ert," observed his wife, "what earthly good will it
do you, and what will it prove?"

"It will prove that I can drive one of these blamed things into that
pond," he grinned. "I've got to break into history some way."

On the fifth trial he had the satisfaction of driving a ball into that
pond. It was not much of a drive, but it pleased him immensely.

"I got my money's worth out of those five balls," he declared as he
climbed back into the car.

"See how the sun strikes the sail of that schooner!" exclaimed Miss
Harding. "And how it glances from the brass work of those yachts at
anchor! There goes an auto boat darting through a swarm of sail boats
like a bird through fluttering butterflies. It is a glorious view from
here!"

"It makes the Rhine look like counterfeit money," asserted Chilvers,
whose similes usually are grotesque. "Any time you hear an American
raving over the wonderful scenery of Europe you can place a bet that he
has never seen that of his own country."

"That's right, Chilvers," said Harding. "We have all kinds of scenery
out West that has never been used. It's a drug in the market, laying
around out-of-doors for the first one that comes along."

We made the next ten miles at a rapid gait through one of the finest
country-residence sections in this fair land of ours. Then we entered a
sparsely settled agricultural district. We were opposite a meadow which
recently had been mowed. It was a gentle slope with picturesque rocks
flanking its sides, and near the road was a pond.

[Illustration: "It was not much of a drive"]

"Whoa there, Smith!" shouted Harding. I jammed on brakes and turned to
see what was the matter.

"What is it, papa?" asked Miss Harding.

"This is just the place I've been looking for," he said, standing and
surveying the meadow with the eye of an expert.

"What for?"

"To paste a ball in," he asserted, reaching for his clubs.

"Drive ahead, Jacques Henri!" ordered my charming employer. "Papa
Harding, we're not going to stop every time you see a place where you
wish to drive a ball!"

"Just this once, Kid," pleaded her father. "Let me soak a few balls out
there, and I won't say another word until we get to Oak Cliff. Be good,
Grace, we've got lots of time."

"Very well," she consented, looking at her watch. "We'll wait ten
minutes for you."

"Here's where I get some real practice," he said, arming himself with a
driver and a box of balls. "Come on, Chilvers, you and