“The golf, I mean.”
“To-morrow.”
She laughed outright. “You lose no time.”
“I don’t know that I have any to lose. I don’t know how long you’re to be here.”
“Nor do I,” she answered with a sudden gravity. “Very well; to-morrow. I will meet you at the club house at 5.45. Oh! I forgot. My golf shoes are at Eli Wade’s. You remember; the ‘Boot & Shoe Surgeon’?”
“I’ll get them this afternoon, and bring them with me.”
“‘Lo, Miss Marcy!”
The interruption, in a cheerful sing-song, came from behind Jeremy. He turned to face the small boy and the dog of his earlier encounter.
“Good-morning, Buddy,” returned the girl.
“I’ve come to weed the sparr’grass.”