At Park Square the early June drizzle has become a light rain and the steady pattering of the drops distorts the reflected lights on the asphalt pavement. It is show time; people scurry and jabber of Clark Gable, Myrna Loy, and perfectly marvelous seats for "Candida."

Society girls and shop girls float by on possessive arms, laughing at the weather, smoothing and beguiling the gullible male Ego. Cars start, cars stop, two bumpers clash, the paper boy shouts his news apologetically from the corner. High heels click on the wet sidewalks, wisps of conversation follow one upon another as feet come and go.

Washington Street is ablaze with marquees as the Vagabond weaves his way. In deadly peril his eyes blink and head ducks from sharp, swarming umbrellas. Ticket sellers, polished bars, and even the warped old lady vending gardenias are busy in the rain. Doors of movie palaces swing forever, and before the Park Theatre, flaunting its usual lascivious attraction, stand two sailor boys counting their coins.

Away from all the noise and crowding, and onto the Common. How lonely and barren. How empty the paths winding under the dripping trees and haloed lamps. Misty forms stroll arm in arm along the banks of the swan pond. Like an oasis shunned, the Common lies abashed under the roof of pale clouds. Autos beat a noisy circle about the park, tires licking the pavement. Ahead tower the fortresses of Beacon Hill, cold and Puritanical.

Capping the rise of the wet grassy stretches is the tall Civil War monument. Around the crest are a siege gun and a captured tank. And lettered on the base of the column is an inscription barely visible through the dark of the rain:

To the Men of Boston

Who Died for Their Country

On Land and On Sea in the War

Which Kept the Union Whole

Destroyed Slavery

And Maintained the Constitution

The Grateful City

Has Built This Monument

That Their Example May Speak

To Coming Generations

Ah, yes the Grateful City . . .

Out of the Common and back on Washington Street the Vagabond picks the least objectionable of the Double Features, and he too climbs the carpeted stairway to emerge from the dark onto the top of the world, follows the dancing spot of the flashlight to a seat, and settles back to laugh or cry with housewives and clerks under the spell of the Celluloid Muse.