Saturday noons
He thrust his work from him , tilted back his chair at a dangerous angle , and began reviewing his engagements for the coming Bank Holiday . He was only three and twenty , and at three and twenty an infinite measure of life can be pressed into the great three days . He saw in fancy the procession of the hours , the flight of the dreams , of all the gorgeous intellectual pageants that move through the pages of _ Saturnalia _ . For in ninety-two Savage Keith Rickman was a little poet about town , a cockney poet , the poet not only of neo-classic drama , but of green suburban Saturday noons , and flaming Saturday nights , and of a great many things besides . He had made his plans long beforehand , and was prepared to consign to instant perdition the person or thing that should interfere with them . Good Friday morning , an hour 's cycling before breakfast in Regent 's Park , by way of pumping some air into his lungs , then , ten hours at least of high Parnassian leisure , of dalliance in Academic shades ; he saw himself wooing some reluctant classic , or , far more likely , flirting with his own capricious and bewildering muse . -LRB- In a world of prose it is only by such divine snatches that poets are made -RRB- Friday evening , dinner at his club , the Junior Journalists ' .