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Choosing the Class Animal

With spring-time came one of the last Freshman problems, the question of the class
animal and of the class seal. Finally a committee was chosen; that is, the class of 1906
again found opportunity of watching other people work, a sight they peculiarly appreciate,

books which they boasted contained that rare article, registration cards pure of initials.
Their sufferings were great; one unfortunate was haunted in dreams by a queer creature
called a “‘Gules-Rampant,” while another found herself murmuring in place of Chaucer’s
Metre Scheme—‘A bull dog, azure, turgescent on a field vert,”’

Finally they felt prepared to report and a class meeting was called. I remember it
vividly still; it was among the most exciting I ever attended, for it was the scene of one of
our time-honored scraps. Ethel de Koven, as Chairman, read out the list of animals
from which we were to choose. Noah, entering the ark, could not have headed a more
motley collection. There was a lion, a tiger, a gryphon, a bull, a bull-dog, and heaven
knows what else, each with an appropriate motto. Instantly, the wildest confusion arose.
Jessie Thomas,—on the principle of like to like, no doubt—pleaded unceasingly for the bull-
dog, while Smithy’s affections were centered on the bull; why, no one could guess, as it
only connoted Durham Plug Tobacco to our minds. Ever and anon Gladys Chandler
would put in a timid word for the lion, king of beasts, only to be drowned out by Smithy
calling for “A fair field and no favor”; Mary’s gavel pounded unceasingly, with little effect
until our lung power and our legs gave out simultaneously. F inally we sat quiet, despair
on every face, lightened only by malignant glances at the committee, who were of singularly
retiring natures that afternoon. | Then suddenly Ethel Bullock arose, her eyes shining
with inspiration; we leaned forward eagerly to hear her cry in ringing tones, ‘‘ Why
don’t we have a stork?” And, in the riotous laughter that followed, we could hear Alice
Lauterbach attempting desperately to enlighten the mystified Ethel. At last some one—
or was it among the committee’s collection of pleasant beasts?—suggested the crab and its
motto, and after some fierce altercation it was elected to rule over the destiny of Nineteen-
Six. Unable to have the chair appoint any more committees, we adjourned, to scrap all
the way home on the merits of the crab.

LouisE NETTERVILLE CRUICE.

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