Carter help me
chase 'em."

"Robert Harding, you are hopeless!" declared his good wife. "You have
become a perfect golf crank."

"Let me alone," he grinned, as he climbed the fence. "I'm on my
vacation. Keep your eyes on this one, boys!"

Before we started from Woodvale he declared that it was all nonsense to
take along a change of clothes, and he was dressed in that wonderful
costume, plaids, red coat and all.

We lay back in our seats and smilingly watched his efforts. He has shown
signs of improvement recently, and is imbued with the enthusiasm of the
novice who realises that his practice has counted for something.

He drove the first half-dozen balls indifferently, but the next one was
really a good one.

"There was a beaut!" he exclaimed, turning to us as the ball
disappeared with a bound over the crest of the slope. "What's the matter
with you folks? Why don't you applaud when a man makes a good shot?"

"That's balls enough, papa, dear," said Miss Harding. "By the time you
have found them your time will be up."

"Right you are, Kid," he admitted. "I'm proud of that last one, and I'm
going to pace it. Help me pick 'cm up, boys, I'll drive 'em back, and
then we'll go on."

He started to pace the distance of the longer ball, counting as he
strode along. When he reached the crest of the slope we could hear him
droning, "one hundred twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three," etc. Carter
was hunting for the balls to the right and Chilvers for those to the
left.

The red coat and plaid cap disappeared over the hill. Miss Dangerfield
was chattering about something, I know not what. I was looking at Miss
Harding, and did not hear her.

I did hear some sound which resembled distant thunder. A moment later I
saw the top of that plaid cap bob above the hill. Then I saw the
shoulders of that red coat, and the huge figure of the railroad magnate
fairly shot into view.

He was running as fast as his stout legs would carry him, waving his
club and occasionally looking quickly to his rear.

I knew in an instant what was the matter.

"What is papa running for?" exclaimed Miss Harding. That question was
speedily answered.

"Run! Run, boys!" he yelled as he plowed down that slope. "Run like
hell; he's after us!"

Carter and Chilvers took one glance and the three of them came tearing
down that hill.

There came into view the lowered head and humped shoulders of a Holstein
bull close on the trail of the lumbering m