"I Was a Student Vagabond." A snappy title, though Vag. I wonder what they'll think when they read it. Why wonder! I know, I know they'll analyze me. "He always had that atrophied acropolis, anyway, my dear; we all knew that. He couldn't fit in, that's all. Poor Vag--in a way I'm sorry for him, you know. After all, it isn't his fault. His parents kept him. . . ." No hope there, Vag knew that.

Why, then? Surely you haven't developed a conscience in you old age, he scorned; but if that isn't it, well what? Surely I'm myself, he thought. Surely that. But when I remember what I said and did I wonder how I could have seen so little of myself and my life. Vag broke his tension with a smile. Well, after all--dammit, no; I WAS a student vagabond, was, he repeated, and if I laugh I will be still.

It's down on paper now, anyway, Vag sighed. When the people outside know the rotten pulp, the idolatry, the waste--that's worse, he thought, the awful waste, when they know what I have seen, they'll. . . . what? Say something constructive, Vag. Talk is cheap. Remember the Maine. Faith over all.

Why, how like a drab, a very scullion. Vag cried "ah vengeance" once to shake his mind from his thoughts. What a painful process this conscience is. I'll have to stop thinking. When I've been away from awhile I'll mellow, perhaps I'll even forget, said Vag.

After all, I am Vag, no getting around that. He looked down at the paper in his hands: "I Was a Student Vagabond." Vag laughed.