I do not know how to account for it, but since the coming of the Hardings my game has fallen off several strokes.  It seems impossible for me to concentrate my mind on my shots.

Ninety-one is very poor golf for nine holes, and I am sure that with practice under a capable golfer Miss Harding could do much better.  She has just the figure for a long, true and swinging stroke.  I shall make it a point to ask her to play before Carter gets a chance to forestall me.

Unless I am entirely in error Carter is badly smitten with Miss Harding.  It also occurs to me that I have written enough about that young lady.

Mr. Harding is also in the city.  I wish I had his opinion about the future of N.O. & G. railroad stock.  It has gone down another point, which means the loss of two thousand dollars to me.

An odd sort of an incident happened yesterday morning.  None of the scratch players was about, so I accepted an invitation to play a round with LaHume and Miss Lawrence.  She is a very pretty girl, though in my opinion she is not to be compared with Miss Harding.  LaHume is devoted to her, as much as he can be devoted to any one or anything, and there have been rumours now and then that they were engaged or about to be engaged, but since it has always been possible to trace these reports back to LaHume I have had my doubts of their accuracy.  Miss Olive Lawrence has inherited a large fortune, and is the master of it and of herself.

LaHume has been a persistent fortune hunter, and if patience be a virtue he deserves to win.  He had a tiff yesterday with Miss Lawrence, and it came about curiously enough.

The Bishop farm adjoins the club grounds on the east, and everyone for miles about knows Bishop.  He has little use for anything but work and money, and he always has difficulty in keeping farm labourers, or “hired men,” as he terms them.

About a month ago he employed a fellow named Wallace, who admitted that he did not know much about farming, but who said he was strong and healthy and was willing to do the best he could.  It was in the haying season and Bishop was short of men, so he gave this chap a chance.

I met Bishop one day shortly after he put Wallace to work, and he told me something about him.

“He’s strong an’ willin’ enough,” said Bishop, as we stood talking over the fence, “but he surely is the blamedest, funniest hired man I ever had, an’ I’ve had some that’d make a man quit the church.  What do you think he wants?”

I assured him that I could not imagine.

“Soap in his room, and cake soap at that!” he exclaimed.  “If I hadn’t given it to him he’d a quit, so I had to give it to him.  He takes a bath every morning, an’ shaves.  That’s what he does!  Gets up about four o’clock and goes down to the old swimming hole in the crick, paddles around a while, an’ then comes back to the house an’ shaves, an’ then goes out an’ milks an’