The Vagabond last night was roused form slumber by the fitful glare of flames reflected in the inverted muskmelon crowning the Dunster House Tower, whither he had retired in his eternal quest for "dat ole davil" indifference who is reputed to haunt the University. Instinctively he reached for the rope to sound the tocsin but bit his lip when he realized where he was.

Proceeding with all haste to the scene of conflagration the Vagabond was delighted to discover that the De Wolf Street "shambles" were being consumed by flames. The gilded unemployed were pouring from their crested mansions while their professional colleagues moved en masse across from their habitual hang-out on the opposite corner. The Vagabond squirmed with delight as a Harvard man struck a match in the friendliest manner and offered his extracurricular acquaintance a light. The act was positively democratic and bristling with bolshevist implications.

Contemplation of this social phenomenon was interrupted by the noisy arrival of that obsequious slave of the Capitalist State, the Fire Department. With misdirected enthusiasm they cast a damper upon the whole affair. They not only put out the fire but earnestly insisted that they knew nothing whatever as to the whereabouts of the Lindbergh baby. Both actions had a vastly sobering effect on the crowd. Dispirited, the upper middle classes retreated into its painted towers and the mob retired into the arms of its painted women. The Vagabond went and played a haunting melody on the Lowell House bells.