"If they'll have me."
"Hope they won't," I said.
But I didn't.
The next Wednesday we had lessons after breakfast, because it was a good deal cooler. Twigg said I had studied first rate, and if I liked we'd have a go at golf. So we did. I beat him one up and two to play. I thought at first he was just letting me win, but he wasn't. He didn't seem to be thinking of golf and looked sort of sober all the way round. When we'd finished he said:
"Raymond, I don't think I'll have an opportunity to use my clubs again this summer, and so, if you'd like me to, I'll leave them here. I dare say you could get some fun out of them. You could get a good deal of practice that would help you a lot later on."
"Leave them?" I asked. "I—I didn't know you were going away."
"You forget that my month's up to-morrow," he answered quietly. "I was to have a month in which to see what I could do. If by the end of that time I had managed to get you in control I was to stay on. That was the agreement with your father."
"Oh," I muttered. We were sitting under the big maple tree on the lawn. I had an iron putter and was digging a hole in the turf.
"Yes," he continued, "to-morrow ends the present arrangement. I wish very much that I could go to Mr. Dale and tell him that I had won. But I can't. I haven't won, Raymond. I have gained ground, but the victory is still a long way off."
"You—you've done better than the others," I muttered.