With the blight of the hour examination hanging heavy over Cambridge and the coming of a few warm days to make its inhabitants begin to count the weeks to June, the Vagabond began to yield to the call of the travel-book. For a wandering spirit like his, the confines of Cambridge are at times too narrow and when with a magic carpet made of a few postage stamps he can secure free passage to any part of the globe there are few better preventives for spring fever.

So for a little time in place of the various intellectual stimuli offered in and around the Yard he must substitute references to the lily fields of Bermuda and the warmth of the surf at Waikiki, to the blooming of the tulips in the Bois de Boulogne and the peach trees in Georgia, to the sunrises on Mt. Washington and the sunsets in the Golden Gate, and perhaps as well for if space can be conquered, why should time be a barrier? to the midnight sun at the North Cape. These by no means exhaust his opportunities; he has a quantity of other excursions to make before getting back to the familiar Massachusetts dews and damps. They should be all finished in good order by Monday, however, and the Vagabond can then promise that it won't happen again, for another year anyway. And while his physical feet will probably touch no soil more remote than Cape Cod for many months to come, he will be fit to match tales with the most hardened globe-trotter and at the expense of far less energy.