He waved them a curt farewell as they entered the latest Whipple car.

“But, you know, the poor kid after all hasn’t any form,” the convalescent Merle announced to Patricia when they were seated.

“He has nice hair and teeth,” said the girl, looking far ahead as the car moved off.

“Oh, hair—­teeth!” murmured Merle, loftily careless, as one possessing hair and teeth of his own.  “I’m talking about golf.”

“He lines ’em out,” said Patricia, cattishly.

“Too much like a professional.”  Merle lifted a hand from the wheel to wave deprecation.  “That’s what the poor kid gets for hanging about that clubhouse all the time.”

“The poor kid!” murmured Patricia.  “I never noticed him much before.”

“Beastly overbearing sort of chap,” said Merle.

“Isn’t he?” said Patricia.  “I couldn’t help but notice that.”  She shifted her eyes sidewise at Merle.  “I do wish some of the folks could have been there,” she added, listlessly.

“Is that so?” he demanded, remembering then that this girl was never to be trusted, even in moods seemingly honeyed.  He spurted the new roadster in rank defiance of Newbern’s lately enacted ordinance regulating the speed of motor vehicles.

Yet the night must have brought him counsel, for he appeared the next afternoon—­though without Patricia—­to beseech further instruction from the competent brother.  He did this rather humbly for one of his station.

“I know my game must be pretty rotten,” he said.  “Maybe you can show me one or two more little things.”

“I’ll show you the same old things over again,” said Wilbur, overjoyed at this friendly advance, and forthwith he did.

For a week they played the course together, not only to the betterment of Merle’s technic, but to the promotion of a real friendliness between this Whipple and a mere Cowan.  They became as brothers again, seeming to have leaped the span of years during which they had been alien.  During those years Wilbur had kept secret his pride in his brother, his exultation that Merle should have been called for this high eminence and not found wanting.  There had been no one to whom he could reveal it, except to Winona, perhaps in little flashes.  Now that they were alone in a curious renewal of their old intimacy, he permitted it to shine forth in all its fullness, and Merle became pleasantly aware that this sharp-speaking brother—­where golf was concerned—­felt for him something much like worship.  The glow warmed them both as they loitered over the course, stopping at leisure to recall ancient happenings of their boyhood together.  Far apart now in their points of view, the expensively nurtured Merle, and Wilbur, who had grown as he would, whose education was of the street and the open, they found a common ground and rejoiced in their contact.

“I don’t understand why we haven’t seen more of each other all these years,” said Merle on a late day of this renewed companionship.  “Of course I’ve been away a lot—­school and trips and all that.”