Word: vagabonder
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: all
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...Vagabond has noticed an alarming symptom cropping out every now and again amongst the students. It is particularly bad at this time of year. He knows the old gag of Tennyson's about "In the Spring" and all the awful things that happen then, but did not the same old rhymster say that there was no joy but calm. He did. And the two are not compatible. The Vagabond has always been a batchelor for woman would restrict the carefree, wandering life such as his. He has patiently borne with the feministic foibles of his followings for he understands that...
...Vagabond can not frown upon this, but he can not wholly and openly condone it. The receptions are always bad. Everyone tells lies about the groom and trys furtively to take two pieces of wedding cake. And if one begins to kiss the bridesmaids, along about the third one he runs into an absolute dud whose smile would make a horse shy. This dud accounts for the endless conversations that one sees going on. The poor fool is trying to decide just what to do. And if one doesn't kiss the bridesmaids...
With the passing of divisionals into the limbo of forgotten things the Vagabond has given thought to his seniors. They are a surly lot at the moment for the anxiety of awaiting their marks has played havoc with their nerves. The old fellow has cast about to find some entertainment to divert their attention from the endless poker games and the other evils which they now employ to pass away the time. Nor have his castings been in vain...
There are various good books for the seniors to browse in while they lie beneath the mid day sun. "More Boners" for instance will make the veriest dullard feel confident of graduation. "Years Of Grace," the new Pulitizer prize novel, is no worse than most Pulitzer awards. The Vagabond feels called upon to state, lest he arouse false hopes, that Grace unfortunately is not a proper noun, nor yet an improper girl. Quite a wag, the old fellow. And then there is the Saturday Evening Post. Long years ago the Vagabond had a nickle which, being a shiftless wastrel...
Thinking it over on the way home, the Vagabond was not sorry. He has never been what the middle west vulgarly calls "collegiate," but he is a sentimentalist--which is a refined collegiatism. He was glad to see that men who have left the gates of Harvard two and three years behind can still maintain that joy of youth which is the graduate's greatest heritage. It was reassuring to know that adolescense is immortal...