“Golf,” he said, “is the Great Mystery. Like some capricious goddess--” The young man, who had been exhibiting symptoms of feverishness, appeared to become resigned. He sighed softly. “Did you ever read ‘The Ancient Mariner’?” he said. “Many years ago,” said the Oldest Member. “Why do you ask?” “Oh, I don’t know,” said the young man. “It just occurred to me.” * * * * * Golf (resumed the Oldest Member) is the Great Mystery. Like some capricious goddess, it bestows its favours with what would appear an almost fat-headed lack of method and discrimination. On every side we see big two-fisted he-men floundering round in three figures, stopping every few minutes to let through little shrimps with knock knees and hollow cheeks, who are tearing off snappy seventy-fours. Giants of finance have to accept a stroke per from their junior clerks. Men capable of governing empires fail to control a small, white ball, which presents no difficulties whatever to others with one ounce more brain than a cuckoo-clock. Mysterious, but there it is. There was no apparent reason why Ferdinand Dibble should not have been a competent golfer. He had strong wrists and a good eye. Nevertheless, the fact remains that he was a dub. And on a certain evening in June I realised that he was also a goof. I found it out quite suddenly as the result of a conversation which we had on this very terrace. I was sitting here that evening thinking of this and that, when by the corner of the clubhouse I observed young Dibble in conversation with a girl in white. I could not see who she was, for her back was turned. Presently they parted and Ferdinand came slowly across to where I sat. His air was dejected. He had had the boots licked off him earlier in the afternoon by Jimmy Fothergill, and it was to this that I attributed his gloom. I was to find out in a few moments that I was partly but not entirely correct in this surmise. He took the next chair to mine, and for several minutes sat staring moodily down into the valley. “I’ve just been talking to Barbara Medway,” he said, suddenly breaking the silence. “Indeed?” I said. “A delightful girl.” “She’s going away for the summer to Marvis Bay.” “She will take the sunshine with her.” “You bet she will!” said Ferdinand Dibble, with extraordinary warmth, and there was another long silence. Presently Ferdinand uttered a hollow groan. “I love her, dammit!” he muttered brokenly. “Oh, golly, how I love her!” I was not surprised at his making me the recipient of his confidences like this. Most of the young folk in the place brought their troubles to me sooner or later. “And does she return your love?” “I don’t know. I haven’t asked her.” “Why not? I should have thought the point not without its interest for you.” Ferdinand gnawed the handle of his putter distractedly.