“Oh ... Leony, you little devil!”
We forgot all about Leon. I thought he had gone out, but a few minutes later—about the end of kiss No. 11—the bell rings again and in pops Vyvy with a book under her arm.
“Look at it! Look what I’ve got!” she exclaimed. “It’s the very first copy, too!”
Well, Clark had never met Vyvy, but before we made any introductions, we both looked over her shoulder to see what kind of a wild animal she had captured. On the back of the book were the following illuminating lines:
KOCKEYED RHYMES
OF A KHAKI KID
By
Leon Canwick
My dear sweet love of a brother was a real genuine honest-to-God poet after all! Vive la muck of war!
What Clark and I did the rest of the evening defies description in mere cold words. Any remarks on my part would be superfluous.... Really truly, if any girl ever loved a man more than I did him, she belonged in a nut conservatoire!