"Did you see me soak it, Kid?" he asked, brushing the sand from his trousers, and fumbling at a broken suspender.
"You are nothing but a great big boy," she declared. "Are you sure you are not hurt, papa?"
"Hurt, nothing!" exclaimed Harding, "but I'll bet I hurt that ball. I've lost my collar button," he said, pawing about the tee with his feet. "Your eyes are sharper than mine, Kid, see if you can find it. It must be around here somewhere."
"My friend, Mr. Smith," said Carter, presenting me to Miss Harding. She did not bow coldly, as do most young ladies in our set, neither was there anything bold in accepting this most informal introduction. She acted like a good fellow should act, and frankly offered her hand, her eyes dancing with amusement.
"Smith owns this land," volunteered Harding, still hunting for the button, "but he was too lazy to work it, so he turned it into a golf course. He and Carter are great players, so I have heard, but I have been putting it all over them driving a ball, and I didn't half try at that."
"Did you hit it, papa?" she asked.
"Did I hit it?" he repeated, "Did I hit it? Ask them if I hit it. Where in thunder is that collar-button?"
And then the four of us hunted for that elusive but useful article. Miss Harding found it in a tuft of grass, and I stood and stupidly watched her while she put it in place, adjusted the collar and tied the cravat.
"Papa is very lucky in whatever he undertakes," she said, addressing me rather than Carter, so I believe. "I could have warned you that he would have beaten you, though I cannot understand how he happened to drive a ball as far as that."
She smiled and looked proudly at the huge figure of her father, who patted her on the cheek and laughed disdainfully.