great believer in matrimony, as, having married three wives—­not simultaneously—­he had every right to be.  He was also of opinion that the less money the young bachelor possessed, the better.  The consequence was that he announced his intention of giving me a handsome allowance from the day that I married, but not an instant before.  Till that glad day I would have to shift for myself.  And I am bound to admit that—­for an uncle—­ it was a remarkably sensible idea.  I am also of the opinion that it is greatly to my credit, and a proof of my pure and unmercenary nature, that I did not instantly put myself up to be raffled for, or rush out into the streets and propose marriage to the first lady I met.  But I was making quite enough with my pen to support myself, and, be it never so humble, there is something pleasant in a bachelor existence, or so I had thought until very recently.

I had thus no great stake in Ukridge’s chicken farm.  I had contributed a modest five pounds to the preliminary expenses, and another five after the roop incident.  But further I could not go with safety.  When his income is dependent on the whims of editors and publishers, the prudent man keeps something up his sleeve against a sudden slump in his particular wares.  I did not wish to have to make a hurried choice between matrimony and the workhouse.

Having exhausted the subject of finance—­or, rather, when I began to feel that it was exhausting me—­I took my clubs, and strolled up the hill to the links to play off a match with a sportsman from the village.  I had entered some days previously for a competition for a trophy (I quote the printed notice) presented by a local supporter of the game, in which up to the present I was getting on nicely.  I had survived two rounds, and expected to beat my present opponent, which would bring me into the semi-final.  Unless I had bad luck, I felt that I ought to get into the final, and win it.  As far as I could gather from watching the play of my rivals, the professor was the best of them, and I was convinced that I should have no difficulty with him.  But he had the most extraordinary luck at golf, though he never admitted it.  He also exercised quite an uncanny influence on his opponent.  I have seen men put completely off their stroke by his good fortune.

I disposed of my man without difficulty.  We parted a little coldly.  He had decapitated his brassy on the occasion of his striking Dorsetshire instead of his ball, and he was slow in recovering from the complex emotions which such an episode induces.

In the club-house I met the professor, whose demeanour was a welcome contrast to that of my late opponent.  The professor had just routed his opponent, and so won through to the semi-final.  He was warm, but jubilant.

I congratulated him, and left the place.

Phyllis was waiting outside.  She often went round the course with him.

“Good afternoon,” I said.  “Have you been round with the professor?”