Word: vagabondism
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...Gothic Vaulting of the Vagabond's narrow cell grew dim in the dusk of the late afternoon. Outside the rain drizzled down, blanket upon blanket, showing the streets below a black ribbon in which closely wrapped figures hastened under the shuddering arcs to the bright shelter of heated chambers. Through the racing, crowding thunderheads above, there still broke a few dull rays of yellow light, which reflected eyrily from Memorial's gray and blood slates into the oaken garret. The Vagabond turned from the casement to the dark and empty chimney corner and lighted the lamp by his deep leathern...
...Franciscan cowled in black stooped under the lintel and strode into the chamber, followed by a waddling friar and--was it a dog? The Vagabond eyed the Beast fearfully, the hound-like body, the leathery gray hide maculate with patches of glinting hairs, the beak, the swinging pink teats, its ebon Veneficium of Amor between almond eyes. The Beast slunk to the hearth where the Franciscan had established himself comfortably. "Be thou not afraid," the Holy Man intoned softly. "We are of the World Spirit, to comfort such as thou." Further events the Vagabond shall never recall clearly...
...soke Veritas in ayre and earth. There was one faire Mayde, vertuous . . . Full many a lass was laid on the lippe. He say no more.--Ho, Miles, the capon. Bringe thy tabor and pipe, troll away, like a foole for Hise Maiestie!" They drank, and talked, and sang. The Vagabond remembers snatches of a ballad...
Outside the world is swaying in a light and airy rhythm. The swank blues and mousey grays of Central Square hoyer by; gay bucks and their plebeian maids are on the shabby avenue, tempting one to stray abroad. The Vagabond, pigeon-breasted from long days at his books, expands his lungs, and plunges into the indescribale subway entrance. There, his stick and gloves, his shining topper, are the center of a half-awed admiration. He enters the car like a fairy prince swirling away in his coach; even the guards bow and scrape like tousled sycophants...
...bricks of Boston smile with a certain ruddy charm as the Vagabond strolls to church. He nods to acquaintances, and looks with a wistful hope for the sight of a lone green bud. In the church, he becomes solemn, and regards his image on the glistering toe of his boot, with a feeling of wonder. Falling in with a party of friends, he skips merrily along, not a thought in his head. Like an intellectual kitten, he likens himself to Rousseau; for a moment he toys with the idea of completing this marvelous day by inviting his soul...