"If you gentlemen are not in a hurry perhaps you won't mind our going on."
"Not in the least. Time is of no object to us. We are here for the day. You will probably find us still here when you come round again, should you propose to do a second round. Go on, please."
While they went on I examined the clubs which Hollis had suggested; finally deciding on one, though it was not at all to my taste.
"Mind you, this is much too long for me."
"It does not look as if it were the kind of club to which you're accustomed. Perhaps you would prefer a hockey-stick. Should I send for one while we're waiting?"
"I thought," growled Pickard, "that we'd come here to play golf."
With that I let fly. I did not propose to wait for the repetition of such an insinuation as that; emanating, moreover, from a complete stranger. I did not pause to consider, to take aim, for anything. Scarcely were the words out of that unmannerly Scotchman's lips than I made my stroke. Owing, no doubt, to the haste to which I was impelled, I hit nothing but the vacant air, though I had used such force that I myself almost tumbled to the ground.
"That would have been a good shot," commented Hollis, "if you had hit the ball. It's a pity you missed it. Have another go."
I immediately repeated my stroke, hardly giving myself time to recover my equilibrium. Not at all to my surprise, in view of the excessive length of the club, I struck the end of it against the earth so violently as to break it clean in two, to say nothing of the jarring sensation which went right up to my shoulder.
"You hit something that time," murmured Hollis, "though it wasn't the ball. Have another club. There are plenty more where that came from."