We’d all of us seen the Major get in there with a bad lie and still reach the green in par. So we all put our minds on the woods, and, since there wasn’t a sound when the Major laid his brassie behind his ball, I fancy there was a deal of mental suggestion going on. Bedford had shot clean and sweet over the rise, and we knew he was all right. The Major looked a bit grim as he prepared to swing, but he didn’t show any nerves. And then he hit.” “Well――well――” stammered Clif eagerly when the narrator stopped, “what happened, sir?” “Why,” answered Mr. Cooper, smiling, “what could happen? There was only one of the Major and a whole rabble of us. He sliced into the trees, lost ball, stroke, hole and match, two down and one to play!” “Great!” approved Clif. “And do you really think, sir,” asked Loring, “that mental suggestion did it?” “You’ll have to decide that for yourself. That is, _I_ think so, but the Major doesn’t. He says he took his eye off the ball!” CHAPTER X “FIGHT! FIGHT!” The gong warning them of study hour rang and Clif and Tom departed. Somewhat more than an hour later, however, they were back again. Naturally Mr. Cooper was the subject of conversation for awhile. Clif, too, had now fallen victim to the attractions of the gentleman, and he and Loring ventured numerous theories regarding him. “I’ll bet,” Clif declared, “he’s seen a lot. He reminds you of one of those explorer chaps you read about and see pictures of, doesn’t he? Look at the way he’s all tanned up.” “I don’t believe that’s tan,” said Tom. “I think his liver’s on the fritz. Well, maybe some of it’s tan, but――” “I guess he must have lived in India,” remarked Loring. “I met a man who lived there for a long time; represented an American oil company; and he had just the same sort of skin.” “How come he was in the English Army, though, if he’s an American?” asked Clif. “I don’t believe he’s an American at all,” scoffed Tom. “I do! Look at the way he talks. Not all the time, but usually. He doesn’t talk a bit like Wattles.” “I think,” said Loring gravely, “he’s a Cosmopolite.” Tom was evidently in doubt as to what that was, but before he could ask enlightenment Clif exclaimed: “Well, whatever he is, he’s a mighty nice sort. I like him. I suppose he’s really quite old, but he doesn’t seem so, does he? Do you suppose he’s going to stay here right along, Loring?” Tom made no objections to the recent guest as a topic of conversation, and even expressed an opinion himself now and then, but it was plain to be seen that he did not share the other boys’ enthusiasm for Mr. Cooper.