Kathleen Part 12

"Miss Kathleen," he said, "I want to beg you, on behalf of the other fellows, not to be too severe with them. I guess I'm the worst offender, with my bogus telegrams and my deliberate deception of your father. But I ought to explain that we all came here with a definite intention in mind. The man who was first able to engage you in friendly conversation and get you to accept an invitation to come to Oxford for Eights Week, was to be the winner of the compet.i.tion."

"I've already accepted an invitation for Eights Week," she said, after a pause.

He uttered a dejected silence that was a cla.s.sic of its kind, a marvel of accurate registration.

Kathleen looked up at him for the first time since his confession of the hoax. Their eyes met.

"Is it Carter?" he asked, woefully.

"I've promised to go and stay with Joe at Maggie Hall."

"Look here," he said. "I expect to row in the Trinity boat. Will you and your mother and--and Miss Joe--watch the racing from our barge, one afternoon anyway? Then you could come to tea in my rooms afterward, and I'll ask the other fellows in to meet you."

"The parson and the policeman and the gas-man, and--and--Eliza Thick?"

"Yes. They're all splendid chaps, I know you'll like them."

"Well," she murmured, "I dare say Eliza Thick would be all right in his proper costume. I shall never forget his nest-building genius! Now I understand what he meant by all that talk about counterfeiters."

"You will come to the Trinity barge?" he begged.

There was a pause. A dropping coal clicked in the grate, and Kathleen's small slipper tapped on the fender.

"I should think," she said, "that a man as persistent as you would make a good oar. I'm glad the others aren't Americans, too.

It was bad enough as it was!"

"Miss Kathleen," he pleaded, "I guess I can't make you understand what I'd like to. But if you'll just come punting up the Cher, on Sunday in Eights Week, there are so many things I'd like to tell you."

"Yes, I've always wanted to hear about America, and the difference between a Republican and a Democrat."

"And you _will_ come?"

Kathleen rose, laughing.

"I have already accepted Joe's invitation," she said.

"Good-night, Mr. Blair." She gave him her hand.

He held it as long as he dared, looking her straight in the eye.

"I'm not nearly as jealous of Joe as I was!"

She was gone through the curtains, a flash of dainty grace. Then her face reappeared.

"If you care to call again some time, Dad would love to read you those notes on the Battle of Wolverhampton!"

Blair looked round the room. The dog, lying by the fire, got up, stretched, and wagged his tail. Blair pulled out his watch.

"Giminy!" he said, "I'd better go down and let those poor devils out of the cellar."

THE END