It was in the lounging room at the country club. We had finished our round, and I had paid Waddles three balls as usual. It never costs less than three balls to play with him. We were sitting by the window, acquiring nourishment and looking out upon the course. In the near foreground Russell Davidson was teaching Mary Brooke the true inwardness of the chip shot. He wasn't having a great deal of luck. Waddles broke the silence by grunting. It was a grunt of infinite disgust. I searched my pockets and put a penny on the table. "For your thoughts," said I. "They're worth more than that," said Waddles. "Not to me." There was a period of silence and then Waddles grunted again. "Get it off your chest," I advised him. "That fellow," said Waddles, indicating Russell with a jerk of his thumb, "gives me a pain." "And me," said I. "I thought Mary Brooke had some sense," complained Waddles; "but I see now that she's like all the rest--anything with a high shine to it is gold. Now the pure metal often has a dull finish." "Meaning Bill?" I asked. "Meaning Bill. He isn't much to look at, but he's on the level, and he worships the very ground she walks on. Why can't she see it?" "Why can't any woman see it?" I asked him. "But somebody ought to tell her! Somebody ought to put her wise! Somebody----" "Well," I interrupted, "why don't you volunteer for the job?" "Oh, Lord!" groaned Waddles. "It's one of the things that can't be done. Tell her and you'd only make matters that much worse. And I thought Mary Brooke had brains!" There was a long break in the conversation, during which Waddles munched great quantities of pretzels and cheese. Then: "I wasn't much stuck on that Davidson person the first time I saw him!" His tone was the tone of a man who seeks an argument. "He's a good golfer, I admit that, but he's a cup hunter at heart, he's a rotten hard loser, and--well, he's not on the level!" "You've been opening his mail?" I asked. "Not at all. Listen! You know the Santa Ynez Gun Club? Well, he's joined that, among other things. He's a cracking good duck shot. I was down there the other night, and we had a little poker game." "A little poker game?" said I. "Table stakes," corrected Waddles. "Davidson was the big winner." "You're not hinting----" "Nothing so raw as that. Listen! Joe Herriman was in the game, and playing in the rottenest luck you ever saw. Good hands all the time, understand, but not quite good enough. If he picked up threes he was sure to run into a straight, and if he made a flush there was a full house out against him. Enough to take the heart out of any man. Finally he picked up a small full before the draw--three treys and a pair of sevens. Joe opened it light enough, because he wanted everybody in, but the only man who stayed was Davidson, who drew one card. After the draw Joe bet ten dollars for a feeler, and Davidson came back at him with the biggest raise of the night--a cool hundred."