Kathleen | Page 4

on a row of books, I found this."

Impressively he drew from his pocket a double sheet of notepaper and
held it up.
"It was a letter, evidently written by some girl to a man at the 'varsity.
Finding it there, forgotten and defenseless, I could not resist reading it.
It was a very charming letter, not too intimate, but full of a delicious
virgin coyness and reserve. Then a great idea struck me. Why not take
the people mentioned in the letter and use them as the characters of our
story? We know that they are real people; we know their first names;
that's all we know about them. The rest can be left to the invention of
the Scorpions."
Generous laughter greeted the idea.
"Let's hear the letter!" cried someone.
"Yes," said Forbes, "before reading my chapter I'll read you the letter.
And then remember that our story is to be built up solely upon this
document. There are to be no characters in the story except those
mentioned in the letter, and our task must be to delineate them in such a
way that they are in keeping with the suggestions the letter gives us.
Here it is."
X X X X These are from Fred.
318, BANCROFT ROAD, WOLVERHAMPTON October 30, 1912.
DEAR JOE:
Thank you so much for the tie--it is pretty and I do wear ties sometimes,
so I sha'n't let the boys have it.
You must think me rather ungrateful not writing before, but I have been
out the last two evenings and have had no time for letters. Yesterday
Mother and I went to Birmingham as I had my half-term holiday.
I hope you managed to get some tea after writing to me, otherwise I
shall feel so grieved to think I was the cause of your starvation. By the

way, I read your latest poem and I don't like it--not that that will trouble
you much I'm sure. The idea isn't at all bad, but that's all I like about it.
I haven't a bit of news, and I have just found out it is too late to catch
the post to-night, so you will have to wait a little longer for this
precious letter--it will be precious, won't it?
Charlie has just come home from his class, so I must bring his food for
him. Daddy's lumbago is better, I'm glad to say.
Good-night, and with many thanks
I remain Yours, KATHLEEN.
Excuse this scrawl, but the pen's groggy.
A moment of silence followed the reading of the letter.
"Joe's a lucky boy," said Whitney. "She's a darling."
"The letter doesn't tell us much," said Forbes, as he handed it round for
examination; "but more than you might think. Before writing my
chapter I summarized the data. Here they are:
"1. Joe. He's a member of the 'varsity who writes poetry. Either it's
published in some magazine or he sends it privately to her. The blighter
has sent Kathleen a tie of some kind-- probably a scarf with his college
or club colours. He's got as far as the plaintive stage: he tells her that he
is going without his tea just to write to her. (Probably half a dozen
crumpets and four cups of tea were simmering inside of him as he
wrote). So much for Joe. I'll wager he's a Rhodes Scholar!
"2. Kathleen. I put her at seventeen, and (as Whitney says) she's a
darling. She's at school still. She's adorably sane. She doesn't care for
Joe's yowling poetry (probably he writes Verlaine kind of stuff, or free
verse, or some blither of that sort). She has younger brothers ('the boys')
and she helps her mother run the house. I think she likes Joe better than
she cares to admit--see the touch of coquettishness where she says 'It

will be precious, won't it?' And how adorably she teases him in those
four crosses marked 'These are from Fred.' Gad, I'm jealous of Joe
already!
"3. Fred. I think he's the older brother; probably recently left the
'varsity; a friend of Joe's, perhaps.
"4. Charlie is one of the younger brothers. He goes to some kind of
night school or gymnasium. Probably an ugly little beggar. Why doesn't
he get his food for himself?
"5. The Mother. Don't know anything about her except that she went to
Birmingham with Kathleen.
"6. The Father. Has lumbago."
"One thing you don't mention," said Graham. "It's an easy run from
here to Wolverhampton on a motor bike!"
"Rather a sell if Joe should turn out a boxing blue, and mash us all into
pulp for bagging his letter!" said Whitney. There was a general laugh at
this. Whitney was over six feet, rowed number 5 in the Balliol boat,
and was nicknamed the Iron