Chapter 2
Boyle’s Law
Boston – Two Days Later
James, eyeing the half dozen young men arrayed before him within the study room, commenced with, “Gentlemen, My name is James Moorehead. I am your tutor for freshman chemistry. I believe that we shall go round the room first so that you may introduce yourselves. Suppose we start with you, sir,” he said, pointing to one rather striking lad.
The first of them offered rather self-assuredly, “Sir, I am Sloan Stewart, from Cambridge, England.”
“Ah, an Englishman, I take it,” James put in effusively.
“Actually, I am of Scottish descent, sir,” Sloan corrected.
“Ah, a proud Scot! I see! And I take it you are fresh off the boat, sir?” James inquired with apparent interest.
“Yes, indeed I am, sir.” Sloan responded proudly.
“Excellent!” James replied, his affirmative nod expressing his pleasure at having one so worldly within his own study group, “Welcome to America, and to Boston, to be more precise. I wish you the best here at Hanford.”
“Thank you, sir, I look forward to it,” Sloan responded genially.
Once the remaining five students had introduced themselves, James commenced his monologue, announcing, “Now, we shall meet every Thursday at this same time, except during exam weeks, whence we shall meet on Tuesdays as well. It is not my style to lecture, as I am quite certain you shall all be rather inundated with lectures from your illustrious professors. Rather, my responsibility is to provide any aid that I may toward your enlightenment on the subject of chemistry. As you are all well aware, I am but a year ahead of you at Hanford, but I hope that you shall find me nonetheless helpful to you, as I indeed completed my first year here ranked number one in my class. My goal shall be to pass on my experiences to all of you in such a way as to place each of you as highly as possible at the completion of the coming year.
“Now, I do not wish to daunt you overly so, but I should forewarn you, you are all about to embark on a career in one of the most challenging of all academic disciplines and, although I’m quite certain I need not remind you - at one of the most prestigious universities in the entire world. As such, should you not be fully committed from the get go, you shall fail miserably in pursuit of your objectives, and by Thanksgiving you shall disappear quite ignominiously from this study group, and most likely the institution as well. And when I say the phrase ‘get go’, I am referring to this very moment in time, indeed, the moment of your initiation into the all-consuming world of higher education. Any questions?”
Apparently undaunted by this ominous preamble, Sloan responded with a presumptuous grin, “Yes, sir, I do indeed have a question.”
“Yes, of course, Mr. Stewart, what is on your mind?”
“Sir, as you so correctly point out, I am fresh off the boat,” Sloan proffered rather superciliously, “Indeed, I arrived in Boston just two days since. I have therefore not had the opportunity to settle in just yet and, daunted by your comments, as I’m quite certain my fellow colleagues are as well, I feel quite the need for refreshment of a certain dubious sort, if you get my meaning.”
“Ah, yes, I do indeed follow, Mr. Stewart,” was James’ amiable response.
“Well, as it develops,” Sloan quipped in reply, “I am told that in America it is quite illegal for a young man yet below the age of twenty to purchase chemical concoctions containing alcohol. This, I take it, is correct?”
James eyed him a moment, subsequently announcing in mock solemnity, “Mr. Stewart, we are to confine our discussion within this gathering to chemistry and, as I see you have so aptly managed to make chemistry the focus of your inquiry, I find that I am quite obliged to answer your question.” At this, the entire group breaking into restrained snickers, James continued sagaciously with, “You are indeed quite right – it is illegal to purchase liquids containing alcohol by those under the age of twenty. However, one may nonetheless consume alcoholic liquids within the confines of one’s own premises, no matter what the age, strictly for medicinal purposes, of course.”
At this, gazing pensively toward James, Sloan commented tactfully, “I see. Perhaps you could enlighten us as to the proper method of acquiring the appropriate medicinal elixirs without entailing the risk of incarceration, sir.”
“Excellent question, sir!” James responded cheerfully, “You are clearly focused quite properly on the complex subject of chemistry. As to your question, might I ask whereabouts you live?”
“Why, I live on campus, in Hightower Hall, sir.”
“Ah, I myself inhabit the selfsame dorm, Mr. Stewart. Accordingly, I shall endeavor to introduce you to an upperclassman who lives within our dormitory, one who will, I’m quite certain, be more than happy to acquire a supply of whatever potions you may require, for a small finder’s fee of course,” and so saying, he smiled congenially at Sloan and, forthwith turning to address his uniformly rapt audience, he inquired, “Any other questions tonight?”
Hearing none, he added, “None? Excellent! Then, we shall meet next week at this same time, and I trust by then you shall all be equipped with a veritable cornucopia of questions related to chemistry.”
Turning back toward Sloan, he now offered courteously, “If you will accompany me back to the dormitory, Mr. Stewart, I shall introduce you to my colleague who engages in the acquisition of all manner of potable chemicals.” At this, the entire group rose as one and fell into step with their new-found mentor.
October, 1939
Sloan rushed into the study room and announced, “So sorry I’m late, Mr. Moorehead.”
“Apology accepted, but see that it is not repeated, Mr. Stewart,” James responded officiously.
“Yes, of course, sir,” Sloan replied respectfully, now properly reprimanded.
“We were considering Boyle’s Law, Mr. Stewart. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?” James now queried condescendingly, intent on finding a means to chastise Sloan yet further for his tardiness.
“Actually, yes sir, I believe I have,” Sloan responded diffidently.
“For those of you don’t know,” James interrupted, “Boyle’s Law is named for Robert Boyle, the English professor from Cambridge who invented it in the early eighteenth century. For that achievement, he is considered by many to be the father of modern chemistry.”
At this, Sloan raised his hand, inciting James to respond somewhat tiresomely, “Yes, Mr. Stewart, what is it?”
“Sir, I don’t mean to disagree, but I believe that Mr. Boyle was in fact Irish, having been born in Lismore Castle, County Waterford, Ireland.”
“Ah, my mistake. Thank you, Mr. Stewart,” James replied dismissively.
At this admission, Sloan raised his hand yet again, interjecting pugnaciously, “Sir, I believe that the record will show that Robert Boyle was at Oxford rather than Cambridge, and that his law was discovered in the mid-seventeenth century rather than the eighteenth century.”
“Oh well, we shall see about that, Mr. Stewart,” James responded indignantly, “Anything else?”
“Well, er, yes sir, there is one other thing,” Sloan added doubtfully.
“And what might that be?” James bellowed in obvious exasperation.
“Uhm,” Sloan responded tentatively, “I believe that it is well known that Robert Boyle did not invent Boyle’s Law. It was actually discovered conjointly by Richard Towneley and Henry Power. Boyle mistakenly believed that Richard Towneley discovered it, thereby terming it ‘Towneley’s Conjecture’ in his 1662 paper on the subject. Later documentation established that Henry Power, a professor at Christ’s College, Cambridge, co-invented the law with Richard Towneley.”
Paling with palpable fury at this further disclosure, James now inquired arrogantly, “Is that so? What else might you add to the discussion on this subject, Mr. Stewart?”
“Not much, sir, just that Robert Boyle was enamored with the work of Galileo, even going so far as to travel to I
taly in 1641, shortly before Galileo’s death. Galileo is, of course, the first person to postulate the existence of material laws, sometimes termed constitutive laws and, as it turns out, Boyle’s Law is the first experimentally verified constitutive law in history. It postulates that the volume of a gas is inversely proportional to the applied pressure. Boyle performed experiments demonstrating the veracity of this law, and it is for this reason that the law bears his name today. Nowadays we term materials that behave this way ‘Hookean’ after Robert Hooke, or ‘elastic’ after Isaac Newton, and the underlying physical reasons for this effect were elucidated by James Clerk Maxwell and Ludwig Boltzmann in the latter part of the nineteenth century.”
“Egads, you know way too much!” the wide-eyed young man on Sloan’s right now volunteered wistfully.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Sloan responded in genuine horror at the realization of his own forwardness, “I had no intention of overtaking the conversation!”
“You managed to do so nonetheless,” the young man responded gleefully, adding with fortuitous clairvoyance, “I for one am really glad I’m in this study group. It appears we have a true genius among us!”
Himself turning rubicund with embarrassment at this submission, James finally interjected, “Excellent discussion, gentlemen. Now, suppose that we move on to more challenging topics?”
A Month Later
Sloan knocked on the door and, given the boisterous din emanating from within, he was certain that he had chosen the correct one. The door momentarily opening, a young man poked his head without, inquiring over the now-blaring cacophony, “Password?”
“What?” Sloan exclaimed vacuously.
“What’s the password, you imbecile!” he heard from behind the rapidly closing door.
“Oh, sorry,” Sloan responded sheepishly, “It’s uh…Newton!”
“Wrong!” and at this the door slammed close.
“Isaac Newton!” James roared at the offending door, at which the door magically reopened.
“You may enter,” the young man announced superciliously, and so saying, he drew the door wide, accenting it with inane genuflection.
Peering within, Sloan could see no less than thirty young men strewn about within the tiny dorm room. Grinning appreciatively, Sloan stepped within, inquiring pointedly of the erstwhile guard, “Where’s the booze?”
“Over there, on Bobby’s desk,” the young man pointed, as if expecting Sloan to be capable of seeing directly through a half dozen inebriated students.
Inching his way through the throng, Sloan eventually arrived at the proffered spot, pouring himself a shot of Kentucky bourbon. Completing his intended task, he turned about with the intention of seeking out someone with whom he might be acquainted.
“Hey,” a voice on his right cheerfully exclaimed, “Sloan. Glad you could make it!”
“Oh, I say, hello Mr. Moorehead!” Sloan responded, projecting his voice above the noise, “Some party!”
“Yes, just the thing to mitigate the pressure from the first round of exams, don’t you think?”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Sloan replied pleasantly.
Sipping from a glass of his own, James inquired off-handedly, “So, how did you score on your first chemistry exam?”
“I scored well, thanks to your expert tutoring,” Sloan exclaimed.
His eyes narrowing, James queried, “Just how well?”
“Well, since you asked directly, I’m afraid I must admit to you – I made a perfect score.”
“Oh, that is excellent!” James responded admiringly, and applying a congenial slap on Sloan’s back, he exclaimed with satisfaction, “That confirms my suspicion. I was already quite assured that you were the best within the study group, but now I am certain that you shall be the best in class this year.”
“You think so?” Sloan inquired.
“Absolutely!” James responded affably, “You are quite talented, Sloan. You shall make a fine chemist one day.”
“Thank you, sir,” Sloan replied proudly, somehow at a loss for further words.
“Although we are separated by a year in school, I hope that we shall become friends. We, the two of us, seem to have similar interests. And by all means, please call me James, as I shall henceforth address you as Sloan.”
Glancing at James, Sloan responded ingenuously, “Why, thank you, James. I look forward to a growing friendship!” and so saying, he held out his glass. For his part, James raised his glass as well, the pair clinking their drinks together in honor of their newfound friendship.
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania – Early April, 1940
Isolde sat before her mirror, intent on scrutinizing the image before her. Her long blonde tresses were perhaps a bit too frizzy for her taste, but she supposed there was little she could do about such a distressing shortcoming. Rising from her seat, she strutted to the full length mirror opposite and, standing before it, she examined her figure. Clad in her nightgown, she was unable to make out her shape quite clearly. Accordingly, she shrugged her way out of the left sleeve, then the right and, her nightgown slipping silently to the floor, she was afforded an unadulterated opportunity to assess her own attributes. Were her hips too big, her breasts too small? She had not the slightest idea, having been cloistered nearly her entire life within a small village in Wales. But now, having reached a certain age, she pondered incessantly whether she was indeed attractive to the opposite sex.
At that moment, Aunt Fiona poking her head within the room, Isolde blushed with embarrassment at having been caught out in her own self-examination. Discerning Isolde’s purpose immediately, her aunt exclaimed wisely, “My dear, there is no need to concern yourself regarding your appearance. I assure you, there is little one can do about it. You shall be who you are for the entirety of your life.”
“I know, I know, Aunt Fiona, but please, oh please, tell me truthfully – am I attractive?”
“My goodness, Isolde, you are the absolute picture of femininity. You are tall, quite well proportioned, especially your hips, thighs and breasts, and, last of all, you have a face to die for!”
“You think so? But what about my frizzy hair?”
“My dear, what with your face, no one shall even take notice of your hair. Besides, your hair is quite lovely. Though I perhaps shouldn’t say as much, you are altogether the loveliest young lady I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
“That’s kind of you to say,” Isolde responded doubtfully, continuing to eye herself in the mirror as if she nonetheless doubted her aunt’s assessment.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Aunt Fiona put in, “There’s a letter for you,” and so saying, she held out an envelope for Isolde.
Grasping the proffered item, Isolde ripped open the envelope fretfully, fear of failure coursing through her every fiber and, hastily scanning the writing therein, she abruptly screamed with delight, “I’m in! Aunt Fiona, I’ve been accepted! I shall be enrolled at Hanford University in the fall!”
Boston - September, 1940
Isolde extended her head from the window as the train pulled into the station and, spotting a familiar face, she screamed excitedly, “Sloan! Sloan! Over here! It’s me – Isolde!”
Reacting to the sound of his name, Sloan jerked about and, meeting her animated gaze, he waved wildly while screaming gleefully, “Isolde! Welcome! Welcome to Boston!”
Her visage momentarily disappearing from view, he waited impatiently for her to appear at the door and, seeing her emerge shortly thereafter, he rushed forward. Enfolding her in an affectionate hug, he shouted excitedly, “Isolde! It’s so wonderful to finally see you again!”
Embracing him tightly in return, she responded with her brightest smile, exclaiming, “Oh, God, I’ve missed you, Sloan! My dear friend, it’s been the longest year of my life! And I’m so looking forward to Hanford. How is it? Is it difficult?”
“Hard…very hard, dear Isolde, but together, we shall somehow muddle through. You can
do it, I know you can. And now that you’re here, so can I!”
November, 1940
Isolde waded into the tightly packed bar and, spying her intended target in the crowded space, she pushed her way through the convulsing throng. Arriving at her destination, she interrupted the two young men locked in deep conversation before her, cooing hesitantly, “Hullo, Sloan, who’s you friend?”
Surprised by her unexpected appearance before him, Sloan leapt up from the table. Summarily knocking over his drink and, belatedly grabbing it up, he blurted, “Oh, hi, Isolde. Er, sorry for my clumsiness,” and, clearly flustered by the unexpected sight of her, he added in apparent embarrassment, “Oh, uhm, yes, of course. This is my good friend James, James Moorehead. James, meet my dear friend Isolde Channing. She’s new to Hanford.”
“Ah, yes,” James volunteered and, rising elegantly from his seat, he offered her his hand and added, “And here you are at last, Isolde, all the way from Wales!”
Surprised by the handsome and obviously charming man before her, Isolde took his hand shyly in hers, inquiring breathlessly, “And, pray tell, How did you come to know that, sir?”
Seeing he had made a positive impression, James responded with self-assurance, “Oh, I know all about you, Miss Channing, er, Isolde. May I call you Isolde? It seems we already know one another. After all, Sloan talks about you incessantly! He claims you are the best of friends.”
Brightening at this observation, Isolde awarded Sloan a cutting glance and, returning her attention to James, she responded pleasantly, “Is that so, James? You wouldn’t know by his behavior of late.”
Sloan, himself obviously embarrassed by the scene unfolding before him, attempted a diffusing retort, “I’m so sorry, Isolde. But school has been terribly challenging of late. Surely you know how it is.”
Softening visibly at his half-hearted apology, Isolde responded, “Yes, I quite agree,” and, having thus far failed to receive the invitation she had anticipated, she added, “Well, I can see the pair of you are busy…” and so saying, she turned to depart.
Reaching for her arm, Sloan tugged her back toward them, querying, “Isolde, yet again, I must apologize. Please, sit with us. When we all get to know one another, I’m sure we shall become the best of friends.”
Having now achieved her immediate objective, Isolde responded diffidently, “Well, I don’t know…I’m quite busy, you know…”
Still a bit young to fully comprehend the complexity of the weaker sex, Sloan begged in earnest, “Oh, please, Isolde! I’ve missed you so,” thereby prompting James to arch one eyebrow in surprise, a subsequent wink passing unobserved by Sloan between himself and Isolde.
“Well, I suppose I can spare a few minutes,” she replied hesitantly, and so saying, she dropped her books and took a seat adjacent to her two admirers.
Having discerned how the wind blew, James offered a placating diversion, “So, Sloan tells me you are studying American Literature this semester. How are you finding it?
Brightening yet again at James’ powers of deduction, Isolde responded pleasantly, “Bizarre, absolutely bizarre. Although you Americans share a common language with the English, your deployment of the English language bears no resemblance whatsoever!”
“Oh? How so?” James inquired with growing interest.
“Well, for example, one has these firebrands such as Herman Melville and O. Henry. One could say they are obsessed with the macabre. Then there are Henry David Thoreau and Emily Dickinson, both rising to the height of both the sublime and the subliminal. And finally, there is Mark Twain, who seems to have discarded the English language altogether.”
“Ha! I told you so!” Sloan exclaimed much too loudly, “She is the picture of perfection, is she not? All those gorgeous golden tresses strewn about, enveloping matchless brilliance, not to mention beauty, if I do say so myself!”
At this, Isolde blushed and, gazing about in embarrassment, she murmured, “Shush, Sloan! You go too far, sir, and in public!”
At this Sloan guffawed, grabbed her in a friendly embrace, and blubbered, “Ah, my dear Isolde, I do so adore you!”
Pushing him away, she rejoined, “Stop it! Sir, if I did not know you better, I should say that you are drunk!”
“What if I am,” Sloan exclaimed defensively, “It’s still the truth. And you know me, Isolde, I’m always good for the truth!”
“Yes, of that I’m quite certain, and at times most annoyingly,” she responded indignantly and, observing that her objective was in danger of being spoiled, she announced surreptitiously, “Well, I believe that I shall make my departure. You, sir, are in a state of inebriation that is entirely inappropriate for a lady’s company,” and so saying, she arose to leave.
“Aw, don’t go rushing off, Isolde,” Sloan replied and, seeing that she was not swayed, he called after her, “When can I see you again?”
Over her shoulder, she responded indignantly, “When you are sober, you may call on me!”
But to her dejection, for some reason he didn’t.
March, 1941
Sloan supplied the required password, the door to the dorm room subsequently opening wide. As expected, there was quite a crowd within, the majority of them well on their way to drunken oblivion. Inching his to the bar, he thought to himself, “Exams this week must have been tougher than usual.”
As he did so, he noticed a couple of rather dodgy looking young ladies, a site he had never before seen within the men’s dorms at Hanford. Wondering to himself what that was about, he poured himself a drink and, turning to locate a friend to chat with, he was surprised to see Isolde ensconced in companionable discourse with a young man. Pressing forward, he reached her side momentarily and announced, “Isolde, what a pleasure!”
“Oh, hullo, Sloan. Fancy meeting you here!” she responded coyly.
Mystified by her distant attitude, he inquired, “What brings you here tonight?”
“You will see soon enough,” she responded, “This is my new friend, Anson. Anson, meet Sloan.” The pair shook hands, Sloan for his part perplexed that Isolde was with someone.
Leaning forward, he muttered in her ear, “I can see you’re with someone tonight, Isolde, so I shall catch up with you later.”
Sipping on her drink nonchalantly, she replied, “Sure…later.”
At this Sloan drifted away, in search of other companionship. Almost immediately, he bumped into James, who exclaimed fretfully, “Sloan! I thought you’d never get here. You nearly missed the start of the show!”
“What show?”
“We have something special planned for tonight,” James volunteered with a telling wink.
“What might that be?” Sloan queried blankly.
“It seems someone has arranged for a contest.”
“You’re kidding!” Sloan replied sarcastically.
“No, not at all. We seem to have a benefactor in our midst, although who the culprit is, no one seems to know. At any rate, three young ladies have volunteered to participate in a dance contest, the winner to be awarded a crisp new one hundred dollar bill.”
Momentarily distracted from the topic at hand, Sloan responded, “Wow! I’ve never even seen a hundred dollar bill.”
“Ha!” James prattled boisterously, “Well, tonight you shall see one, among other things, I’m quite certain of it.”
Still mystified, Sloan inquired, “Other things? What sort of other things?”
Surreptitiously taking a sip from his drink, James replied matter-of-factly, “Perhaps we shall see a mystery or two revealed, of the female type, of course.”
“You’re not serious!” Sloan responded doubtfully.
“Actually, there is no way of telling what will transpire. It all depends on what lengths these young ladies are willing to go to in order to win the prize.”
Suddenly fearing something untoward, Sloan turned, heading directly toward Isolde and, interrupting her conversation with her friend, he b
lurted, “Tell me you’re not entered in this insane dance contest!”
“Oh, but I most certainly am, Sloan,” she replied demurely.
“Why ever on earth for? This could well get out of hand, Isolde.”
“I’m sure I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. It’s just good clean fun,” she responded naively.
Seeing that she had no intention of taking his advice, he exclaimed, “We shall see about that!” and so saying, he turned on his heel, seeking a neutral vantage point from which to observe the contest.
A young man now clapped his hands loudly, announcing, “Alright, guys, you all know why we’re here tonight. We have three young ladies, each of whom has volunteered to dance for us. Afterwards, the winner, being selected by popular vote, shall be awarded a prize of one hundred dollars!”
At this, the crowd erupted in applause and, shortly thereafter the first young lady commenced her dance. She was attractive in an earthy sort of way and, dancing to ‘Pennsylvania 6-5000’, she brought the crowd to a fevered pitch. The alcohol having clearly affected the males within the room, the crowd grew boisterous, in response to which she doffed her blouse at the end of the piece. The room erupted in applause, awarding her an approving ovation.
Sloan, now certain that this was headed in an indecent direction, glanced toward Isolde, only to find her avoiding him for some unknown reason.
The second young lady now took to the floor, dancing to the more sedate ‘Moonlight Serenade’ but, sure enough, near the end of the number she too began removing her blouse. Goaded on by the pulsating throng, she removed her skirt as well, at which the crowd went wild.
Now it was time for the final entrant’s performance, and of course it was Isolde. Stepping to the center of the room, she, now appearing quite bewildered, locked her eyes on Sloan and began dancing salaciously to the upbeat tune ‘Chattanooga Choo Choo’. Sure enough, toward the middle of the tune, she slowly removed her blouse. By this time visibly distressed, Sloan gazed pleadingly towards her, but she continued dancing, all the while staring directly at him.
Sloan was by now beside himself with agony, fearing the worst as she, reaching down, began fumbling with her skirt. Suddenly lunging forward, he screamed forcefully, “Stop! Stop it, Isolde! I can’t let you do this!” and grabbing her about the waist, he lifted her within his arms and lunged hurriedly from the room. Sensing the crowd’s disapproval at his intrusion, he managed to hold them at bay by slamming the door shut and wedging his shoe beneath it.
Still wrapped within his arms, she cried woefully, “What do you think you are doing?”
“I’m saving you from yourself, you fool!” he bellowed.
Writhing in an attempt to escape his grasp, she screamed, “I don’t need saving!”
“Dear Isolde, I adore you. I can’t let you do this to yourself. Now shut up. I’m taking you back to your dorm.”
Tears streaming down her cheeks, she suddenly exclaimed, “But why, Sloan? I finally got your attention, and you had to go and stop me!”
“Dear Isolde, you are much too good for this sort of thing. I’m taking you back to your dorm, and there’s an end to it!”
Charging down the stairs with her in his arms, he hurried out onto the snow-covered lawn. Racing for fear that they might be followed by the outraged crowd, he carried her as quickly as he could to her dorm, she for her part sobbing uncontrollably all the way.
Once within the dorm, he handed her over to the dorm supervisor, saying, “Please, take her upstairs to her room. She’s drunk and out of control.”
“Where is her blouse, young man?” the elderly woman asked accusingly.
“Long story,” he said, turning to leave.
“Sloan, what did I do wrong? Please, tell me what I did wrong! Come back!” she wailed as he stalked from the dorm.
The Following Day
“Come in!” Sloan exclaimed in response to the knock on his door.
The door opening, James poked his head in, announcing, “Hey, Sloan, I just thought I’d check in to see how things turned out last night with you and Isolde.”
“I don’t know,” Sloan responded noncommittally, “She was mad as hell!”
“Yeah, everyone could tell, but despite that, you did her a big favor. She was headed for deep trouble, if you ask me.”
“That’s what I thought, too, but she wasn’t very pleased when I grabbed her.”
“What happened after that?”
“Oh, I just carted her back to her dorm and handed her over to the dorm supervisor,” Sloan responded, “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Did she calm down by then?”
“No, by then she was absolutely furious. I don’t know what’s gotten into her, to tell you the truth.”
“You’re really taken with her, aren’t you.” James posited.
“Yeah, I guess I must be,” Sloan replied thoughtfully, “Otherwise, I would have just stood there along with everyone else and watched her strip down to God knows what.”
“Yes, and God knows, it would have been her birthday suit, if you ask me,” James offered candidly.”
“What makes you say that?” Sloan groaned in surprise.
“Man, you should have been there!” James volunteered. “After Isolde left, the guys decided that it was a tie between Mindy and Charlotte. So they decided the two girls should have a dance-off, sort of a sudden-death contest.”
“You’re kidding!” Sloan replied.
“Honest to God,” James said, “So these two girls, seems like both of them wanted that hundred dollar bill really badly, they got up there on the table and started dancing together, and when Mindy took off her blouse, Charlotte did her one better. Within minutes both those girls were naked as jaybirds. I tell you, it was a thing of beauty – two girls dancing naked in a boy’s dorm room on Hanford University campus.”
“Oh, my God,” Sloan murmured. “That could have been Isolde!”
“She would have, too, Sloan. She was really drunk.”
“I know,” Sloan muttered, “I hope I did the right thing. I’m pretty sure I did, but who can tell with a woman, especially that woman! Man, she drives me nuts!””
“Yeah, I’d say you’re pretty far gone on her,” James observed.
A Week Later
Sloan stepped up to the counter in the girls’ dorm, inquiring, “Could I see Isolde Channing, please?”
“Your name?” the supervisor responded, but suddenly recognizing him, she exclaimed, “Wait a minute! I remember you! You’re the young man who brought Isolde home that night. Say, what was that all about, anyway?”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to ask her,” he responded noncommittally, “Name’s Stewart – Sloan Stewart.”
“I see,” she replied, “Well, please wait a moment while I see if she is in.”
Sloan stepped away from the counter, politely awaiting Isolde’s arrival. After a few moments, the supervisor motioned to him and, stepping back to the counter, he queried, “Yes?”
“She’s in, Mr. Stewart, but she’s not seeing anyone just now.”
At this, he stared at her incredulously, inquiring somewhat rudely, “Look here, could I speak to her on the phone?”
“I’m afraid not, sir,” the supervisor responded and, by now clearly ruffled, she posited, “She made it quite clear that she doesn’t want to speak to you.”
“Can’t you see I’m trying to help her?” Sloan begged.
Her eyes flashing in fury, she grumbled, “Sir, I see nothing of the sort. A young man who shall remain unnamed staggers into the women’s dorm on a Friday night, conveying a partially clad and clearly unsympathetic young lady in his arms and gruffly demands that the supervisor ‘take care of her’, all the while refusing to respond to questions regarding his part in this unseemly affair.”
At this, Sloan staggered backward and, his hand raised to his throat in denial, he gasped, “No! No, madam, you have it all wrong. I was tr
ying to help!”
“Sir, I doubt that very seriously. Otherwise, the young lady in question would not be so vehemently opposed to seeing you. Now, if I were you, I would make haste to disappear from my sight before I change my mind and find it necessary to file a complaint recommending your dismissal from the university for lewd and inappropriate behavior!”
“I see,” Sloan replied in fear, “I assure you that I did nothing wrong, madam. However, I can see how it must have appeared to you. I am truly sorry to have alarmed you so.”
“Well said,” she replied and, visibly calming, she suggested, “Now please leave, and never ever come to this dorm again, sir!”
“Yes, madam,” Sloan responded, and so saying he made a hasty retreat.
Thusly unnerved, he wandered aimlessly across campus, at length planting himself on a park bench adjacent to the library. By then completely demoralized, he stared blankly into space and, unable to find solace, he mumbled to himself, “What’s gotten into her? I save her from herself, and this is the thanks I get! After all, did we not promise aboard ship to always be true to one another?”
Those Who Fought for Us Page 25