Then Katie Farmer entered the ring ... and Tom Dixon at once became the hammerer of Geordie.
Poor wee Geordie! I know that he loves Katie himself, and I know that between blows he is listening for the fatal "Tom Dixon says he loves her."
I re-arranged seats this morning, and Willie is now sitting behind his Vi, but Tom Dixon is not behind Katie. Poor despised Geordie is there, but I shall shift him to-morrow if he does not make the most of his chances.
* * *
This morning Geordie passed a note over to Katie, then he sat all in a tremble. I saw Katie read it ... and I saw her blush. I blew my nose violently, for I knew what was written on that sacred sheet; at least I thought I knew.... "Dear Katie, will you be my lass? I will have you if you will have me—Geordie."
At minutes I listened for the name when Katie went into the ring. It was "Tom Dixon" again. I blew my whistle and stopped the game.
At dinner-time I looked out at the window, and rejoiced to see poor Geordie hammering Tom Dixon. I opened the window and listened. Katie was in the ring again, and I almost shouted "Hurrah!" when I heard the words, "Geordie Steel says he loves her." But I placed Tom Dixon behind Katie in the afternoon; I felt that I had treated poor Tom with injustice.
To-night I tried to tackle Form 9b, but I could not concentrate. But it wasn't Violet and Katie that I was thinking of; I was thinking of the Violets and Katies I wrote "noties" to many years ago. I fear I am a bit of a sentimentalist, yet ... why the devil shouldn't I be?
* * *
I have discovered a girl with a sense of humour. I asked my Qualifying Class to draw a graph of the attendance at a village kirk. "And you must explain away any rise or fall," I said.