“Because you look so like a kid and yet you’ve got the nerve--no, not nerve--the confidence and manner of your own great-grandmother. It’s very confusing,” complained young Mr. Robson, leaning dejectedly upon the gate. “Perhaps it arrives from my having been brought up abroad and much among older people,” she surmised, with one of her slightly un-English turns of phrase. “One reason for my coming here to the University is to accustom myself to your American ways.” “‘_Your_’ American ways?” “Our American ways,” she amended sweetly. “Oh, I am all American in my heart!” The gay and willful little dimple again materialized on her cheek. “Still, one cannot remain indefinitely leaning over a gate in conversation, however thrilling, with a young man whose name one does not even know, can one?” she pointed out. “You don’t know my name?” Young Mr. Robson looked distinctly annoyed. “Mr. Laurens presented me. Don’t you remember?” “But you were only a reporter who was going to write something about me, then.” With an emphasis on the final word, slight, indeed, yet amply sufficient to make amends. Her caller brightened perceptibly. “Surname Robson. Given name, Jeremy. Jem, when you get to know me better.” She opened her eyes very wide to take in this idea. “You expect that we are going to know each other so well as that?” “We certainly are if I can bring it about. Don’t you think I’ve made a good start?” “At least a quick one. What is your next step?” “That’s what’s worrying me a little.” “But so progressing a young man as you, with so much perseverance,” she taunted, “surely if you planned to see me once, you would plan how to see me again. Perhaps, though, you do not wish to see me again soon,” she added, with an adorable mock-melancholy droop of the alluring lips. “You’ll never win any guessing contests on that form, Miss Ames,” he assured her, shaking his head solemnly. “But you’re right enough about my having a plan. The question is, will it work.” “Try it.” “Here goes. You’re trying for the Varsity golf team, are n’t you?” “I intend to, if I improve enough.” “Are you pretty good?” “I am steady. Only twice I have been as high as one hundred. But my short approaches are bad.” “I can help ’em.” “Can you? Are you a good player?” “Fair. But I’ll tell you what I am. I’m a good coach. We never lost an intercollegiate at Kirk in the three years I captained the team.” “And you offer to coach me? It is very kind of you.” “Wait. It may not be so simple as all that.” “Shall you exact terms?” she smiled. “This depends on how much you are in earnest about making the team.” “Very much.” “Enough to get up at five in the morning and play a round?” “Why such an unearthly hour?” “It’s about the only time I can be sure of. Don’t forget I’m a hard-working reporter.” “I thought you wished me to forget it, only a moment ago,” she teased.