Word: vagabonde
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Beyond him lie the treacherous traffic rapids of Kosciusko Square, beyond the uncharted, teeming hinterlands of Langdell, Walter Hastings, and the Music Building--a truly blood-chilling panorama. Behind him lie the gray Azores of Phillips Brooks House and the quiet harbors of the Yard. But, Columbus-like, the Vagabond pushes on into the unfamiliar waters ahead. Tacking unskillfully along the North Cambridge car line, Vag's frail cockleshell almost at once encounters a large white island; whose towering stone cliffs rise perpendicular from the water's edge. San Domingo, perhaps? No, young Columbus...
...with a tan cap, vintage of the 1920's. He stands on corners around the Square a good bit even now and says hello to most everyone. Most everyone says hello to him, too. He generally doesn't know their names, but they almost always know his. The Vagabond is one of his pals, although he doesn't know that Vag is Vag. Many a student, not excluding Vag, is indebted to this soft little man, for when they are desperate for a fin, he will take practically anything as security. He's been here a long time...
Recent and hectic research into his moldy History 1 notes has told the Vagabond, with all that bluntness and clarity which characterized his first eager draughts of knowledge at Professor Merriman's fount so many "eras" ago, that Waterloo was an inconsequential little place near Brussels where a great British man called Wellington, whose family name was Wellesley, and a German man named Blucher, first recipient of the Iron Cross, were fortunate enough to crush a great French man named Napoleon on June 18, 1815. Napoleon, who once held a commission as second lieutenant of artillery...
...founding an academy at an inconsequential little place on the Hudson called West Point "for the practical and theoretical training of young men for the national military service, who, upon satisfactorily completing the four-year course are eligible for commissions as second lieutenants in the United States Army." The Vagabond, lovable drain-trap for unimportant details and evanescent emotions that he is, finds himself vastly impressed by this very ordinary second lieutenant coincidence just now. Napoleon and West Pointers--both young men starting life on the same footing--as second lieutenants...
Today in the stadium there will be a football game. The Vagabond will be there. The newspaper men will also be there. And the modern successors of the telegraph lines which Ezra helped Morse to string along the tree trunks between Washington and Baltimore will be chattering up above, sparking out the account of the game between the Big Red and the Big Crimson. But the Vagabond, psychic youngster that he is, will sense the presence of Ezra by more than the metallic clicking in the press box. Ezra, he knows, will be very much present on the opposite side...