constitutionally slow that he is invariably half a course behind
everyone else at a table.

Marshall was attempting to explain to Miss Harding how it is possible to
hook a ball and play off the right foot. He laid out a diagram on the
table cloth, using "lady-fingers" to show the positions of the feet, a
round radish to indicate the ball, and a fruit knife to illustrate the
face and direction of the club.

Chilvers watched this most unconventional dinner performance with a grin
on his face, and just as Marshall was showing just how the club should
follow through, Chilvers called "Fore!" in a sharp tone. Miss Harding
and Marshall were so absorbed in the elucidation of this most difficult
golf problem that they instinctively dodged, and when Miss Harding
recovered, her cheeks were delightfully crimson.

I never noticed until that moment that there are traces of dimples in
her cheeks. Unless Venus had dimples she had no just claim to be crowned
the goddess of love and beauty.

"Jim," said Mr. Harding, addressing our host, when coffee was served,
"did you know our friend Smith when he was a kid?"

"Knew him when he couldn't look over this table," replied Mr. Bishop.

"What kind of a boy was he?"

"Full of the Old Nick, like most healthy boys," he answered. "He and my
boy Joe went to school together, got into trouble together and got out
of it again. What was it the boys used to call you, Jack?" he said to
me, a twinkle in his eye.

"Never mind," I said, and attempted to turn the conversation, but it was
no use.

"They used to call him 'Socks Smith,'" said Bishop. "That was it, 'Socks
Smith.' I hadn't thought of it in years."

"What an alliterative nickname," laughed Mrs. Chilvers. "How did you
ever acquire it, Mr. Smith?"

"He won't tell ye," declared my tormentor, without waiting for me to say
a word, "but it's nothin' to his discredit. You know that mill pond
where--"

"Don't tell that incident," I protested.

"Tell it! Tell it, Mr. Bishop!" pleaded Miss Lawrence, Miss Harding, and
others in chorus.

"Sure I'll tell it," continued Bishop. "As I was saying, you all know
the mill pond where you folks try to drive golf balls over. Well, it
uster be bigger an' deeper than it is now, and in the winter it was the
skating place for all the lads in the neighbourhood. Up at the far end
there is a spring, and even in the coldest weather it don't freeze over
above that spring."

"One bitter cold day--and it neve