doesn't he will
regret it all his life; and, besides, you will punch his head if he
doesn't put on the colors. That's rushing for you.

What's my crowd? Why, the Eta Bita Pie, of course. Couldn't you tell
that from my skyscraper brow? We Eta Bites are so much better than any
other frat that we break down and cry now and then when we think of the
poor chaps who can't belong to us. We're bigger, grander, nobler and
tighter about the chest than any other gang. We've turned out more
Senators, Congressmen, Supreme Justices, near-Presidents, captains of
industry, foreign ambassadors and football captains than any two of
them. We own more frat houses, win more college elections, know more
about neckties and girls, wear louder vests and put more cross-hatch
effects on our neophytes than any three of them. We're so immeasurably
ahead of everything with a Greek-letter name that every Freshman of
taste and discrimination turns down everything else and waits until we
crook our little finger at him. Of course, sometimes we make a mistake
and ask some fellow that isn't a man of taste and discrimination; he
proves it by going into some other frat; and that, of course, keeps all
the men of poor judgment out of our gang and puts them in the others.
Regular automatic dispensation of Providence, isn't it?

It's been a long time since I had a chance to gather with the brethren
back at Siwash and agree with them how glorious we are, but this note
brings it all back. My! how I'd like this minute to go back about ten
years and cluster around our big grate fire, which used to make the
Delta Kaps so crazy with envy. Those were the good old days when we came
back to college in the fall, looked over the haycrop in the Freshman
class, picked out the likeliest seed repositories, and then proceeded to
carve them out from the clutches of a round dozen rival frats, each one
crazy to get a spike into every new student who looked as if he might be
president of the Senior class and an authority on cotillons some day. No
namby-pamby, drop-three-and-carry-one crochet effects about our rushing
those days! We just stood up on our hind legs and scrapped it out. For
concentrated, triple-distilled, double-X excitement, the first three
weeks of college, with every frat breaking its collective neck to get a
habeas corpus on the same six or eight men, had a suffragette riot in
the House of Parliament beaten down to a dove-coo.

There was nothing that made us lov