It didn’t seem hopeful to Pat but it was better than nothing. Returning for his coat to his room in the Writers’ Building he was in time to pick up a plainting telephone.

‘This is Evylyn,’ said a fluttering voice. ‘I can’t get rid of it this afternoon. There’s cars on every road —’

‘I can’t talk about it here,’ said Pat quickly, ‘I got to go over to U.W.C. on a notion.’

‘I’ve tried,’ she wailed¹, ‘— and tried! And every time, some car comes along —’

‘Aw, please!’ He hung up — he had enough on his mind.

For years Pat had followed the deeds of ‘the Trojums’ of U.S.C. and the almost as fabulous² doings of ‘the Roller Coasters’, who represented the Univ. of the Western Coast. His interest was not so much physiological³, tactical or intellectual as it was mathematical — but the Rollers had cost him plenty in their day — and thus it was with a sense of vague proprietorship⁴ that he stepped upon the half De Mille, half Aztec campus.

He located Kresge who conducted him to Superintendent⁵ Kit⁶ Doolan. Mr Doolan, a famous ex-tackle, was in excellent humour. With five coloured giants in this year’s line, none of them quite old enough for pensions, but all men of experience, his team was in a fair way to conquer his section.

‘Glad to be of help to your studio,’ he said. ‘Glad to help Mr Berners — or Louie. What can I do for you? You want to make a picture? . . . Well, we can always use publicity⁷. Mr Hobby, I got a meeting of the Faculty⁸ Committee in just five minutes and perhaps you’d like to tell them your notion.’

分享到：