Word: vagabonde
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...started when the Vagabond was munching cinnamon toast and a sleeve knocked over the cup of Lipton tea into his lap. The edges of his coat and the top of his trousers were soaked, so that the persons standing beside the nickle-a-piece victrola and those gnawing at ice cream cones in their cars outside noticed the absurdity and laughed...
Comedy between the halves on the field made the water a joke but when the Vagabond and his girl sat down again a rivulet on the seat made it a wet, very wet joke. Amid this flood of the heavens there was a squirming and uneasiness. Oilskins from the Five and Ten covered exposed legs; the water coursed down the smooth surface of the cloth onto the backs of those in front. Gentlemen turned down the rear brim of their hats, and the water spouted into the face of those behind. The Vagabond's girl borrowed his handkerchief...
...Vagabond smiled, as he thought of Isabella, wife of the ruler of proud Spain, forced to sacrifice the things that women love best to realize the dream of the daring seaman who was bold enough, heretical enough, to proclaim in the face of all existing dogma that the earth was round. He smiled, too, as he thought of his wanderings in the American waters--then as unknown as a black void and filled with infinite terrors, and the explorations, and the final failures and ultimate defeat of that gallant seafarer. He smiled, thinking of the way the sea often wins...
...Vagabond decided to make his Columbus holiday different from just another day off from classes. Heading for Gloucester early in the morning he boarded his trim sloop and swung rapidly around the jetty on Eastern Point, laying a course for the whistling buoy off Thatcher Island on the tip of Cape Ann. Soon wisps of fog rolled in on the heels of a fresh southerly breeze, and he checked his position before losing all sight of the surrounding waters. Miraculously the fog blew away in a few minutes, and he saw the twin towers of lighthouses that stand on Thatcher...
...thus, without benedictions, that the Vagabond, who, alas, spent yesterday in sloth and who will spend today in feverish retribution therefor, directs, as a modern Messiah, his followers out of the wilderness of worldly college life to the basement lecture room of Fogg Museum tomorrow at noon. There Professor Kirsop Lake, who knows Palestine as intimately as Winchell knows his Broadway, will read the Bible as it should be read and talk of it as it should be talked of, interpreting its grandeur with alternate wisdom, emotion, and humor...