"I had just time to catch a train," I said. "What's the news?"
"News? Let's see?" reflected Chilvers. "Grandma Marshall, here, won the July cup, and our team won the match with South Meadows by a score of twenty-three to five. Say, we didn't do a thing to those boys. Moon has bought two new clubs, Boyd made the sixth hole in two, Duff won four dozen balls from Monahan, Lawson has a new stance which he claims will lengthen out his drive twenty yards—and speaking about Lawson, he discovers something every week which lengthens his drive at least twenty yards. I've figured out that he should be driving at least five hundred yards from improvements alone. That's all the news I can think of; do you know any, Marshall?"
"They have moved the tee back on the seventh hole," volunteered
Marshall, "and—oh, yes; Wallace has gone."
"Where's he gone?" I asked, exasperated at the character of their information.
"Someone died over in Scotland and left him money," said Chilvers. "Just as soon as we get a good professional, his rich relatives pass away and we lose him."
"How is Mr. Harding?" I asked.
I saw Chilvers wink at Marshall.
"Did you say Mr. Harding or Miss Harding?" asked Chilvers.
"I said Mr. Harding. What's the matter; are you deaf?"
"I'm a little hard of hearing at times," he grinned. "Let's see; when did Mr. Harding leave here, Marshall?"