Joe ran her eye over the messages, reading them aloud.
“Miss Kathleen Kent:
“My friend Blair of Trinity now in Wolverhampton for historical study staying at Blue Boar nice chap American—”
Here Joe raised her eyes and looked appraisingly at Blair, whose confusion was agonizing.
“may he call on you if so send him a line sorry can't write hurt hand playing soccer love to all. Joe.”
“Frederick Kent: Unavoidably detained Oxford hurt leg playing soccer wish you could join me at once very urgent. Joe.”
She bent down to the terrier which was standing affectionately at her feet.
“Well, Fred, old boy,” she said, patting him, “did Joe send you a telegram, heh?”
“Mrs. Philip Kent: Have found very good cook out of place am sending her to you earnestly recommend give her a trial reliable woman but eccentric name Eliza Thick will call Sunday morning. Joe.”
“My dear Kathleen,” said Joe, “you flatter me. I never sent any of those messages. Do you know any other Joes?”