," asserted Chilvers, winking at me.

"Stranger things have happened," declared Peabody, his face illuminated
by a hopeful grin. "I made the last hole yesterday in five, and that is
as good as Carter or Smith have done it in this year."

Now, as a matter of fact, there was not one chance in five hundred that
Peabody would qualify, and he didn't, but that did not prevent his
starting out with a hope and a sort of a faith that by some bewildering
combination of circumstances he would qualify, and later on bowl over
all of his competitors and carry off the prize with the sweeter honours
of victory.

If there be any soil where hope absolutely runs riot it is in the breast
of a golfer. The fond mother who cozens herself into the faith that her
boy will some day be President of the United States builds on the same
foundation as the duffer who enters a competition in which he is
outclassed.

Personally I can see no reason why I shall not some day win the
international golf championship, and I have strong expectations of doing
so, but know perfectly well that I will not. It is a peculiar but
delightful complication of mind.

Carter had the best qualifying score, making the round in a consistent
eighty. Marshall was second with an eighty-two, Boyd and LaHume were
tied with eighty-four each, and I came in fifth with one more.
Chilvers, Pepper, and Thomas also qualified, but the cup should lie
among the first five.

Candour compels me to admit that on form it should come to a struggle
between Carter and Marshall; but if I get into the finals with either of
these gentlemen I shall play with confidence of winning.

A most astounding thing has happened! If I were incorporating these
events in a narrative or a novel I presume I would reserve the statement
I am about to make until the finish, so as to form an effective
climax--and on reflection I have decided to do so in these notes. So I
will begin at the beginning.

The second day after our visit to Bishop's, Miss Lawrence called me
aside on the veranda, and I could see that some great secret had
possession of her.

"I wish to ask a favour of you, Mr. Smith," she said, after beating
about the brush for a minute.

"Anything at my command is yours," I said.

"I have come to you," she said, "because I know that you are one of the
members of the club who can keep a secret. Not that this is any
tremendous affair," she added, a blush faintly touching her cheek, "but
I don't