"Mr. Wallace?" I repeated. At that instant I could not think whom she meant.
"Mr. Bishop's assistant."
"Oh, yes!" I exclaimed. By a mighty effort I kept from smiling. It was the first time I had heard a "hired man" called an "assistant," and I have heard them called many names.
"Do you remember that at the dinner I said Mr. Wallace had promised to teach me the St. Andrews swing?" she asked, her eyes bright with excitement.
"Yes."
"I took my first lesson yesterday afternoon. Miss Ross and I went over to Mr. Bishop's after dinner, as we arranged we should during the dance. We put our clubs in my auto when no one was looking, and went by a roundabout way to the big sheep pasture to the east of the farmhouse. Do you know where it is?"
"Perfectly."
"It was still half an hour from sunset, and Mr. Wallace was there waiting for us. Mr. Smith," clasping her hands, "you should see that gentleman play golf!"
"I had an idea he could play from the moment he lofted your sliced ball over the fence that afternoon," I said.
"Can you go with us?" she asked suddenly. "Miss Ross and I promised Mr. Wallace we would come over this afternoon an I bring a set of men's clubs with us, and it would be just splendid for you to go with us. Will you go, Mr. Smith?"