“I suppose,” mused Harry as he followed Gerald back to Oxford, “that Kirk is just as much excited about his old golf match as you and I will be about the race two weeks from now. Funny, isn’t it?”
“Funny?” repeated Gerald as he ran up the steps. “Why?”
“Oh, funny to think it matters who wins a golf match!”
“It’s evident you’re not a golfer,” laughed Gerald. “I’ll bet that if George’s outfit gets licked this afternoon he will be like a bear with a sore head! There’s The Duke in the booth.”
The long-distance booth was halfway down the main corridor of Oxford, and, although it was rather dim, they could descry a figure behind the glass. It was dinner hour and Oxford was otherwise quite deserted. Gerald walked down the corridor, Harry sauntering behind.
“Hi, Duke! Kirk says never mind about New York!” shouted Gerald.
The Duke looked very angry and red-faced behind the window as Gerald drew near, and was gesticulating wildly. He was also saying things, but what they were Gerald was still too far away to hear.
“The Duke’s having a fit, Harry,” he announced interestedly. “Come and watch him.”
“... Door ... lemme out....”
“What’s he saying?” asked Harry grinning as he realized The Duke’s dilemma. Gerald shook his head.