THE VAGABOND

Vag approached the building with some trepidation. Looks pretty gruesome, he thought, as he viewed the big red crosses in the windows. But then he read the inscription above the door: "Through This Door Pass Those Who Willingly Gave Their Blood in the Cause of Freedom . . ." Gee, it makes me feel like one of Earl Carroll's girls, he said to himself, and feeling much better, he pushed open the door.

Inside at the desk a lady in a natty Red Cross uniform asked his name, checked it on her appointment list, and gave him a big card with the number 56 and other paraphernalia. "Read these questions and try to answer them while you wait," she said sweetly. Vag looked them over, and was intrigued by some of the questions--"Coughed up Blood Recently?" "Shortness of Breath?" "Swelling of the Feet?" In another column was the verdict which they would pass on him after he left, with such significant entries as "Fainted" or "No Blood." Wondering for the first time whether he really did have any blood, Vag was interrupted by another lady who called, "Number 56? Please follow me." He was led to a desk where a nurse took his temperature and pulse, then swabbed his finger with alcohol. Producing a lethal little instrument resembling a fountain pen, she placed it on his finger and released the catch. Vag gave a little yelp as a pinpoint suddenly pierced his skin, and the nurse squeezed out a little blood onto a plate. "Thank you," she said, "and now would you go over there to drink some orange juice?" Vag complied willingly, and having downed it, waited for the summons.

Another nurse shortly appeared at the head of the stairs, asked him to come up, remove his coat, loosen his collar, and roll up his sleeve. Vag did so, and entered the death chamber with a light foot but a heavy heart. Seeing the preponderance of elderly dowagers, college girls and other assorted females, however, Vag gritted his teeth and said to himself, "If they can do it, so can I." He lay down on the designated bed, held out his arm in a gesture of resignation, and prepared to watch the proceedings.

The nurse smiled sweetly at him (everyone seems to smile sweetly in here, thought Vag) and after swabbing his arm, jabbed a hypo with novocaine into it. A few minutes later the nurse inserted the needle through which the blood would flow. This time Vag didn't feel a thing. "Now open and close your first steadily," said the nurse. "How soon does the blood begin to flow?" asked Vag. "Why, the bottle is a third full already," she replied. Vag could feel nothing, although his hand began to tingle after a few minutes. Then it didn't tingle any more. Vag called the nurse's attention to this, but she merely replied, "Oh, that means that there is so little blood in your hand that your nerves don't function as they should. It's just the same as when your foot goes to sleep." "Oh," said Vag, and began to wonder if his hand might suddenly fall off. Just then, however, the nurse removed the needle, placed a bandage over the wound, and displayed the pintful of blood. Vag smiled proudly.

In a few minutes the nurse let Vag get up, and he was surprised to discover that he felt better than he had before. Shucks, that was a cinch, thought Vag. "Thank you very much for your contribution," said the nurse as he walked out. "Don't mention it," he replied benignly. Just as he got to the door, however, he could not resist the temptation. He turned, struck a pose, and declared to the world at large, "My only regret is that I have but one pint to give to my country."