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of lawless "No. Sixites" however is her proclivity to fun of any kind or description. She has Puck's jokes at the end of her fingers as well as Miltonic quotations on the tip of her tongue, and though in the midst of our uproarious fun and merrymaking she may be the centre, she it is, at whose gesture of command we one and all submissively subside and prepare our faces for the next lecture. Long live and reign the boss of No. 6!!! -
[bold] Field Day.[bold]
Gloomy and rainy was the morning of the eighteenth day of October, the day nominated as that on which our Annual Sports were to be held. After all their work at mowing noxious weeds and raking up the clammy leaves, Dr. James and his corps of willing workers, tired and dejected, stood in the corridors - listening intently to the rain pattering against the windows and trickling down the sash. Old Joe leaned disconsolately against the wall. He was but the shadow of his former self. The one massive jaw was pointed and lean. Where was the childish innocent pout and the winning
smile - gone - the rotundity of his form and features - shrunken away. His coat hung loose and wrinkled on his boney shoulders. His scrawny neck forbade one to believe that his usual size in collars is no. 19.
Cornish should have been practicing for the pole-vault but had cut a few weeds instead, and now stood fast asleep in the corner, pale and wan, sick and sore, with a piece of brown bread in one hand and a bottle of Peruna clutched tightly in the other. From this state of prophetic slumber he was awakened by Miller placing his old corn cob pipe in his mouth and blowing the contents down the sleepers throat. It was a dirty trick but they all laughed, even
sober, sensible, discreet old G.B. Cox puckered his face up into a knot, shoved his glasses up another nick on his nose and smiled his usual smile The whole scene reminded one of Madam Jarley's wax-works, with Dr. James exhorting each to brace up and practice for the sports which must necessarily be postponed until the following week. At length the week rolled round. The morning of Oct. 24th broke clear and cool. Old Joe by means of numerous internal applications of soup, beef and pudding had almost regained his normal shape and was fast rounding into form. Dr. James was on the "qui vive" with measuring tape, while soon the Meds. came flocking through the gate.
The popular secretary Henry M. Shore, was always on the spot. He had skipped lectures for almost an entire week, but what mattered that? - His responsible position was adequately filled.
Too heart-rending a tale it would be to recount the prizes which slipped away to the Meds., the races for which no divines would enter. Suffice it to say, that as long as the black and purple floats above ground, we will always maintain that the stalwart braves of this institution in 1905 rightly won the tug-of-war. 'Tis true the prize went to the Medical School but the honor will cling to us forever.