"You won't be so frivolous when I tell you of the narrow escape I have had. See that trusty club? See the blood on it?" They were standing close to each other as he held up the blood-spattered stick.
"Oh, Hugh," she gasped, "is it blood?"
"Life's blood," he answered laconically.
"Not yours, Hugh? You are not hurt?" she cried.
"This is the beast's blood, Tennys. I am not so much as scratched, but it was a frightful encounter," he went on, with well-assumed gravity.
"Tell me about it. Where was it? What was it? Tell me everything," she begged. He took her arm and together they proceeded toward their wild home.
"After breakfast I'll take you around the bend and prove to you my valor."
"But I cannot wait and, besides, you have proved your valor. Do tell me where the blood came from."
"That awful thing plunged from the underbrush upon me so suddenly that I was almost paralyzed," he said soberly. "I didn't have much time to think, and I don't know what I should have done if it had not been for this excellent club, which I had cut for a rather inglorious purpose. With one of the very best strokes a golfer ever made I cracked his skull."
"His skull!"