he promised
not to "butt in" to our class, so he and Bishop sat on a side hill and
smoked and laughed and seemed to enjoy the exhibition hugely.

These little excursions to the old sheep pasture excited increasing
curiosity in the club. I enjoyed them immensely, since it gave me a
chance to walk slowly home with Miss Harding.

After the first visit we discarded the auto, since its use threatened
too much publicity. There was no real reason for keeping the affair a
secret, except that it is a pleasure to hold an interest in a mystery,
and I think most of us will confess to this harmless weakness. In
addition I was steadily improving my short game, which has been my great
handicap when pitted against Carter.

And besides, as I have noted, I enjoyed the companionship of Miss
Harding--and, of course, that of the others of our little group.

I am of the opinion that LaHume followed and spied upon us on the
occasion of our second trip, and very likely on the succeeding one. I am
sure I saw someone raise his head above a scrubby knoll to the south,
and am reasonably certain I recognised LaHume's gray cap. He was not
about the club that evening until after our return, and the same thing
happened on the following evening. His manner led me to believe he knew
more than he cared to tell. He was sullen almost to the point of
insolence.

After having been ignored once or twice by Miss Lawrence, LaHume left
our little group on the veranda and pulled a chair to the side of
Carter, who was reading his evening paper. It is not safe to interrupt
Carter while thus engaged, but after LaHume said a few words the other
laid aside the paper and listened intently. They talked for some time,
and in view of what happened later I have an idea of the subject of
their conversation.

Carter called me aside the next evening.

"I understand," he said, "that you have retained the services of a
private golf tutor."

"Who told you that?" I was thunderstruck.

"Never mind who told me," laughed Carter. "Trying to steal a march on
the rest of us, eh? Foxy old Smith; foxy old Smith!"

There was nothing I cared to say, and I said it.

"Is he any good?" Carter asked.

"Is who any good?" I parried.

"Wallace, of course. Oh, I know all about it. You, Miss Lawrence, Miss
Ross, and Miss Harding have been taking lessons from Wallace for several
evenings over in Bishop's sheep pasture. What I wish to know is this:
does this Scotch chap of Bishop's r