The Student Vagabond

The punch had flowed and the Vagabonds' reserve had flowed with it. He determined to abandon himself to the moment; he felt he had to abandon himself to something. As he passed down the steps onto Plympton Street he turned to look again upon the field of his victory. The pale light of early morning was just starting to spread the lemon fingers of disillusion over the field he had just quit. Several of his friends who "couldn't take it" were distributed severally in little heaps about the building, mute testimony to spirits that had passed away.

"Out and away, out and away," the Vagabond crooned to himself as he crashed his fist through the glass of the front door to see whether it was really closed or just seemed to be. He smiled in impersonal fashion at his hand which dangled on the other side of the door, through which it had just passed. He didn't see how he was going to get the rest of him through the hole he had made with his fist.

"Foot next--right foot--through the little hole--that's it--ouch--won't do--door in the way--what's a foot?--Too bad--too bad."

The Vagabond had gotten his left foot through the broken pane and had withdrawn his hand with which he was making vulgar gestures at his reflection in the glass.

"Ha--got idea--me and Lowell--good men--got ideas--open door--funny knob--round and round--quiet now--foot's asleep--don't wake."

Success crowned his efforts and he grabbed his left foot with his right hand around the edge of the door.

"All around man--me and somebody else--Barry Wendell--forget now--think better go home--bit tired--hard day--losing my punch--guess really better go--hand off--foot out--now--just stand up--ugh."

Dawn brought the lemon light of disillusion. But the Vagabond sighed and slept.