Ever since twenty of, time had almost stopped in the section, and Vag caught himself looking at his wristwatch for what must have been the fifth or sixth time. The instructor, unheard, went doggedly on. Vag grimaced and began watching the rest of the room from his back-row seat. He saw with satisfaction the guy directly in front of him--the one who always knew answers--pause in his note-taking to glance at the electric wall clock.

Unthinkingly but deliberately, Vag drew a large "H" in the margin of his notebook and had the shading all done by five of the hour. He heard the instructor say something about ends. End of what? Vag wondered. End of the class? He wrote "Flynn" and then, more carefully, "Coulson." Under the "H"--probably a major "H" Vag thought-- he put down "Davis, Dewey, Drvarie." He was thinking about the other guard when the clatter of closing books came in on him. He wrote "Rodis" quickly and shut his notebook.

Outside Vag stopped light-footedly through the crowd. The air and day were just right, he decided, and felt again the same old sense of excitement run through him. He looked at his watch again. Ten-five; two hours and ten minutes before he was to meet his date. Vag narrowly avoided careening into two horn-rimmed students standing in front of Sever, and looked briefly at a pair of Radcliffe legs on their way into Emerson. Two hours. Time to pick up the makings of the after-game party, shave, and get the room into shape. He hoped vaguely that the biddies would have finished by the time he got back. Vag crossed Mass. Ave. and moved down the sunny side of Plympton Street. Along Mt. Auburn the magenta flags with the black "H's" hung loosely. Not colorful, but satisfying, Vag reflected. He looked up towards the "Pro" and hoped his roommate would be around to help him carry the stuff back.

This was something like what a Saturday morning used to be--this was more like it. We ought to win --two or three touchdowns anyway. He thought happily of the colorful crowd on its way to the game, and wondered what his date would wear. Something with red in it, he supposed. Only it wasn't red at all; it was crimson. He felt like jumping up and clicking his feet together three times in the air, as he'd seen somebody do in the movies not long ago. Vag walked rapidly through the courtyard and ran up the two flights of stairs.