“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.”
“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.”
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Kathleen, by Christopher Morley