McGeorge and the Dragon

Cursing the rain, his day-old beard, his roommate, and John Donne, Vag shuffled out of Lamont. "It's a hell of a way to run a railroad," he noted in passing the construction at the center for Oriental Studies.

"Help!" called a voice from behind the fence. "Am unwilling plisonah!"

"So's your old man," said Vag, annoyed. He hoped to squelch whoever was playing games.

"Is velly gleat dlagon speaking!" announced the voice.

Vag peered through the boards. Even in the semi-darkness, he could see smoke coming from the dragon's nostrils. "Hard to believe," he said several times.

"Release me," commanded the dragon.

"How?"

"Lemove Gleat Wall."

"I'm not sure the Mystic Building Company would like that." The rain came harder now, dripping down his neck and soaking through his shoes.

"Ah so. You yellow belly?"

"I'm no hero," Vag agreed.

"You aflaid to die?" puffed the indignant dragon.

"Die?" The thought had not occurred to him.

"Wall make me lose face," explained the dragon. "Halvud students write Stalag 38, write O.K. Collal, write Yankee Go Home."

"Good idea," said Vag straightening up. "It's cold here. I hope everything works out."

"You fail and I commit Hali-Kali!" sputtered the dragon.

"You aren't Japanese," Vag called back. "Anyhow, stop feeling sorry for yourself." He shuffled out the gate and crossed Massachusetts Avenue, cursing the rain, his day-old beard, his roommate, and John Donne.