The Vagabond

Weaving down Dunster Street with a catalogue under his arm, Vag was stopped by a double-breasted sharkskin for sale at $65. He realized with a shock that the suit would cost him the same as Comp. Lit. 3. Here was a new equality; he had never thought of education in those terms before. Either fabric was less or learning was more--in any case, it was a change. A well cut suit, he thought. I wonder if Comp. Lit. 3 is well cut too?

Vag chastened himself for such levity and stepped a little more carefully. Getting back to the books after vactation had always been a chore but now it seemed doubly so, with so much that was new. Already he had wandered into McBride's and buried his nose in a stein of suds that plagued him by suddenly becoming a chocolate malted. He had managed to wipe off his nose, but his eyes were still wistful. Was that the way to treat an old friend? The new catalogue--it looked like the handbook for a numbers racket, and what did one do with a full course, pledged as one was to the same spectacles and classroom from September until the month of May? It reminded him of a song about a yellow ribbon and then he thought, a full course costs more than a Model T.

Vag returned to his room and started his Ivy League Album on the victrola. The new changes had left him bewildered. Like going into the Widener Reading Room, he thought, and finding a pink convertible parked in front of the circulation desk. Nothing left to count on around here even the bursar's card had changed color. Was there any thing.

The "Crimson in Triumph Flashing" was caught on the needle and spinning aimlessly. The football team had that changed too or was it the same the same the same the record was still caught. Vag paced the room, listening to the familiar music rise and fall, over and over, like past years' Yale game hopes. Again he wondered, had the team changed or was it the same same same he jumped up and turned off the turntable. As soon as "Crimson in Triumph" had stopped spinning, he picked it up, centered it on a nail over the mantel, and pushed his favorite horseshoe up against it. Then he took "Ten Thousand Men of Harvard" and carried it carefully into his bedroom, placing if underneath his pillow. The Columbia game couldn't be helped but there was many a night until Yale.