Kathleen | Page 5

Duke for his muscular strength.
"Go on with your chapter, Priapus," said the Goblin.

II
When Forbes had finished there was general laughter and applause. The
whimsical idea of building a tale around the persons of the letter was
one which his playful mind was competent to develop, and he had
written a deft and amusing introduction. Taking "Joe" as his subject he
had sketched that gentleman's character with a touch of irony. He had
made him a Rhodes Scholar from Indiana (evoking good-natured
protest from Minters) and had carried him on a vacation to Guilford
House, a small hotel in London much frequented by Rhodes Scholars.
There he had made him meet Kathleen who, with her mother, was

staying in London for a few days. Forbes had a taste for brunettes, and
in his description of the imagined Kathleen he had indulged himself
heartily. He found her to be seventeen, slender, with that strong
slimness that only an English girl achieves; with a straight brown gaze
and abundant dark chestnut hair. She was captain of her school hockey
team, it seemed; she was good at tennis and swimming and geometry;
she had small patience with poetry and sentiment. But within the
athletic and straightforward flapper Forbes thought he saw the
fluttering of deeper womanhood; the maiden soul erecting a barrier of
abrupt common sense about itself to conceal the shy and sensitive
feelings that were beginning to blossom. Such at any rate was Kenneth
Forbes's psycho-analysis, and he developed his chapter toward a climax
where Kathleen and Joe were left walking in Regent's Park, and the
next author would find some difficulty in knowing how to proceed with
the second instalment.
"Well done indeed!" cried Blair, as Forbes laid down his manuscript
and reached for his pipe. There was a general murmur of assent as the
men got up to stretch and talk. Someone punched the coals into flame,
and the bowl of fruit was passed round.
"Who's to write the next chapter?" asked Graham.
"Let Falstaff do it!" cried Blair. "He's the sentimentalist! But go easy
on poor Joe. You know all Rhodes Scholars don't come from Indiana!
Have a heart!"
"Do whatever you like to Joe!" cried Forbes; "But be careful with
Kathleen! She's adorable! I'm going to write a ballade to her and mail it
to her anonymously."
"I wish there was some way of getting hold of her picture," said Keith.
"Her picture?" said Graham. "Nonsense! Why not see the flapper
herself? I'm going to bike over there on my Rudge, erb round till I find
the street, and then skid like hell right on to her doorstep. I shall lie
there in mute agony until I'm carried indoors."

"I say, now, that's no fair!" cried Forbes. "I discovered her! Just
because you've got a motor bike you mustn't take an advantage!"
"Look here," said the Goblin, mildly, speaking from a blue cloud of
Murray's Mixture, "we must all sign a protocol, or a mandamus or a
lagniappe or whatever you law men call it, not to steal a march. I think
we'd all like to meet the real Kathleen. But we must give a bond to start
fair and square, and nobody do anything that isn't authorized by the
whole club."
"Right-O!" cried several voices.
"All right, then," said the Goblin, "fill glasses everyone, and we'll
solemnize the oath. Brother Scorpions, I do you to wit that we all,
jointly and severally, promise not to take any steps toward making the
acquaintance of said Kathleen until so authorized by the whole society.
So help me God!"
They all drank to this, with some chuckles.
"What a lark if we could get Kathleen down for Eights Week!" said
someone.
"Very likely Joe will have her here," said Whitney. "You seem to forget
that he's been rowing this course for some time."
They all scowled.
"I wonder how many members of the 'varsity are called Joe?" Keith
asked.
"About three hundred, I dare say," said Falstaff.
"I tell you what we might do," said Forbes. "When the yarn's finished
we can send it to her, explain just how the whole thing happened, and
ask permission to call. She's got a sense of humour, I'll swear!"
"Balmy!" retorted Falstaff. "She'd probably be frightfully fed because
you bagged her letter! 'S a hell of a thing to do, crib a lady's letter!"

"It's a hell of a thing to do to leave it lying around!" cried Forbes,
impenitent. "No quarter for Joebags! Let the punishment fit the crime."
"Well, you chaps, I've got to sheer off," said Whitney. "It's nearly
eleven and I've got an essay on the stocks. Cheer-o Priapus, I've had a
ripping time."
"'Arf a mo,'" cried Forbes. "Who's to do the next chapter, and where do