“I see, Bill.  Well, give that blue vase to the porter in the morning.  I paid fifteen cents for it in a five, ten and fifteen cent store.  Meanwhile, hop into that upper berth and help yourself to a well-earned rest.”

“But aren’t you going to a wedding anniversary at Santa Barbara, Mr. Ricks?”

“I am not.  Bill, I discovered a long time ago that it’s a good idea for me to get out of town and play golf as often as I can.  Besides which, prudence dictates that I remain away from the office for a week after the seeker of blue vases fails to deliver the goods and—­by the way, Bill, what sort of a game do you play?  Oh, forgive me, Bill.  I forgot about your left arm.”

“Say, look here, sir,” Bill Peck retorted, I’m big enough and ugly enough to play one-handed golf.”

“But, have you ever tried it?”

“No, sir,” Bill Peck replied seriously, “but—­it shall be done!”