“Very likely Joe will have her here,” said Whitney. “You seem to forget that he's been rowing this course for some time.”
They all scowled.
“I wonder how many members of the 'varsity are called Joe?” Keith asked.
“About three hundred, I dare say,” said Falstaff.
“I tell you what we might do,” said Forbes. “When the yarn's finished we can send it to her, explain just how the whole thing happened, and ask permission to call. She's got a sense of humour, I'll swear!”
“Balmy!” retorted Falstaff. “She'd probably be frightfully fed because you bagged her letter! 'S a hell of a thing to do, crib a lady's letter!”
“It's a hell of a thing to do to leave it lying around!” cried Forbes, impenitent. “No quarter for Joebags! Let the punishment fit the crime.”
“Well, you chaps, I've got to sheer off,” said Whitney. “It's nearly eleven and I've got an essay on the stocks. Cheer-o Priapus, I've had a ripping time.”
“'Arf a mo,'” cried Forbes. “Who's to do the next chapter, and where do we meet next week?”
“Falstaff!” cried several voices.