“I’ve never seen anyone play golf,” admitted Kendall.
“You shall. Not only that, Curt, but I’ll make a golfer of you. I’ll teach you the game. What are you doing to-morrow? No, there’s a football game to-morrow. Then Monday?”
“Why—why, nothing.”
“First lesson at four promptly. You have no clubs, I suppose. Naturally you wouldn’t have. Very stupid of you, Ned. I’ll supply those necessary utensils.”
“I don’t think I could ever learn,” said Kendall doubtfully. “You hit a ball around with a stick, don’t you?”
“Poetically put, my boy! You hit a ball around with a stick! You shall see for yourself.” He drew out a handsome gold watch, looked at it and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I must run along home. Have you a clean collar?”
“Why, why, yes,” faltered Kendall.
“Let’s see it. Thank you.” Ned accepted it, drew a pencil from his pocket and wrote on the immaculate linen, “2 Dudley.” Then he hung the collar over a corner of the mirror. “There, that’s my address, Curt. Come often. I want you to know Teller better. Besides, I believe you can be of help to me in his education. Good night.”
“Good night,” said Kendall. “Thank you.”
Ned slammed the door behind him, and then, opening it again, he stuck his head back into the room.