Although Vag sometimes remarked that his body was nothing more than a vehicle to carry his head around on, the truth was that he really did care. He had no reason to be generally proud of his physique, but it did have its fine points. His calves, for instance, would have been admired in the eighteenth century and he almost regretted the passing of knee britches.

Thus it was that Vag regarded physical examinations with a mixture of pride and vague presentiment. For twelve months of the year his body had hummed along minding its own business; then it was suddenly summoned to account for itself when Vag decided he wanted to play House volleyball. Facing the prospect of chest x-rays, urinalysis, and assorted jiggery-pokery, Vag felt rather like a nominal believer about to be asked spot quotations from the Bible on the Day of Judgement--there was nothing he could do in preparation, but he dreaded anything going wrong.

Perhaps for this reason, Vag was seized with cosmic daring when he came to the last question on the preliminary questionnaire. "Are there any problems of a personal nature which you would like to discuss with a doctor? (they need not be discussed at this time)" read the form. On the inspiration of the moment, he scribbled "Severe depression. . .suicidal longings. . .homesickness. . . ruptured hangnail. . . galloping consumption. . . homicidal leanings. . ." It was a riot--or so Vag thought until he began to wonder how the examining doctor would react. Even if he was only joking, it sounded awfully peculiar. With embarrassment, he blackened over all his answers and wrote in a bold hand, "NONE AT ALL," hoping that would take care of it.

The secretary referred him to Dr. Splint (Vag reflected on how often names sounded like creations from a Fielding novel. It didn't cheer him.)

"Well," said Dr. Splint, opening the door to his examining room, "weather getting cool enough for you?"

"Actually," said Vag, hoping to match this heartiness, "I come from Dobbs Ferry--we have some pretty cold winters out there too." "Rip Van Winkle country, you know," he added, weakly.

"Hmmph," said Dr. Splint, pushing up Vag's eyelid and squinting through a flashlight affair.

Except for occasional gigglings on Vag's part as Dr. Splint probed his back and neck with the cold stethescope, all was silence.

"Take a deep breath," said Dr. Splint, "let it out...Again...Do you make friends easily?"

"Huh?" said Vag, "Oh, I guess so." Dr. Splint's eyes narrowed.

"I mean, yes. I never thought about it much, I guess."

"I've been looking over your record," said Dr. Splint, shuffling through a sheaf of papers as Vag dressed uneasily. "Had a little trouble academically last spring, I see."

"Well," said Vag, "I don't do too well in reading courses."

"Oh?" said Dr. Splint, "What about this grade in Mathematics 1? How do you feel about that?"

"I thought it was O.K." Vag replied, brightening. "You see, I only had two year of math in high school and. . ."