We had lunch. Thomas had it in the only dry things he had brought with him--an ulster and a pair of Vardon cuffs, and sat as near the fire as possible. It was still raining in torrents after lunch, and Thomas, who is not what I call keen about golf, preferred to remain before the fire. Perhaps he was right. I raked up an old copy of _Stumers with the Niblick_ for him, and read bits of the Telephone Directory out aloud. After tea his proper clothes were dry enough in places to put on, and as it was still raining hard, and he seemed disinclined to come out again. I ordered a cab for us both. "It's really rotten luck," said Thomas, as we prepared to leave, "that on the one day when I take a holiday, it should be so beastly." "Beastly, Thomas?" I said in amazement. "The _one_ day? I'm afraid you don't play inland golf much?" "I hardly ever play round London." "I thought not. Then let me tell you that to-day's was the best day's golf I've had for three weeks." "Golly!" said Thomas. XXVIII. ONE OF OUR SUFFERERS There is no question before the country of more importance than that of National Health. In my own small way I have made something of a study of it, and when a Royal Commission begins its enquiries, I shall put before it the evidence which I have accumulated. I shall lay particular stress upon the health of Thomson. "You'll beat me to-day," he said, as he swung his club stiffly on the first tee; "I shan't be able to hit a ball." "You should have some lessons," I suggested. Thomson gave a snort of indignation. "It's not that," he said. "But I've been very seedy lately, and----" "That's all right; I shan't mind. I haven't played a thoroughly well man for a month, now." "You know, I think my liver----" I held up my hand. "Not before my caddie, please," I said severely, "he is quite a child." Thomson said no more for the moment but hit his ball hard and straight along the ground. "It's perfectly absurd," he said with a shrug; "I shan't be able to give you a game at all. Well, if you don't mind playing a sick man----" "Not if you don't mind being one," I replied, and drove a ball which also went along the ground, but not so far as my opponent's. "There! I'm about the only man in England who can do that when he's quite well." The ball was sitting up nicely for my second shot, and I managed to put it on the green. Thomson's, fifty yards farther on, was reclining in the worst part of a bunker which he had forgotten about. "Well, really," he said, "there's an example of luck for you. Your ball----" "I didn't do it on purpose," I pleaded. "Don't be angry with me." He made two attempts to get out and then picked his ball up. We walked in silence to the second tee.