"THERE AIN'T NO FLIES . . ."

In a day when the football teams of more than one Eastern university have become temporary professionals in "charity matches", when the negro who featured in the finding of the Lindbergh baby is promptly snapped up to clog on the vaudeville stage to the tune of $300 a week, when any institution or individual whose name is at all well known hastens to cash in on that notoriety, it is not surprising to learn that the tentacles of commercialism have reached out towards Harvard's Commencement activities. With a sense of mild wonder mingled with relief the CRIMSON learns from the chairman of the reunion committee of a recent class, which shall not be named, that he has been unable to secure from the Flit Company costumes, nice orange ones with a headband reading F-L-I-T, to be worn on the day of the Yale baseball game. "We tried to, but we couldn't manage it," this official ingenuously confessed.

It is a hard year; the gift of the twenty-five year class has been reduced by $50,000; those in charge of reunions have been whittling the cost per man down from the neighborhood of $60 to $20. And these uniforms which enable gay graduates to appear as farmers, highlanders, marines, or Flits cost sometimes as much as two dollars. It would thus be a not inconsiderable saving in the enterprising class's budget had they negotiated the deal which would have given them Fitting costumes free of charge. The plan to turn the prestige of a Harvard class day to saving a penny has failed this year. But the Flit men may be in our midst next June, with graduate Gold Dust Twins, Sapolio Boys, Old Dutch Cleanser women, and Campbell Soup cherubs. If they do turn up, however, a large portion of the undergraduate body may well take pleasure in escorting them to the dumps behind the Business School and applying a liberal dose of another effective delouser.