Word: vagabonder
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...Vagabond was sitting at a small table in a dimly lighted corridor of an out of the way stack of Widener Library. He had been there for several weeks, now, slaving over what he hoped would some day turn into a Senior thesis. He did not particularly care for his thesis, for he had a particular dread of being shut up in a poorly lighted place for hours on end, compelled to pore through book after book, article after article, searching for the headwaters of the fountain of knowledge, a spring which often seemed as elusive as the fountain...
Perhaps the Vagabond was suffering from a slight attack of claustrophobia. Certainly the surroundings were enough to make most people who cared for the great open spaces, mountains, prairies, or the sea, go a bit whacky. Once, when a little tiny boy, he had been taken by his parents to visit the county jail of his home town in Connecticut. It was a dark redbrick building, ivy-clad, and punctuated with tiny windows covered with lattice grille-work in strong steel. There was something bout that window at the end of the corridor of the library that reminded...
Click-click! Click-click! They were putting on speed now. Shortly the train slowed to cross the Thames, and slide into New London Station. The Vagabond thought about the boat races. Then he let his eyes drift out over the harbor, which was darkning now as the sun moved west. Soon the train was moving again, steaming for New Haven...
...Haven the Vagabond got up from his camp stool on the platform and went into the warm club car. He did not care for New Haven, somehow. He could read a magazine the rest of the way down...
Holy Smoke! The Vagabond looked at his watch. Five minutes to twelve. He'd have to hurry up if he wanted to get through in time to catch that train to the City...