and its affairs, is best qualified for the discussion. To us, undergraduates, who come to the college as it is today, the story of twenty-five years ago comes down like some tradition of the dim past, scarcely credible when we look upon the great and growing institution which we know. But we honor the man who has brought about this great change, and with hearts full of gratitude join in a long, loud T-U-F-T-S, with "Prexy" on the end.

While we are amid the boastings of our quarter century of progress under the administration of President Capen, the report comes of a resignation on the faculty board in the person of Professor Benjamin Brown. This will cause the sincerest regret on the part of all who know the professor. He came to Tufts in the days of her infancy, and not a few of the prominent alumni of the college who have since solved for themselves the value of that unknown quantity, "Success," have had the advantage of his wise counseling. As a co-worker with the president, his zeal for the welfare of the institution has been unflagging, and he has watched her growth into womanhood with an almost paternal interest. We are glad to learn, however, that Professor Brown will continue to be connected with the college even though no longer identified with the lecture room. Every undergraduate feels in Professor Brown's resignation, a personal loss, and future entering classes will be denied the privilege of intimate acquaintance with the man who, since the death of Professor Dearborn, has been, perhaps, most worthy of that title of endearment: "The father of all freshmen."

If

Have you met the man with the blue athletic tickets for sale? you have not you should at once put yourself in his way. This idea of a general fee seems to us the best of all schemes for paying the athletic expenses of the year. It does away with the floating subscription paper which has ever been the Bête Noir of Tufts men, and the fact that the ticket admits one to all of the athletic

events of the year is no small item to the average cash account. The showing of the foot-ball team thus far this season makes it worthy the strongest support which the student body can give it, especially as the conditions at the opening of the year, seemed most unfavorable for even an average team. Indeed, the lack of material (from newspaper accounts) has seemed to augur well for an eleven which in past years has been only a glorious possibility, winning its games before the season opened.

It has been so long a custom as to become almost a conventionality for a new board of editors to outline extensively, in the first issue, the proposed conduct of THE TUFTONIAN for the year; to dwell upon changes or additions and to express the confidence of the new management in the future of the magazine. This we do not deem expedient, at this time, to do. Changes in arrangement and additions in contents there are, to be sure, this year, but we remember that predictions of absolute success are extremely apt, like the proverbial cat, to return. Suffice it that THE TUFTONIAN will stand, as it has in the past, for the best interests of Tufts College. Curiosity to know more may be fully satisfied by a careful reading of the successive numbers. The subscription price is not large.

A. M. B., 'OI.

THE BIGGEST DISAPPOINTMENT IN COLLEGE.

EST HALL was almost deserted that hot June morning. The moonlight and summer-like air had made study seem very uninteresting, and the students, except for a few of the very worst "grinds," had taken sofa-pillows and gone outside to loll about on the grass and talk over tomorrow's game with Bowdoin, Tufts' oldest and most formidable rival on the base-ball field. Curry, the first 'varsity pitcher, had injured his arm three days before, and the hope of winning lay in Ford, the freshman pitcher, who had shown remarkable ability in practice, but had been unable to play on account of having been put on probation for suspected implication in a disgraceful occurrence early in the year.

Two days before the prize mathematics examination for freshmen, the office of the secretary of the faculty, in Ballou Hall, had been entered at night and the papers stolen from his desk. The loss was discovered next morning and the examination indefinitely postponed. There had been much excitement among the students when the cause of the postponement became known, for the offence meant certain expulsion should the guilty person be discovered. The entire freshman class had been summoned before an investigating committee of the faculty, but nothing new was learned, as every man in the class, with the exception of Ford, had disclaimed any knowledge of the affair. Ford had denied all implication, but had refused to answer any other questions put to him, and, as a consequence, was put on probation till further inquiry could be made.

It was a bitter disappointment to him and the entire student body (for every one liked big, good-natured "Hod" Ford) that he could not play on the base-ball team, but he had persistently refused to answer the questions of the investigating committee, and his probation had been continued from month to month. Not even to his closest friends would he say anything about the mat

ter. In view of the coming Bowdoin game a strong effort had been made by some seniors, to have his probation removed, and, as a result, the faculty committee was in session that evening, to finally decide the matter one way or the other.

Joe Wheeler, the 'varsity captain, strolled up from Dean Hall looking for any of his players who might be sitting up too late, and joined the group on the grass.

"Ford will get off all right, won't he, Joe?" asked some one as the big first baseman seated himself.

"Don't see how he can help it unless something unheard of occurs at the meeting," he answered with a jerk of the head toward Ballou Hall. "Pa Sanders is on the committee, you know, and can be depended on. But I don't just like the sudden intimacy between that man Norcross and some of the committee members, that I noticed this afternoon. He's been sour ever since Ford beat him in the Prize Readings, and to my mind he wouldn't stop at any little meanness to get back at him."

"He's mean enough all right," growled Jim Akeley from the shadow of the next tree.

This remark was greeted by a burst of laughter, for they all knew how Jim, leading the sophomores on the night of the hazing, last fall, had been outwitted by the cunning freshman, Norcross, and made the laughing-stock of the whole college. Jim had selected him as particularly fresh and deserving of sophomoric attention, but on going to his room he and his companions had been met and drenched by a powerful stream of water from a hose which Norcross had attached to the hydrant just outside his window. In the confusion the freshman had escaped, leaving the discomfited sophs to endure the jeers of the crowd of upper class-men who had come out to see the fun.

"We might ask him for that story," said Wheeler, "here he comes."

The men became silent as the subject of discussion sauntered up to the group, and, after a patronizing “Good evening, gentle

men," stood for a moment, twirling his heavy gold watch fob. His slight figure was resplendent in a new flannel suit of the latest cut, and his dark, sinister face was strikingly set off by a white slouch hat. Percy Norcross was not popular in college. Ever since his entrance he had exhibited a sort of subtle cunning in his dealings, even with his own class-mates, which, coupled with an air of superiority, had secured for him the dislike of both upper and lower class-men. That he was intellectually bright could not be questioned, for he easily led his class in the recitation room, and stood very high in faculty estimation. He was of a very wealthy family and his father was a trustee of the college, but none of these facts had any influence in the opinion held by most of the undergraduates who knew him, that he was a snob and a man not to be trusted. The conversation went on in a sort of strained way after his coming, and in a few moments he turned and walked away into the shadow of the overarching trees, in the direction of Ballou Hall; his lips parted in that sarcastic smile so natural with him.

Joe Wheeler rose and walked slowly back to Dean.

"I don't like his going over to Ballou," he muttered. "It can't be that he is no, it's too late, but he's got it in for Ford and is capable of anything."

An hour later Horace Ford, up in his little room at the back of West, pushed back the pages of the uncompleted thesis he had been writing and rose from his desk. He was a striking example of the American college athlete, over six feet in height, with a frank, good-natured face, which looked unusually careworn that night. The ideas for his thesis would not come to him. He sat down by the open window and stared out into the moon-lit night.

"About time Pa appeared," he muttered, glancing at his watch. As if in answer there came a knock at the door, and he rose to admit the venerable professor of mathematics, known since times immemorial as "Pa Sanders, the father of all freshmen."

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