"Well, that's just as you——"
"I think a medium one. Slow to medium."
The preliminaries being arranged, I proceeded to address the ball. My own instinct was to take the address as read and get to business as soon as possible, but in the presence of an expert like Hector I did not dare to omit the trimmings. As it was, after every waggle I felt less and less like hitting the Colonel. When at last I did let fly it was with feelings of relief that I discovered, on returning an eye to the spot, that the tee was indeed empty. I shaded my eyes and gazed into the middle distance.
"No," said Thomas, "it's more to the right." He indicated a spot in the foreground, about ten yards E.N.E. "There you are."
"That isn't my ball."
"Yes, sir," said Hector, grinning.
"May I have it back?"
Thomas laughed and smote his own into the blue. "You go on from there," he said.
"I'm still aiming at the same flag?"
"Go on, you ass."