"Well," the speaker replied, with some hesitation, "there's no use trying to make you believe we were listening to Baker's explanation of how the bunkers have been located exactly where the golf committee knows his ball is going to strike—"
"Heaven forbid!" Huntington exclaimed; "but don't apologize. I congratulate the Club that the members are at last turning their attention to serious things. 'Tell the truth and shame the devil'—provided it is Connie, and not me, you are going to shame."
"Don't mind me in the least," Cosden added. "My hide is tough, and I rather like to be put through the acid test once in a while."
"Oh, it isn't as bad as all that," the speaker explained. "We love you both, but in different ways, yet we can't make out just where you two fellows hitch up. Now, that isn't lèse-majesté, is it?"
"What do you think, Connie?" Huntington asked, lighting his pipe. "Is that an insult or a compliment?"
"I don't see that it makes much difference from this crowd. We don't care what they say about us as long as they pay us the compliment of noticing us. That's the main point, and I'm glad we've been able to start something."
"But why don't you tell us?" insisted the speaker. "You aren't interested in anything Monty cares for except golf, and he hasn't even a flirting acquaintance with business, which is your divinity, yet you two fellows have formed a fine young Damon and Pythias combination which we all envy. Why don't you tell us how it happened?"
"I don't know," Cosden answered, serious at last and speaking with characteristic directness. "I never stopped to think of it; but if we're satisfied, whose concern is it, anyhow?"
"If friendship requires explanation, then it isn't friendship," added Huntington. "Connie contributes much to my life which would otherwise be lacking, and I hope that he would say the same of my relation to him."
"Of course—that goes without saying; but neither one of you is telling us anything. If you would explain your method perhaps we might become more reconciled to some of these misfits lying around the Club—like Baker over there—"