He never realized it before, but the Vagabond has relatives. Two in particular. These two are gentlemen: one second cousin on his mother's side and an uncle-by-marriage. Three weeks ago they assailed the Vagabond's serenity (at that time he was tasting the wicked but delectable fruits of a class-cutting spree) by sending him letters on the same day. Each letter demanded in slightly officious terms, peculiar to the writing of middle-aged college men, that he obtain a ticket to the Harvard-Yale game for "your loving Cousin Arthur" and for "your ever-faithful Uncle Henry, as a favor for which I shall always be indebted."

Rapidly the Vagabond became ruffled and confused and irritable. Many months past, beneath the light of a summer moon, he had persuaded a West Virginia lass to accompany him to the sport event of the autumn. Then November twentieth did not seem more than a week away. But that was then. Now, the thoughts in his mind assembled in one spiritual ball reverberating with excited words: he would be obliged to take one girl and two relatives to a game which he wished fervently he could watch alone. Contemplating a sudden change of name, or flight, or amuesia anything to escape his dilemma, anything to be alone, the Vagabond went to the H.A.A. and applied for four tickets.

By a coincidence the cousin and uncle arrived on the same train. He was waiting for them, a cigar in one pocket, a package of Beechnut in another, and a determination in his mind to collect within short order the price of two tickets. He saw them descend from different Pullmans at the same moment. Rushing to the uncle on the right, he cried, "Wait a minute, Cousin Arthur is approaching on my left!" His uncle-by-marriage looked startled and gave the porter only a quarter instead of fifty cents. Already the Vagabond had raced one Pullman length and accosted his cousin. "Hello," he shrieked. "Come hurry with me, your uncle is waiting on my right." Before he could speak, the Vagabond had herded him and his uncle into the automobile.

"Well," he breathed a sigh, "it is wonderful to have you two to entertain for the weekend." He prayed that he had struck the note of sarcasm off-key. "I suppose you're both keyed up for the game and ready to burst your lungs rooting for Harvard." Dimly he remembered hearing his mother say that Uncle Henry graduated from Harvard in 1897; he also thought that something similar had once been said about Cousin Arthur. So the explosion from Cousin Arthur left him gasping. "Hmph!" he lit the fuse. "For a Yale man to root for Harvard would be a worse crime than for Mr. Roosevelt to turn Republican!"

His uncle turned to him with a look approaching condescension and a tone faintly suggestive of superior indifference, "YOU went to Yale? My, my, I am not sure if that is an insult to you or one to Yale!" His cousin was biting his lip to make his retort sharper when the Vagabond spoke: "Gentlemen, I must stop here a minute to fetch my girl."

Even with the entrance upon the scene of an enthusiastic and sympathetic female, purblind to college traditions and feuds, the tension was unrelieved. Crossing Dillon Field, Cousin Arthur espied the red jerseys of Crimson players. "Rather conservative up here, aren't you?" he asked Uncle Henry. The West Virginia lass said: "Why, I would say red was a very bright color and quite pretty, wouldn't you?" Cousin Arthur stared a little closer at the picture of Captain Frank in the H.A.A. News. Suddenly the Vagabond conceived a way to quiet three birds with one slap. "Pardon me," he said, "I wish to get something. I'll be right back."

He returned in a few minutes with a little book under his arm. The four proceeded into Section 48, found their seats, and gazed up at the field. While Cousin Arthur studied his new environment, Uncle Henry tested his glasses to learn if he could see the opposite goal post. The Vagabond took advantage of the silence to hand his girl the little book and announce significantly: "This is a football rule book, so that no one will ask questions." The relatives looked at one another, then at the girl. The rule book passed to and fro, and the Vagabond watched the game in peace.