To the Vagabond there is nothing worse than the present day tendency to link up things materialistic with endeavors intellectual. He abhors the monetary incentives that spur on novelists and biographers. Likewise he detests the prostitution of literary art by men who write with their tongue in their cheek for the sake of reaping rewards in lucre and not in reputation. His abhorrence of all that is cheap and tainted is great; he is far distant from political graft.

These scruples of his have been held by him through all the years of his faithful service to Harvard men. He has felt proud because of them, he has cherished them highly. In his heart he modestly feels the indebtedness that is owed him but it is hardly ever that he risks making known this innner sentiment. Hence it is that he was highly incensed this morning when he read the false accusations that were made against him in a certain journal. His afore mentioned scruples forbid him even to mention the name of his maligner. He will jest let that go. The statements concerning his running a "racket"--even the mere word is repulsive-- are wholly false. There need be no formal denials and no explanations. In the hearts of his followers the Vagabond is already exonerated.

The Vagabond need not explain how he knows of all the worthwhile things that go on. He is omniscient some have even attributed to him omnipresence. Moreover, from his place in Memorial Hall he surveys all. He feels that he can be justly enraged. The greatest fault of the false accusation is its inaccuracy. The Vagabond has no price of twenty-five dollars, in fact he never has stooped to so low a bribe.

His price has always been fifty dollars.