With the passing of divisionals into the limbo of forgotten things the Vagabond has given thought to his seniors. They are a surly lot at the moment for the anxiety of awaiting their marks has played havoc with their nerves. The old fellow has cast about to find some entertainment to divert their attention from the endless poker games and the other evils which they now employ to pass away the time. Nor have his castings been in vain.

There are various good books for the seniors to browse in while they lie beneath the mid day sun. "More Boners" for instance will make the veriest dullard feel confident of graduation. "Years Of Grace," the new Pulitizer prize novel, is no worse than most Pulitzer awards. The Vagabond feels called upon to state, lest he arouse false hopes, that Grace unfortunately is not a proper noun, nor yet an improper girl. Quite a wag, the old fellow. And then there is the Saturday Evening Post. Long years ago the Vagabond had a nickle which, being a shiftless wastrel, he immediately spent. Even in those bygone days he had a bit of the intellectual about him. None of those candy bars for him. That was throwing money away, so he bought a Post. Since then the habit has clung, to his embarrassment. When caught reading it he is wont to turn upon his accuser and answer, "Oh just, reading the Ads." It is the one lie he permits himself. Nevertheless there are some good stories, especially for this time of year. All about earnest young men, and clean souled, beautiful women and and love. Oh its the real stuff and nonsense.