"Ah, you do not think I will be a match for you to-morrow."
"Why, do you?" and Sprague laughed lightly.
"If not to-morrow, then the next day. I never rest until I am a match for my—what do you call it—enemy?"
"Not quite so bad as that—opponent," said Purvis.
"Opponent, yes, that is the word. I learnt English when I was a boy, but I have had such little practice at it lately, and so—but there, I will remember. Whenever I play a game—and is not life a game?—I am often beaten at first. But then I remember that there is always a to-morrow, and so I go on."
"Until you are a match for your opponent?"
"Until I have beaten him," said Ricordo.
Sprague laughed. "A lot of to-morrows are required in golf, Mr. Ricordo," he said.
"Yes, they are required for most things; but they come. Still, this match is only just begun yet. Who knows? I may improve!"
This conversation had taken place while walking from the green to the tee, which in this case was some little distance.