"You're all right, Socks," declared Chilvers. "I only wish I could get as good a press agent as our friend Bishop. When I was a kid I used to push 'em into the pond and run, and let someone else fish them out."
"If a man were to do an act as brave as that," asserted Miss Harding, "the world would acclaim him a hero, and not pile ridicule on him."
"All of which proves that no boy is a hero to another boy," commented Mr. Harding, "and that is as it should be. Boys get their heroes out of books, and as a rule they are fighters and pirates rather than of the self-sacrificing type."
I was glad when Miss Lawrence changed the topic of conversation.
"What do you think?" she exclaimed, addressing no one in particular, "I have discovered that Mr. Wallace knows how to play golf, and that he learned the game on some of the famous old courses of Scotland. He has promised to teach me the St. Andrews swing."
LaHume's face was a study as Miss Lawrence made this rather startling announcement. Surprise, disgust, and anger were reflected in his eyes and in the lines of his mouth.
"You have played St. Andrews?" asked Carter of Wallace.
"Yes, many a time," said this remarkable "hired man." "I was born hard-by the old town," he added.
"Indeed?" sneered LaHume. "What were you while there; caddy or professional?"
I thought I detected a flash of anger in the eyes of the young
Scotchman, but if offended he controlled himself admirably. Not so with
Miss Lawrence, who glared indignantly at LaHume.