said he at length.

"Mr. Coyne," said Butch, who had been practising imaginary approach shots with the light mid-iron, "you wouldn't care if I had about an inch taken off this shaft, would you? It's a little too long for me."

"Cut a foot off it if you like."

"I just wanted to know," said Butch apologetically. "Lots of people say they're going to quit; but----"

"It isn't a case of going to quit with me," said Coyne. "I _have_ quit!

You can make kindling wood out of that shaft if you like."

Then, with the empty bag under his arm, and his bridges aflame behind him, he marched back to the clubhouse, his chin a bit higher in the air than was absolutely necessary.

Later his voice was heard in the shower room, loud and clear above the sound of running water. It suited him to sing and the ditty of his choice was a cheerful one; but the rollicking words failed to carry conviction. An expert listener might have detected a tone smacking strongly of defiance and suspected that Mr. Coyne was singing to keep up his courage.

When next seen he was clothed, presumably in his right mind, and rummaging deep in his locker. On the floor was a pile of miscellaneous garments--underwear, sweaters, shirts, jackets, knickerbockers and stockings. To his a.s.sistance came Jasper, for twenty years a fixture in the locker room and as much a part of the club as the sun porch or the front door.

"Gettin' yo' laundry out, suh? Lemme give you a hand."

Now Jasper was what is known as a character; and, moreover, he was a privileged one. He was on intimate terms with every member of the Country Club and ent.i.tled to speak his mind at all times. He had made a close study of the male golfing animal in all his varying moods; he knew when to sympathise with a loser, when to congratulate a winner, and when to remain silent. Jasper was that rare thing known as the perfect locker room servant.

"This isn't laundry," explained Coyne. "I'm just cleaning house--that's all.... Think you can use these rubber-soled golf shoes?"

"Misteh Coyne, suh," said Jasper, "them shoes is as good as new. Whut you want to give 'em away faw?"

"Because I won't be wearing 'em any more."

"H-m-m! Too small, maybe?"

"No; they fit all right. Fact of the matter is, Jasper, I'm sick of this game and I'm going to quit it."

Jasper's eyes oscillated rapidly.

"Aw, no, Misteh Coyne!" said he in the tone one uses when soothing a peevish child. "You jus' _think_ you goin' to quit--tha's all!"

"You never heard me say I was going to quit before, did you?" demanded Coyne.

"No, suh; no."

"Well, when I say I'm going to quit, you can bet I mean it!" Jasper reflected on this statement.

"Yes, suh," said he gently. "Betteh let me put them things back, Misteh Coyne. They in the way here."

"What's the use of putting 'em back in the locker? They're no good to me. Make a bundle of 'em and give 'em to the poor."

"Mph! Po' folks ain't wearin' them shawt pants much--not this season, nohow!"

"I don't care what you do with 'em! Throw 'em away--burn 'em up--pitch 'em out. I don't care!"

"Yes, suh. All right, suh. Jus' as you say." Jasper rolled the heap into a bundle and began tying it with the sleeves of a shirt. "I'll look afteh 'em, suh."

"Never mind looking after 'em. Get rid of the stuff. I'm through, I tell you--done--finished--quit!"

"Yes, suh. I heard you the firs' time you said it."

The negro was on his knees fumbling with the knot. Something in his tone irritated Coyne--caused him to feel that he was not being taken seriously.

"I suppose a lot of members quit--eh?" said he.

"Yes, suh," replied Jasper with a flash of ivory. "Some of 'em quits oncet a month, reg'leh."

"But you never heard of a case where a player gave all his clubs away, did you?" demanded Coyne.

"Some of 'em _breaks_ clubs," said Jasper; "but they always gits new shafts put in. Some of 'em th'ow 'em in the lake; but they fish 'em out ag'in. But--give 'em away? No, suh! They don' neveh do that."

"Well," said Coyne, "when I make up my mind to do a thing I do it right.

I've given away every club I owned."

Jasper lifted his head and stared upward, mouth open and eyelids fluttering rapidly.

"You--you given yo' clubs away!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "Who'd you give 'em to, suh?"

"Oh, to the caddies," was the airy response. "Made a sort of general distribution. One club to each kid."

"Misteh Coyne," said Jasper earnestly, "tha's foolishness--jus' plain foolishness. S'pose you ain' been playin' yo' reg'leh game lately--s'pose you had a lot o' bad luck--that ain' no reason faw you to do a thing like that. Givin' all them expensible clubs to them pin-headed li'l' boys! Lawd! Lawd! They don't know how to treat 'em!

They'll be splittin' the shafts, an' crackin' the heads, an' nickin' up the irons, an'----"

"Well," interrupted Coyne, "what of it? I hope they do break 'em!"

Jasper shook his head sorrowfully and returned to the bundle. While studying golfers he had come to know the value placed on golfing tools.

"O' course," said he slowly, "yo' own business is yo' own business, Misteh Coyne. Only, suh, it seem like a awful shame to me. Seem like bustin' up housekeepin' afteh you been married a long time.... Why not wait a few days an' see how you feel then?"

"No! I'm through."

Jasper jerked his head in the direction of the lounging room.

"You tol' the otheh gen'lemen whut you goin' to do?" he asked.

"What's the use? They'd only laugh. They wouldn't believe me. Let 'em find it out for themselves. And, by the way--there's my empty bag in the corner. Dispose of it somehow. Give it away--sell it. You can have whatever you get for it."

"Thank you, suh. You comin' back to see us once in a while?"

"Oh, I suppose so. With the wife and the kids. Well, take care of yourself."

Jasper followed him to the door and watched until the little runabout disappeared down the driveway.

"All foolishness--tha's whut it is!" soliloquised the negro.

"This golf game--she's sutny a goat getteh when she ain' goin' right.