Wilson bore with his chum for a month, and then finally delivered his
ultimatum.
"If you're still a poet at midsummer, I'm going to cut, and dig with
Rogers or Cherry. This den isn't big enough for you, me, and the
'original spirits' you wing every night. I'm off to the nets. Coming?
No? Jove! Grimmy, what nightmares you must take to bed with you every
night."
But the kindly Fates had the keeping of the chums' friendship in their
safe keeping, and I haven't observed yet, that Grim and Wilson are less
friendly than they used to be. This consummation is owing to Miss
Varley. This young lady, _aetat_ XIV, or thereabouts, was responsible for
the reclamation of Grim. What the whole posse of his acquaintances with
their blandishments and threats could not effect in the space of a
month, she did within four and twenty hours. I cannot account for this,
except on the supposition that little girls with long yellow hair and
pretty brown eyes, and a perambulating blush, create mighty earthquakes
in the breasts of rowdy fags. Miss Hilda Elsie Varley, being Biffen's
niece, had taken the house under her protection, was more rabidly
Biffenite than even Rogers, adored Acton, reverenced Worcester, and
appreciated Chalmers, but despised fags who weren't "training-on" for
one of her houses' various elevens. Her sentiments on these matters were
mysteriously but accurately known amongst Biffenite juniors.
Grim finally turned his poetical talents upon this young lady.
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