“You shall play as my guest,” declared Miss Lawrence.  “I have a perfect right to—­”

“I should be glad to extend that courtesy to Mr. Wallace at any time,” I interrupted, fearing that she might say something which would be misconstrued.

“I thank both of you, but it is out of the question,” said Wallace with quiet dignity, and Miss Harding with her usual tact changed the topic by asking Wallace to illustrate a certain point relating to the short approach shot.

On our way back to the auto I walked with Mr. Bishop, and of a sudden a thought occurred to me.

“I am in an important competition for a trophy presented to the club by Mr. Harding,” I explained, “and I wish you to do me a favour.”

“What kind of a favour?”

“If I can arrange with Wallace to give me a few lessons in driving and approaching, will you have any objections?  It would put some extra money in his pocket.”

“Not after he is through with his work,” Bishop said, hesitating a moment.  “But I can’t have you folks takin’ up his time as a regular thing when he should be out in the field.  This thing to-day is all right enough, and I’m glad to accommodate Miss Lawrence and the rest of ye, but of course, as you know, Jack, it breaks up his day’s work, and this is a busy season on a farm like this.  But as a rule he is through his chores at half-past six, and there’s lots of sunlight after that.”

I managed to get Wallace aside before we left the farmhouse.  I told him of the club competition and of my desire to win the Harding trophy.

“Mr. Bishop tells me your time is your own after half-past six in the evening,” I said.  “Would you be willing to give me a few lessons after that hour?  I will bring clubs and balls and meet you where we were this afternoon.”

“I will tell you anything I know, Mr. Smith,” he said, “but I fear I shall prove a poor instructor.”

“I shall expect to pay for your time, Mr. Wallace, and if you can improve my drive you will find it worth your while,” I said, glad of a chance to do something in an honourable way for a chap who certainly has not been favoured with his share of good fortune.

“If I accept pay I will become a professional golfer, will I not, Mr. Smith?” he asked, and for the life of me I did not know what to say.

“I would be willing to pay you five dollars a lesson,” I said, ignoring his question, trusting that the figure named would outweigh scruples, if he really had any.

“It is more than I would take, though I thank you for the offer,” he said.  “I do not doubt that golf is an honourable profession—­in fact I know it is—­but for reasons which will not interest you I prefer to maintain my amateur standing.  It will be a pleasure to play with you, sir, and to help your game if I can, but I would rather not accept money.”

“Very well,” I said, “I’ll find some other way to repay you.  Suppose I take the first lesson to-morrow evening?”