Kathleen | Page 9

He had written a book called "Memorials of Old Staffordshire," but unfortunately I couldn't get a copy. The bookseller said it was out of print.
Then I went to have a look at St. Philip's Church, a fine old Norman pile with some lovely brasses and crusaders' tombs. Here I had a piece of luck--fell in with the vicar. One of the jolly old port-wine and knicker-bocker sort: an old Oxford man, as it happened. I pumped him a little about the history of the church, and in his delight at finding an American who cared for such matters he talked freely. "Why," he kept on saying, with a kind of pathetic enthusiasm, "I thought all you Americans were interested in was Standard Oil and tinned beef." Finally he invited me over to the vicarage for tea. As I sat by his fire and ate toasted muffins I couldn't help chuckling to think how different this was from the other Scorpions' plan of attack. They were probably all biting their nails up and down Bancroft Road trying to carry the fort by direct assault. It's amazing how things turn out: just as I was wondering how to give the conversation a twist in the right direction, the vicar said:
"If you're really interested in the history of this region you should certainly have a talk with old Mr. Kent. He's our leading antiquarian, and knows more about the Stour Valley than any one else. He says there was a skirmish fought here in 1645 that all the books have overlooked. The Battle of Wolverhampton, he calls it. He wrote a little pamphlet about it once."
I assured the good parson that my eagerness to know more about the Battle of Wolverhampton was unbounded. I nearly spilled my tea in my excitement.
"Is that Mr. Kent of 318, Bancroft Road?" I asked.
"Yes," answered the vicar. "How did you know?"
"They told me about him at the bookshop."
I explained that I was in Wolverhampton for a day or so only, and finally the excellent man came across with the suggestion I was panting for.
"Well," he said, "as it happens, I have one or two calls to make in that direction this evening. If you care to have me do so, I'll speak to Mr. Kent about you, and he can make an appointment. You said you were stopping at the Blue Boar?"
I thanked him with such warmth that his eyes twinkled.
"My dear fellow," he said, "your enthusiasm does you great credit. I wish you all success in your thesis."
I got back to the Boar feeling that I had done a very good afternoon's work indeed.

VI
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."
I changed the conversation by asking where the Goblin was.
No one had noticed before that he hadn't turned up. This was a bit disconcerting. I secretly thought him the most dangerous competitor. He has a quiet, impish twinkle in his eye, and an unobtrusive way of getting what he wants. However, the others scoffed at my fears.
Although they all talked a great deal about the amusing time they had had, I could not gather that they had really accomplished much. Forbes claimed to have seen Fred, and said he looked like a rotter. We drank Kathleen's health