Harvard Square Irregular

The brush in Vag's hand whipped over his glistening shoes in offbeat rhythm to the tune he was whistling. It was "Over There," with many martial trills and cadenzas. ". . .And we won't come back tum de tum tum over there," he finished with a satisfied flick of a shoe cloth.

Next he turned to the neatly pressed officers corps uniform on the bed and began to polish the brass buttons. Things were going to be different this year, he had decided last summer. No more demerits for cutting drill or for sloppy shoes. The next time the commanding officer shook his head in disgust, muttering about the shame of being assigned to teach Harvard men the art of war, it wouldn't be on account of Vag's dull brass or stubbly chin. If you're going to do something, do it right, Vag reasoned.

Besides, it would be sort of nice to win a promotion next year, and stand at the head of a parade. The band would be playing--maybe even that piece he was so fond of, "The Washington Post March"--and all those men in serried ranks following his commands. Passing the reviewing stand, it would be very dashing to salute the high brass while his men just turned eyes right.

Yes, he thought, climbing into his newly pressed trousers, it really is a good thing to be military and punctual, and there's no reason why it should stop with his officer corps work. Filing cabinets for the little cards on which he would record notes and ideas for self improvement, a study schedule modeled after Ben Franklin's, and a new, streamlined efficient Vag began to march in concise military lines before his eyes.

As he finished knotting his tic, Vag saw by his bureau clock that he had only five minutes before roll-call, and the parade ground was a half mile away. Dashing down stairs, he began an awkward jog up the street, puffing under the weight of his overcoat. By the time he reached the Square, a trickle of perspiration was wetting his starched shirt collar, and Vag slowed to recoup his breath.

Van Johnson, in full battle grime, assaulted him from a poster in front of the UT. He saw the notice: REVIEW DAY. . .TODAY ONLY Battleground and Corvette K69. Golly, thought Vag, and I've got tutorial tonight. He checked his watch and saw that he was already three minutes late. That would mean at least one demerit. Besides, he really should have gotten a haircut with an inspection slated for that day; long hair would earn another demerit. Of course he could pull his cap down to his cars, but that would be lacking in honor. No, the best thing would be a tactical retreat. So with shoulders braced, trying to look as much as possible like an officer on leave, Vag turned into the theatre.