Word: vagabonde
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...Plympton Street, Vag sobbed. How awfully sad it was! No more to see the genial conservative M.E., the boy who made Winnetka ill. The sporty lad from Milwaukee, the peerless peer from Cleveland, the genial South'n gennleman from Kentuck'. . . . The turnover of the Crime always made the Vagabond sad, but this was an especially unhappy night. He looked at his watch--4:12, time for a quick session with the pinball boards at Harry's Club. Man against machine, amateur against the elements, sucker against Gottlicb. Vag racked-up four frees on the first try but felt no thrill...
...last time, Vag thought, with his lip 'trembling. Four eventful years he had known them, or almost, from their first naive appearance in the Square which Recognizes Neither Birth Nor Breed. And now they doffed their childish honors and went forth into a stern intense world. The Vagabond perched himself on the back of the President's chair and listened to the reports. Words, words, words, words, so cheerful, so gallantly smutty, and so terribly inadequate. "To be at home in all lands and ages . . . to lose yourself in generous enthusiasms and cooperate with others for common ends . . . the best...
...Yeah, swell, thanks." Or had it been? The Vagabond plowed on through the snow, clean because it was almost as newly-arrived in Cambridge as Vag was. On December 17 he had taken the train for New York, two days early, looking forward to the usual gay, and liquid round. But it hadn't been the same; the old gang wasn't there and every girl Vag met knew some neat guy fighting in the Pacific, which made him feel sharply his own unheroic role. Maybe he ought to join the air corps right away and get sent...
...Vagabond slipped on the icy sidewalk and nearly sprawled...
This evening, Vag had decided, he was going to get something done. Something concrete. Something definite. He was going up to read a book. Something intellectual, he concluded, with a smile of self-satisfaction. No more of this time-wasting for the Vagabond. Tomorrow he was going to start rationing out his time. Every minute was going to mean something, something he could remember in years to come and say, "That moment I really lived. That moment I was happy...