"It has come at last!" I said, and I opened the door, nerving myself up to sustain the blow which I believed was impending. Mercury stood without, flapping the wings that sprouted from his ankles impatiently.
"The skitomobile is ready, sir," he said.
I gazed at him earnestly.
"The what?"
"The skitomobile, to take you to the links. Jupiter has already gone on ahead, and he has commanded me to follow, bringing you along with me."
"Oh—I'm to go to the links, eh? What's he going to do with me when he gets me there? Turn me into a golf-ball and drive me off into space?" I inquired.
My heart sank at the very idea, but I was immediately reassured by Mercury's hearty laugh.
"Of course not—why should he? He's going to play you an eighteen-hole match. You've made a great impression on the old gentleman."
"Thank Heaven!" I said. "I'll hurry along and join him before he changes his mind."
In a brief while I was ready, and, escorted by Mercury, I was taken to the skitomobile which stood at the exit from the hall to the outer roadway nearest my room. Seated in front of this, and acting as chauffeur, was a young man whom I recognized at once as Phaeton. Alongside of him sat Jason, polishing up the most beautiful set of golf-clubs I ever saw. The irons were of wrought gold, and the shafts of the most highly polished and exquisite woods.