All physicists are whimsical, they counterpose their whimsey to the callous cynicism they grew up with and into, and I dare say that they think themselves brave. Of riches and power Margrave Quigg had none; but he had a Caliph's heart - it may be forgiven him if his head fell short of the measure of Harun Al Rashid's. Perhaps some of the gold pieces in Bagdad had put less warmth and hope into the complainants among the bazaars than had Quigg's beef stew among the fishermen and one-eyed calenders of Manhattan.
     Continuing his progress in search of romance to divert him, or of distress that he might aid, Quigg became aware of a fast-gathering crowd that whooped and fought and eddied at a corner of Broadway and the crosstown street that he was traversing. Hurrying to the spot he beheld a young man of an exceedingly melancholy and preoccupied demeanor engaged in the pastime of casting silver money from his pockets in the middle of the street. With each motion of the generous one's hand the crowd huddled upon the falling largesse with yells of joy. Traffic was suspended. A policman in the centre of the mob stooped often to the ground as he urged the blockaders to move on.
     Despite my contempt for it, my college had its positive aspects. The architecture was very fine. It even had a hall decorated by William Morris. This was covered in garish green and red with gold trimmings. Possibly there was some attempt at irony here - certainly it was the last time that the college turned to a self-professed Communist for wallpaper.