“I don’t think I’d ever make a golfer,” replied Kendall. “You know I tried last year, Kirk.”
“I know you did. And did mighty well, too. All you need is practice. I wish you’d think it over. It’s so hard to get good fellows for the team!”
“Maybe I will, if you want me to,” said Kendall. “I like golf very much, only I don’t believe I’d ever become much of a player.”
“I think you would,” replied Kirk earnestly. “Any fellow who can do as well in football as you’re doing, and has such a dandy sense of directions and distance as you must have to kick those goals, ought to make a good golfer.”
Kendall smiled, and, seeing the inquiring look on Kirk’s face, explained. “I was thinking of something Ned Tooker said last year. Ned said that a good football player couldn’t be a good golf player; that the one spoiled him for the other; I forget just why.”
Kirk laughed. “Well, Ned was the best golfer we’ve ever had here, but he didn’t know everything. And, besides, Ned was fond of saying things just for the sound of them!”
“A common failing,” grieved Gerald as he splashed and gurgled at the stand. “Alas, how”—gurgle—“few of us”—sniff! splash!—“consider the sense”—sniff! sniff!—“of our utterances! Where’s that towel?”
“Then it’s a promise, is it, Burtis?” asked the golf captain eagerly.
“Why—er—yes, if you like. At least, I’ll give it a fair try, Kirk.”
“Good stuff! We’ll have some games together after the Broadwood game’s over. Well, I’ll run along. ’Bye, Gerald.”