Word: vagabondism
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...Vagabond was recently reminded that Professors, as a group, are not of the human race. They move, like a James Branch Cabel Wotan, in a Valhalla of their own making. Not that they are much given to Walkuere-Quite the reverse. But they are absolute in their own spheres, they have the prerogative, a sort of vail as compensation for the numerous inconveniences which they suffer in their office, of doing much as they please. They may flick cigarettes from the mouths of undergraduates who violate the no-smoking rules, or bash in the felt crown of impolite sophomores, with...
...your friends slowly, and devote a little time to study. That'll carry through." His son didn't answer, but started across the porch at the whitecaps. He was thinking that the new baby of the squatters up the woods showed signs of cretinism * * * Even Dean Briggs, reflected the Vagabond, said that freshmen were all alike. And he remembered the fable of the seven blind...
...train lurches and grinds forward. The night before the Vagabond sat in a little room up under the roof smoking meditatively and wondering at the beauty of a girl's profile against a shaded lamp. She was reading Eleanor Wylie's poetry half aloud. Her lips were wet, and the dampness in the air wove her black hair into ringlets. Outside silver rain was falling softly through the blackness in Bay State Road, and the poplars were glad for the rain...
...night before the Vagabond had lived again in Attica through Gulick's book, and walked in a shining white cloth over the Athenian hills one crystal spring morning down to the blue-girt Piraeus. Five o'clock that morning through the windows of the Waldorf he had seen dawn steal down Massachusetts Avenue like a great gray cat, tail between its legs...
...Vagabond, knowing fellow, has realized that the Charles is not a clean river, or a large river, or a river at all, but he remains attached to it remembering how, although it would deny everything, it has worked sorrow and pleasure. In the fall when Cambridge twilight's are a smoky blue, white-shirted harriers jog along the winding course to Watertwon and back, while men in shells pump up and down like regulated pistons. When Dartmouth comes to town, girls in bright colors walk over the bridge, heels clicking on the walk like little hammers. When there is something...