confident that with a
little practice he could far surpass that terrific drive of two hundred
and seventy yards. But though I well knew what was coming to him I held
my peace.

I asked Kirkaldy if he had ever known of a happening similar to
Harding's now famous drive. He said he could not recall when a duffer
had reached so great a distance, but it was not unusual for a husky
novice to drive a few good balls before he began to attempt an
improvement of a natural, but of course crude, stroke.

"But," I asked Kirkaldy, "how did Harding manage to drive it so far?"

"Strength and luck, mon," said our Scotch professional, "the more luck.
It war th' same as when ye won a match with me by makin' th' last three
holes in less than bogy. Luck, mon, is yer truest friend."

I think Kirkaldy is right.

"I never like to take up a thing unless it is difficult," said Harding,
as we started for the eighteenth tee. "I like to do the things other men
say cannot be done, and without blowing my own horn I have done a few of
them. I am fond of work, but when I play I play with all my might. The
boy who is not a good player will never make a good worker. You take a
boy who is playing baseball, for instance. I can watch a game among
youngsters and pick out those who are likely to win out later on in
life."

"How?" I interrupted.

"By the way they go at it. The one who covers the most ground on a ball
field will cover the most ground later on in whatever he undertakes. The
one who plays to win, who takes chances even at the risk of making
errors is the coming man. The boy who sits down in the out-field, on the
theory that a ball is not likely to come in his direction, will be poor
all his life. The boy who plays an unimportant position as if his very
existence depended upon it will get along all right, and don't you
forget it. But this golf game is so simple that it does not call on a
man to let himself out. Billiards is my game. Billiards is a game of
endless possibilities, and no matter how well a man plays there is
always room for improvement."

That made me mad, and I resented this assertion the more for the reason
that I once held the same views as he then expressed. I went right at
him.

"When you have played as many games of golf as you have of billiards," I
said, and I play a fair billiard game myself, "you will not mention them
in the same breath. Let me assure you, Mr. Harding, that golf is the
most difficult game in the w