Binks smoothed out a bit of purple canton flannel that looked exactly like velvet with loving little pats. “I don’t know. Do you belong? Is it fun?”
“I belong,” Georgia told her, “and I think it’s fun, but I suppose some people might not—if they were queer enough in their tastes.”
“It’s nothing like any of Mother’s clubs, is it?” inquired Binks anxiously. “I don’t care about that kind of fun—writing papers, and speaking to the legislature about changing laws, and all that.”
“Binks Ames,” began Georgia solemnly, “don’t you honestly know more than you’re pretending to about Dramatic Club? Because if you don’t you ought to join for your own good and to learn a little something about college life.”
Binks smiled vaguely. “I don’t seem to have time to do all the things you do, Georgia. You see, I have to specialize in economics to please Mother, and in history to please Father, and in astronomy to please myself. And then there are so many queer girls that I get mixed up with, as I did with Esther Bond and Miss Ellison—the poetess person. She is forever taking me for walks and spouting poems to me all the way. I tell her that I don’t know anything about poetry, but either she doesn’t believe me or she can’t find any one else who will listen.”
“No reason why she should bother you,” grumbled Georgia, who began to think that Binks might be worth cultivating.
“Oh, yes it is,” Binks told her seriously. “You see, she believes in her poetry, and I guess it is all right enough. Anyway, if she stopped believing in it, she would be too discouraged to go on trying to write it. So if I can keep her going until she’s sure one way or the other, why, it’s little enough for a general utility person like me to do.”
Georgia sniffed. “I hope some of the numerous geniuses that have sponged on you will amount to something,—and that some of the cats you have picked up will take prizes at Cat Shows.”
“But I don’t pick them up because they are nice cats,” objected Binks solemnly, “only because they are lost, poor things!”
“Don’t forget about having tea with us to-morrow,” said Georgia, getting ready to leave. Her half-hour was up, and besides, she hated queer theories.