Just as I anticipated, I found Thomas at a table with Miss Ross and Miss Dangerfield.  Both are so pretty it is a shame they attempt to play golf.

“We are planning a foursome and Miss Dangerfield has chosen you for her partner,” began Thomas, who knows exactly how I feel about such matters and who delights to lure me into trouble.

“If you and Miss Dangerfield will give Miss Ross and me two strokes,” proposed Thomas, “we will play you for the dinners.”

I felt sure it was a put-up job, but what could I say?

“I did not dare choose you for my partner, Mr. Smith,” interposed Miss Dangerfield.  “I know it is tiresome for a good player to go pottering around the links with women at his heels, and only suggested a game if you had no other engagements.”

“Mr. Smith dare not plead another engagement,” asserted Miss Ross, her dark eyes flashing a challenge.  She is a lovely girl, but digs up the turf terribly.

“Smith has no game on.  He has been over there talking for an hour,” added Thomas, before I could say a word.  I could have murdered him.

“I am delighted, and it is kind of you to ask me,” I lied most effusively.  “It is an easy game for us, Miss Dangerfield.”

“Do not be too sure,” scornfully laughed Miss Rosa.  “Mr. Thomas is a splendid player.”

“But he cannot equal Mr. Smith,” declared my loyal partner.  “Oh, Mr. Smith, I have heard so much of your long drives and wonderful approach shots!  It is so good of you to play with us.”

“It is an unexpected pleasure,” I replied, rather ashamed of myself.

I have no patience to describe in detail the game which followed.  I am usually sure on a drive, but I topped five out of the eighteen and popped half of the others into the air.

Miss Dangerfield distinguished herself by missing her ball four successive times from the tee.  This is not the female record for this feat, so I am informed, but it is a very creditable performance for a young lady who selects a scratch player for her partner.

Miss Ross played my ball by mistake on two occasions, and on one of them succeeded in almost cutting it in half.  It is a mystery to me why a woman cannot keep track of her own ball, when as a rule she does not knock it more than twenty yards.

The ball she hits is usually a dirty, hacked-up object, but when she goes to look for it she imagines that by some miracle it has been transformed into a clean, white, and unmarked sphere, which has been driven for the first time.

Carter arrived at the club shortly after our “mixed foursome” had started out.  He took my place, he and Boyd playing Marshall and Chilvers.  Our orbits crossed several times.

Miss Dangerfield found three balls.  One of them belonged to Chilvers, and he saw her find it, but he is a perfect gentleman and did not say a word.  It was the one redeeming incident in the game.