Hurrying along the walk in front of the battlements of Sever comes the artist with his carefully creased black felt hat jammed down over his eyes. In front of him, not managing to eclipse him, but successfully blocking his way saunters the debonair man of the world, his hat of excellent vintage but considerably battered--probably with a hole or two in it--turned down in front and up behind with perfect studied carelessness.

Further down towards University Hall an original gentleman trots along in a beret, very proud of the scornful looks and sotto-voce remarks wasted on him. Up the steps of Widener stamps an immaculate professor in an equally immaculate light grey felt on his way to the furthermost stacks of the Library.

In a minute or two the always late gentleman comes along for a class that began five minutes ago. His derby is tipped rakishly over his ear. The student who had his hat on backward when he got to the class ten minutes before frowns reprovingly as the laggard slides into his seat. Then for another three quarters of an hour hats disappear from the Yard.