The Scorpions (continues Blair's diary) were all very merry at dinner
that night--particularly at my expense. I was the only one who had not
been out to Bancroft Road to look over the ground. Apparently they had
had a very cheery time.
“Well, Falstaff, what luck?” I asked Carter.
“Splendid!” he replied. “The local butcher has given me a job and I'm
going to call there for a meat order tomorrow morning.”
“What!” shouted someone. “On Sunday? Not likely!”
I knew mighty well that Carter would not concoct anything as crude as
that, and wondered what deviltry he had devised.
“I noticed that two telegrams were delivered at the house this
afternoon,” said Forbes, in a quiet, non-committal kind of way.
“Perhaps Joe is on his way here,” said I. “If so, Good-Night!” As I
spoke, I wondered rather anxiously what the _other_ telegram could be.
“Well, we saw her, anyway!” said Whitney, “and she's marvellous! She
wears a blue tam-o' shanter and has an ankle like a fairy tale. We saw
her walk down the street.”
“That's nothing,” I retorted, “I saw her hours ago. She was on the train
with us from Birmingham this morning.”
This started a furious wrangle. They said I hadn't played fair, as the
contest didn't begin until two o'clock. My point was that I had not
transgressed the rules as I had done nothing to profit by my accident in
seeing her first.
“I couldn't help seeing her, could I?” I asked. “You could have, too,
if you hadn't been all frowsting over _Tit-Bits_ in the train. And after
all, I didn't _know_ it was Kathleen. I only suspected it.”