As Vag crossed Memorial Drive, he could see the last slimy traces of the winter's snow still melting in the gutter. But the sun was out and the banks of the Charles were once again strewn with people. In his hand Vag carried "The Dynamics of Political Polity," a big brown volume with many Latin quotations and algebraic equations. Vag lay down on the grass, opened his book, and started reading, following the words slowly with his index finger. Political polity, said the introduction, was a new science that would explain most of the events of the last three thousand years. Its basis was in religion-fundamentalism and in the teachings of a Bessarabian mystic of the eleventh century. Vag read on eagerly.

Vag had not been reading for long when a softball hit him squarely in the back. He coughed twice, muttered, "Kirkland House slobs," between his teeth, and cheerfully threw back the ball. One of the fellows, whom he had met in Cronin's a few days before, asked him to join them. "No. Big hour exam in political polity," said Vag. They started throwing the ball around, often narrowly missing Vag, who had lost track completely. He put down the book and lay back on the grass, thinking. Was it just possible that political polity could not explain absolutely everything, for example Spring, or the girl who was walking towards him and waving. She was not waving at him, but she reminded him of a girl he had met about the same time last year, and one about the same time the year before. And this year? Well, who could tell?

Vag glanced disgustedly at the grubby book, which was fresh from the shelves of Widener. The book had a certain amount of presumption, he thought, in claiming to be able to explain anything to him Especially when a soft wind was bending the grass down before it and the stores on Mass. Ave were showing bright Spring ties in their windows. Vag got up slowly, realizing that the grass was damper than he had thought. He fingered his book, overcame an impulse to hurl it into the Charles, and started back across the Drive. You could throw a lot of bull, no doubt, in a political polity hour exam, and after that there would be the vacation and a couple more moths of Spring.