Out of the blue haze there appeared two cups of black coffee and the "blano Blume." Goethe whirled through a space empty of facts, to fill two books on one side. Sleep. . . Sleep. . . Two cups of black-coffee, . . . . Cigarettes. . . Sleep.

The Vagabond turned over lazily as the Chapel bell tolled the hour, swung his feet to the floor, and rejoiced that it was over. Once again he could ascond the dizzy heights of his aesthotic seclusion, leaving the sordid world of men and Professors. He lighted a leisurely pipe, that first, sweet, fragrant pipe before breakfast. New-found freedom found him unprepared, a man lost in the aether with no ground under his feet. The gleaming morning sun flashed in rosy reflection from the gilt binding of a small book on the dusty shelves. Shelley, that was it! Now there was a period of leisure, a time to spend solely on education. The Vagabond resolved nobly to make up in cultural gains for the time lost in forced labor. He wondered how much it would cost to repair that ski.