“Millington,” I said, “did you see where that ball went?”
“I did,” he said, turning to the left. “It went over there, into that tall grass. It is a lost ball. Every ball that goes into that tall grass is gone forever. I have never known any one to recover a ball that fell in that tall grass.”
Then he stepped proudly to the sand-box and made another tee.
“Hand me a ball,” he said, “and I will show you the proper way to hit it.”
I gave him a ball and he placed it carefully on the tee. Then he grasped his driver in both hands, snuggled the head of it up to the ball lovingly, drew back the club and struck the ball. I was not quick enough to see the ball go, but Millington was.
“Fine!” he exclaimed. “I sliced it a little, but I must have got good distance. I must have driven that ball two hundred yards.”
“But where did it go?” I asked.