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This is the Day of All Fools and in the eyes of most educators in general and Glenn Frank in particular there is no greater fool than an intellectual vagabond. On this, my adopted natal day I cannot forbear giving my assailants good cause to smirk over me. "Mad," they'll say, "quite mad." But at the unholy hour of nine I shall have quitted the sleep of the untroubled, which all vagabonds enjoy, for the heights of Emerson J and the discourse of Mr. Prescott on Ductless Glands
The hours from 10 to 11 o'clock must undoubtedly be devoted to a leisurely breakfast over which I shall discuss glands authoritatively. The beginning of the next hour will find me in the Germanic Museum, receptive as ever to the talk of Professor Howard, who promised me a story or two of the life of Grillparzer, the Austrian Dramatic poet. Educators make a fool of me, love made one of him. Today we are revenged on the world.
I shall attend no more classes this day. Let wise men rush in, where this fool fears to tread. Hell holds no fury for a Dante, and at 3 o'clock in Sever 17 Professor Elton will lead his class into the nether regions. Vagabonds do not go direct, but course after course.
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