The Vagabond has been wondering; a peculiarly collegiate occupation. His thoughts have been tinged with the melancholy of the times and the sadness of youth faced with an uncertain future. There has been mingled in his soul a great desire to probe to the foundations and an equally strong fear and shrinking from exposing his inner workings to the chill light of analysis. But like the thief returning to the scene of his crime, the Vagabond returns again and again to his morbid pastime.

Today, all the Vagabond does is to wonder. Yet from his vantage point of perpetual youth he can think back into the generations of men who never stopped to look inside themselves, to know why things happened as they did. When the country was first young, when men fought with nature for his life and his home there was no time for this analysis, which paralyses the will. Later when nature was harnessed to the iron wheels of industry there was still no time for such thoughtful folly, because one man was busy fighting another for the power which was generated by his own inventions. First were the days of Boone and of the pioneers, who sacrificed everything for adventure and for virgin land crept west from the Mississippi in their clumsy prairie schooners. If those men and women had stopped to reckon costs, where would they have been? Hill, and Vanderbilt, and the elder Morgan, would have laughed to scorn the man who questioned every motive before it even crossed his lips.