"Of course ye wouldn't," said MacQuarrie. "Ye've never played with him—never even seen him play."
"But he's such a little rotter!" mumbled Harson.
"Ay," said Dunn'l; "an', grantin' ye that, he's still the best ye have. He's in the clubhouse now, dressed an' ready to start, once the crowd is out of the way."
"And he really did a seventy-seven this morning?" asked Harson.
"With two missed putts—wee ones."
I looked at Harson and Harson looked at me.
"You go in and put it up to him," said he at last. "I can't talk to him without losing my temper."
I found our little red hope banging the balls about on the billiard table, carefree as a scarlet tanager.
"Young man," said I, "your country calls you."
"I'm under age," said Ambrose, calmly squinting along his cue. "Don't bother me. This is a tough shot."