Last week young Harvard bloods thronged to a midnight smoker in the University Theatre with malice aforethought. One "Bob" Lampoon, janitor in the building of Harvard's funny magazine, was billed to play flute solos. When Mr. Lampoon and flute appeared, pennies rattled on the stage, an egg stained the backdrop, another egg, a hail of eggs. Mr. Lampoon retired. . . . Soon Harvard Square was full of eggs. Taximen fled. A girl screamed. Policeman Pryor rushed to her assistance, took a punch on the jaw, drew his pistol, kept young Harvard...
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