Word: vagabonde
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...Vagabond stopped writing, leaned back in his chair, and gazed up at the queer stained-glass windows that lighted the Hall. He was tired of working at high speed, and the muscles of his right hand had frozen. He would rest a minute before putting the finishing touches on his essay. He took a hasty glance at his watch. Ten minutes of twelve. Why, in an hour and ten minutes he'd be boarding a train at South Station to carry him to the City and to this January's journey...
...Vagabond felt pleasantly stimulated as he swung down the platform to his car, and handed his valise to the porter. Examinations weren't so bad after all, be thought, but the best thing about them was their end. Might as well slip into the diner now, before it gets crowded, and get a bite to eat. Hmm! Not very hungry though, in spite of the work he'd been doing lately. Exams seem to take it out on your nervous system, more than anything else. Guess he'd let it go at a club sandwich, and fortify himself with something...
...Vagabond finished his meal and strolled back to the Club Car. He loved to sit out on the observation platform and watch the world recede into the distance at the rate of sixty miles an hour. It gave him a feeling of going places, a thrill that comes from the sense of speed and the feeling that one is utterly helpless to do anything about it save be carried along. He let himself down into the little camp chair on the platform, pulled his coat tightly around his knees to keep off the chill gusts of wind, and relaxed...
Clackety-clack, clackety-clack! Clackety-clack, clackety-clack! The train was slowing down now, getting into Providence. Around the curves between the two hills of the city they swerved, and into the station. Queer place, Providence, the Vagabond thought. Old Roger Williams stood on top of the State House dome, gleaming in the sunlight. He was a man too good for Boston, and he'd had to leave. But under his effigy on the State House ruled men like Quinn and O'Hara. And they'd had a lot of trouble with a man named Dorr a hundred years...
...other end of the room was a table with many extra seats to accommodate one's hat, cost, and feet. While the Vagabond stood planning his prospective posture, he found that across from him was a Radcliffe girl who looked almost beautiful. He promptly sat down and nonchalantly fingered the pages of his book, noticing at the same taking voluminous notes, that she really was beautiful, and that he initials were "J> P." He pretended to be working by flipping a page over now and then, but soon gave up and said in a send-bored voice, "Going into...