"None that I know of," replied the Colonel. He returned to his chair and rested his hand on the back. "You play golf, anyhow," said he, pointing to the brown canvas bag in the corner.
"Oh, yes," said Paul.
"Any good?"
"Fair to middling."
"What's your handicap?" asked the Colonel, an enthusiastic though inglorious practitioner of the game.
"One," said Paul.
"The deuce it is!" cried the Colonel. "Mine is fifteen. You must give me a lesson or two when you pull round. We've a capital course here."
"That's very kind of you," said Paul, "but I'm afraid I shall be well enough for ordinary purposes long before I'm able to handle a golf club."
"What do you mean?"
"This silly pleurisy. It will hang about for ages!"