Kathleen: Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Friday the fifteenth of March was the last day of term. The
Scorpions, busy in their various ways with the hundred details
that have to be attended to before "going down," were all
pleasantly excited by the anticipation of their quest, which was
to begin on the morrow. Carter, shaking hands with the warden of
New College in the college hall (a pleasant little formality
performed at the end of each term) absent-mindedly replied
"Wolverhampton" when the warden asked him where he was going to
spend the vacation. He was then hard put to it to avoid a letter
of introduction to the vicar of St. Philip's in that city, an old
pupil of the warden. King, bicycling rapidly down the greasy Turl
with an armful of books, collided vigorously with another cyclist
at the corner of the High. They both sprawled on the curb, bikes
interlocked. "My god, sir!" cried the Goblin; "Why not watch
where you're going?" Then he saw it was Johnny Blair. "Sorry,
Goblin," said the latter; "I--I was thinking about Kathleen." "So
was I," said King, picking up his books. And in defiance of the
University statute of 1636 (still unrepealed) which warns
students against "frequenting dicing houses, taverns, or booths
where the nicotian herb is sold," they went into Hedderly's
together to buy tobacco.

After breakfast the next morning they were all in cabs on their
way to the Great Western Station. It was a mild and sunny day,
with puffs of spring in the air. Who can ever forget the Saturday
morning at the end of term when the men "go down"? Long lines of
hansoms spinning briskly toward the station, with bulging
portmanteaus on the roof; the wide sunny sweep of the Broad with
the 'bus trundling past Trinity gates; a knot of tall youths in
the 'varsity uniform of gray "bags" and brown tweed norfolk,
smoking and talking at the Balliol lodge--and over it all the
clang of a hundred chimes, the gray fingers of a thousand spires
and pinnacles, the moist blue sky of England.... Ah, it is the
palace of youth, or it was once.

The Scorpions met on the dingy north-bound platform. Graham,
Keith, and Twiston had been obliged to scratch owing to other
more imperative plans; but five members boarded the 10 o'clock
train in high spirits. Forbes, Carter, King, Blair, and Whitney--
they filled a third-class smoker with tobacco and jest.

"Now, Goblin," cried Falstaff, as the train ran past the Port
Meadow, and the Radcliffe dome dropped from view; "Open those
sealed orders! You promised to draw up the rules of the game."

King pulled a paper from his pocket.

"I jotted down some points," he said. "This is the time to
discuss them."

_"Rules to be Observed by the Scorpions on the Great Kathleen
Excursion_

"1. The headquarters of the expedition will be the Blue Boar Inn
at Wolverhampton. (I've written to them to engage rooms.)

"2. The Kriegspiel will begin to-day at 2 P.M., and manoeuvres
will continue without intermission until someone is declared the
winner, or until time is called.

"3. The object of the contest is to make the acquaintance of
Kathleen; to engage her in friendly conversation; to win her
confidence, and to induce her to accept an invitation to Commem,
or Eights Week.

"4. Any deception, strategy, or tactics which are not calculated
to give intolerable distress or embarrassment to Kathleen and her
family, are allowable.

"5. If by noon on Tuesday no one shall have succeeded in making
friends with Kathleen, the game shall be declared off."

"Suppose she's not at home?" said Whitney.

"We'll have to chance that."

"What time do we get there?"

"I've ordered lunch at the Blue Boar at one o'clock. This train
gets to Wolvers at 12:30."

It was a merry ride. The story of Kathleen as they had written it
was discussed pro and con.; the usual protests were launched at
Carter for having in his chapter lowered the theme to the level
of burlesque; praise was accorded to the Goblin for the dexterity
with which he had rescued the plot. Blair's chapter had been full
of American slang which had to be explained to the others.
"Joe," the Rhodes Scholar hero, had shown a vein of fine gold
under Blair's hands: he bade fair to win the charming Kathleen,
although the story had not been finished owing to the examinations
which had fallen upon the brotherhood toward the end of term.
The game, begun in pure jest, had taken on something of romantic
earnest: there was not one of these young men who did not see
in Kathleen his own ideal of slender, bright-cheeked girlhood.
And when the train pulled into Wolverhampton, they tumbled
out of their smoking carriage with keen expectation.

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