w shop, a place all windows,
sunshine, labels, varnishes, vises, files, grips, and clubs of exquisite
workmanship. At one of the benches a grave-eyed young negro, aproned and
concentrated, was enamelling the head of a driver with shellac. Sudden
cannon fire would not have shaken his hand. In one corner a rosy lad
with curly yellow hair dangled his legs from the height of a
packing-case and chewed gum. He had been born with a golden spoon in his
mouth, and was learning golf from the inside. Sometimes he winked with
one eye. But these silent comments were hidden from the major.

"I don't care about the tournament," said the latter, his loose lip
trembling slightly. "I'll just practice a little."

"Don't be in a hurry, sir," said Jimmie sympathetically; "General
Bullwigg hasn't any one to go around with either. And if you don't
mind----"

"Bullwigg," said the major vaguely; "I used to know a Bullwigg."

"He's a very fine gentleman indeed, sir," said Jimmie. "Same handicap as
yourself, sir, and if you don't mind----"

"Where is he from?" asked the major.

"I don't know, sir. Mr. Bowers extended the privileges of the club to
him. He's stopping at the Park in the Pines."

"Oh!" said the major, and then with a certain dignity and resolution:
"If Mr. Bowers knows him, and if _he_ doesn't mind, I'm sure I don't. Is
he here?"

"He's waiting at the first tee," said Jimmie, and he averted his face.

At the first tee old Major Jennings found a portly, red-faced gentleman,
with fierce, bushy eyebrows, who seemed prepared to play golf under any
condition of circumstance and weather. He had two caddies. One carried a
monstrous bag, which, in addition to twice the usual number of clubs,
contained a crook-handled walking-stick and a crook-handled umbrella;
the other carried over his right arm a greatcoat, in case the June-like
weather should turn cold, and over his left a mackintosh, in case rain
should fall from the cloudless, azure heavens. The gentleman himself was
swinging a wooden club, with pudgy vehemence, at an imaginary ball. Upon
his countenance was that expression of fortitude which wins battles and
championships. Old Major Jennings approached timidly. He was very shy.
In the distance he saw two of his intimate friends finishing out the
first hole. Except for himself and the well-prepared stranger they had
been the last pair to start, and the old major's pale blue eyes clung to
them as those of a shipwrecked mariner