"Can any of you folks tell me if a man named Hardin' hangs out 'round this here place?" he said, squinting at a card which I instantly recognised.

"I'm Harding," said that gentleman, walking toward him. "I reckon you're the man who owns the late deceased bull?"

"I shurely am," said the farmer, stroking his whiskers nervously.

"How much do you want for him?" demanded Harding, with characteristic promptness.

"Stranger," began the man with the hoe, "if you'll tell me how in thunder you broke the neck of that critter with one of them there sticks," pointing to our golf clubs, "I won't charge you one doggoned cent for doin' it."

We all roared, and then Harding briefly explained what had happened.

"I reckon you couldn't do nothin' else under what the stump speakers call existin' sar-c.u.mstances," slowly drawled the farmer, "but he was a mighty fine young bull, an' I hated like all sin tew lose him."

"How much was he worth to you?" asked Harding.

"He was a Holstein, Mister, and I wouldn't er sold him for two hundred and fifty the best day you ever saw. He took second prize as a yearlin'

at our county fair, and I was plumb sure he'd have the blue ribbon hung on him this year, but instead of a ribbon I found this here on his horns," he concluded sorrowfully, looking at the card with its string still attached.

"I'll give you three hundred and fifty dollars and call it square," said Harding.

"Dew you mean it, Mister?" his watery blue eyes opening wide, his thin lips pursed and his leathery face curiously wrinkled. "Dew ye mean it?"

"Of course I mean it, but I want his head. I'm going to have it mounted."

Mr. Harding opened his wallet, stripped off the bills and handed them to the pleased farmer.

"Mister," the latter said, "that's more than he was worth, and I feel kinder ashamed ter take all of it. Tell you what I'll do! I've got an old bull that's no good, but ugly as all get out, and if you'd like ter tackle him with that ortermobill of yours I'll turn him loose in that same medder, an' you can have it out with him an' it won't cost you a cent."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "He was tall, angular, and whiskered"]

"Much obliged," laughed Harding, "but nature evidently did not design me for a matador."

If Miss Lawrence does not develop into a great player it will not be because of a lack of a.s.siduity in taking lessons. Since Wallace has become professional at Woodmere she has taken one and sometimes two each day. She was starting to take one of these "lessons" when Harding returned.

"See here, Wallace," he said with mock sternness, "I am becoming curious to know if you are professional to our charming young friend or to the club."

"Why, Mr. Harding!" exclaimed Miss Lawrence, blushing furiously. "I have taken only six lessons, and you have no idea how I have improved."

"Without doubt," observed the remorseless millionaire, "but when do I get a lesson? My game has steadily deteriorated since I hit my first ball. As Smith says, I am way off my game."

"I shall be glad to give you a lesson any time to-morrow afternoon, Mr.

Harding," said Wallace.

"All right. You and I will play Smith and Carter, and you put me right as we go along."

That was satisfactory all around and Wallace turned his attention to his fair pupil. I wonder if he is as exacting and she as interested at all times as during the few moments they were under our observation?

"A little nearer the ball," he cautioned her. "Grip firmly but keep the wrists flexible. Let the club-head come back naturally. Be sure and keep the weight of your body on the heels and not on the toes. That's better.

Try that back swing again. Do not go so far back. Be sure that at the top of the swing your entire weight is on the right leg, and that the knee is not bent. Do not pause at the top of the stroke. Keep the head perfectly still and your eyes on the ball; not on the top of it, but on the exact spot where you propose to hit it. Now make a practise swing."

Miss Lawrence did so, and it seemed almost perfect to me, but Wallace's keen eyes detected faults.

"That right shoulder dropped a little," he said. "That's a bad fault.

Let the right shoulder go straight through. Ah, that was a decided improvement! Now swing and keep that right elbow at least four inches from the body. You let your wrists in too soon, Miss Lawrence. Do not start them to work until you are well down on your stroke. That shoulder dropped again! Don't look up as your club goes through; that is a fatal fault. Fall back on those heels! Keep the back straight, or curved back, if at all. Now we will try it with a ball."

Wallace teed a ball and Miss Lawrence drove a very good one for her. It was straight and a trifle high, but it had a carry of fully 120 yards.

"Didn't I tell you I was improving!" she exclaimed, smiling triumphantly at Mr. Harding. "Mr. Wallace is a splendid teacher."

"Yes, and you are a splendid pupil," returned Mr. Harding, with a knowing smile, "but you give me a chance, or I'll lodge a protest with the board of management."

She laughed, waved her hand mockingly at him, and away they went. I noticed that Wallace was not playing. He carried the clubs and they walked close to each other. He said something and she looked up to his face and smiled. It was evident they had much to talk of, and while I cannot prove it, I am inclined to doubt if their conversation was restricted to the details of the game.

Harding watched them, a quiet smile on his strong, kindly, and rugged face. He was humming the air of an old love song.

"Smith," he said after an interval of silence, "there are only two things in this life really worth having."

"What are they?"

"Youth and health."

"How about love?" I asked.

"Youth and health own love," he replied. "Love is their obedient servant. I thank G.o.d that I have not lost my youth or my health."

I was privileged to see this remarkable man for a moment in a new light, one which increased my respect and admiration for him.

When we returned to the club house the veranda was buzzing with gossip.

Miss Dangerfield was delighted when she found that I was not acquainted with the cause of the excitement. It gave her a chance to impart the news to one ready to listen, and she was not slow in taking advantage of it.

"Miss Lawrence has refused Mr. LaHume!" she whispered, though she might as well have screamed it through a megaphone, since I was the only one on the veranda in ignorance of it.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"I dare not tell," she said, but I knew she would. "If you'll promise not to reveal it to a living soul I'll tell you."

I promised.

"Mr. LaHume told Mr. Chilvers, Mr. Chilvers told Mrs. Chilvers, Mrs.

Chilvers told Miss Ross, and Miss Ross told me, so you see that I have it right from the original source."

"And you told me," I said. "Why should the chain stop in so obscure a link. I am dying to tell somebody."

"But you promised not to," Miss Dangerfield protested.

"So did you," I replied.