And wounded in all the pride of new manhood, he joined Marion and her rather riotous crowd around the fire inside the clubhouse. Clayton had given him up and was going around alone, followed by a small caddie. The links were empty, and the caddie lonely. He ventured small bits of conversation now and then, looking up with admiration at Clayton's tall figure. And, after a little, Clayton took the bag from him and used him only for retrieving balls. The boy played round, whistling.
“Kinda quiet to-day, ain't it?” he offered, trudging a foot or two behind.
“It is, rather, young man.”
“Mostly on Saturdays I caddie for Mr. Valentine. But he's gone to the war.”
“Oh, he has, has he?” Clayton built a small tee, and placed his ball on it. “Well, maybe we'll all be going some day.”
He drove off and started after the ball. It was not until he was on the green that he was conscious of the boy beside him again.
“How old d'you have to be to get into the army, Mr. Spencer?” inquired the caddie, anxiously.
Clayton looked at him quizzically.
“Want to try for it, do you? Well, I'm afraid you'll have to wait a bit.”
“I'm older than I look, Mr. Spencer.”