I was practising putting on a green set aside for that purpose, and Carter saw me and motioned me to come to him.  He introduced Harding, who shook hands and then glanced curiously at my putter.

“What do you call that?” he asked, taking it from my hand.  It was an aluminum putter of my own design, and I have won many a game with it.  I told him what it was.

“Looks like a brake shoe on the new-model hand-cars,” he said, swinging it viciously with one hand.  “How far can you knock one of those little pills with it?”

“I see that you do not play golf,” I said, rather offended at his manner.

“No, there are a lot of things I do not do, and this is one of them,” he replied, and then he laughed.  “But let me tell you,” he added, “I used to be a wonder at shinny.”

I would have wagered he would make some such remark.

“Do you see that scar on the bridge of my nose?” he asked.  “That came from a crack with a shinny club when I was not more than ten years old.  Shinny is a great game; a great game!  It requires quickness of eye and limb, and more than that it demands a high degree of courage.  It teaches a boy to stand a hard knock without whimpering.  Yes, sir, shinny is a great game, and all boys should play it,” and he rubbed the scar on his nose tenderly.

A man who would compare golf with shinny is capable of contrasting Venice with a drainage canal, and I came near telling him so.  Golf and shinny!  Whist and old maid!  Pink lemonade and champagne!

“No, sir, I never could see much in this golf game,” said Harding, handing back my putter.  “It certainly isn’t much of a trick to hit one of those balls with a mallet like that.  When I was your age,” turning to Carter, “I could swing a maul and send a railroad spike into five inches of seasoned oak, and never miss once a week, and I’ll bet that if I had to I could do it again.  That was what your father used to do for a living, and if he hadn’t worked up from a section boss to the presidency of a railroad you would have something else to do besides batting balls around a farm and then hunting for ’em.  But I suppose you must like it or you wouldn’t do it.”

“I think you would find the game interesting if you took it up,” suggested Carter, whose father is nearly as rich as Harding.  “Smith and I will initiate you into the mysteries of the game.”

“Oh, I suppose I’ll have to play now that I’m here,” he said, with the most exasperating complacency.  “My daughter plays some, and she is as crazy about it as the rest of them.  I don’t see where the fascination comes in.  I called the other day on a man who was once in the Cabinet.  He is rich and famous, and can have anything or do anything he likes, but he spends most of his time playing golf.  I went to him and attempted to induce him to represent us in a big railway lawsuit, but he said it would prevent his playing in some tournament where he expected to win five dollars’ worth of plated pewter.  What do you think of that?  Wouldn’t take the case, and there was fifty thousand in it for him!  I roasted the life out of him.”