d with her father.
Carter furnished clubs and balls for Mr. Harding, who broke two of the
clubs and lost six new balls, to say nothing of those he mutilated.

Diplomacy is not my long suit. I prefer to carry things by assault. When
I saw what Carter was up to I formed a plan and put it into operation
without delay. It was very simple. I walked right up to Miss Harding and
asked her if she would like to play a round with me. That was this
morning.

"When?" she asked, with a charming smile which told me victory was in
sight.

"Right now!" I said, bold as could be.

"You are brave to ask me to play with you, after what I have told you of
my game," she said, pressing down a worm cast with the toe of her dainty
shoe. We were standing on the edge of the practise putting green. I am
no hand to describe a woman's gowns, and in fact know nothing of them,
but I recall distinctly that she was dressed in blue, with some white
stuff here and there, and it was very becoming.

"Why?" I inquired.

"If I could play in eighty-five, as you and Mr. Carter do, I would not
recognise one who requires from one hundred and thirty to one hundred
and sixty," laughed Miss Harding.

For the life of me I cannot recall what I said in answer to this
assertion, but it was something stupid, no doubt. She finally promised
to play with me to-morrow, explaining that she and her father were about
to go automobiling.

We strolled over to one of the practise tees, and I was delighted when
she asked me to observe her swing, and advise her how to correct it. I
spent half an hour doing this, and she made wonderful improvement. I
hoped Carter would come along and see us, but I saw nothing of him.

While we were there, Marshall, Chilvers and Lawson passed and asked me
to make up a foursome. For the first time in my life I refused, and the
way those idiots looked back at me and grinned tempted me to break a
club over their heads. There is no law to compel a man to play golf if
he does not wish to. I figured that a rest for half a day would improve
my game. The fact is, and the best golfers are coming to realise it,
that a man can play so much that he goes stale.

I have just been looking back over the notes of my second entry in this
diary of a golfer, and I wish to modify the statement to the effect that
a woman under no circumstances appears graceful or attractive in golf
attitudes.

In fact I absolutely repudiate that ungallant and prejudiced asser