“If you would like to see your room, sir, before you go out,” the man suggested, “it is quite ready. If you will give me your keys I will have your clothes laid out.”
Mr. Sabin turned about in amazement.
“What do you mean?” he exclaimed. “I have not come here to stay.”
“I understood so, sir,” the man answered. “Your room has been ready for three weeks.”
Mr. Sabin was bewildered. Then he remembered the stories which he had heard of American hospitality, and concluded that this must be an instance of it.
“I had not the slightest intention of stopping here,” he said to the man.
“Mrs. Peterson expected you to do so, sir, and we have sent your conveyance away. If it is inconvenient for you to remain now, it will be easy to send you anywhere you desire later.”
“For the immediate present,” Mr. Sabin said, “Mrs. Peterson not having arrived, I want to see that golf course.”
“If you will permit me, sir,” the man said, “I will show you the way.”
They followed a winding footpath which brought them suddenly out on the border of a magnificent stretch of park-like country. Mr. Sabin, whose enthusiasms were rare, failed wholly to restrain a little exclamation of admiration. A few yards away was one of the largest and most magnificently kept putting-greens that he had ever seen in his life. By his side was a raised teeing-ground, well and solidly built. Far away down in the valley he could see the flag of the first hole just on the other side of a broad stream.