THE VAGABOND

Vag was hot and tired as he steered his convertible past the towers of Eliot House up to his garage on Boylston Street. It had been a strenuous drive home from the beach--evidently all the defense workers picked the same time as he did to use their cars. He felt discouraged as he trudged home. No date tonight, no more gas for a week.

On the way to the dining hall he suddenly found himself face to face with a man behind a table. "Selling stamps again," muttered Vag, as he tried nonchalantly to slide past the door unnoticed. "Hey, Vag," cried the man behind the table, who had once sat next to him in Economics class. "How about a pledge? We're trying to hit at least a thousand dollars this week--that's still way under what Yale and Princeton have been doing."

Scarcely listening, Vag snatched one of the white cards and straggled into the dining hall. Why did they keep pestering him? His father had already given him three defense bonds for Christmas. He couldn't find any of his friends. Where were they all? Oh, yes, he knew. Ted was giving blood, Johnny was down at the Mass. General, and George always seemed to be doing something--some committee or other.

Vag ordered his meal under his breath and picked up the evening paper. "Nazis Driving Toward Caucasus Oil," and then a feature story--eyewitness account of the famine in Greece. Why did they always print stuff like that? He knew war was tough--he was willing to take it when the time came. Why couldn't they let him alone for a little while?

On the way out of the dining room he noticed two people standing at the stamp table. One was wearing a waiter's uniform; he said he wanted to buy some stamps before the door closed. The other was Ted, whom he noticed giving two dollars and grabbing a white pledge card.

"Hi, Vag, how's the boy? About time we get on the ball, isn't it? God, if other colleges can sell $1000 a week, we should be able to make that look like chicken feed." Chicken feed? For 4000 Harvard guys, I guess it is, thought Vag. "Well, I'll think about it, anyway." He reached for a card on the table. "You know, there's no reason why we can't do it if those other guys can. Why haven't we started this before? "But we have been--" answered the man behind the table, who was counting up his money for the day. "Have you?" asked Vag, though he knew it all the time, and secretly felt a little sheepish for holding off so long.