"I understood so, sir," the man answered. "Your room has been ready for three weeks." Mr. Sabin was bewildered. Then he remembered the stories which he had heard of American hospitality, and concluded that this must be an instance of it. "I had not the slightest intention of stopping here," he said to the man. "Mrs. Peterson expected you to do so, sir, and we have sent your conveyance away. If it is inconvenient for you to remain now, it will be easy to send you anywhere you desire later." "For the immediate present," Mr. Sabin said, "Mrs. Peterson not having arrived, I want to see that golf course." "If you will permit me, sir," the man said, "I will show you the way." They followed a winding footpath which brought them suddenly out on the border of a magnificent stretch of park-like country. Mr. Sabin, whose enthusiasms were rare, failed wholly to restrain a little exclamation of admiration. A few yards away was one of the largest and most magnificently kept putting-greens that he had ever seen in his life. By his side was a raised teeing-ground, well and solidly built. Far away down in the valley he could see the flag of the first hole just on the other side of a broad stream. "The gentleman's a golf-player, maybe?" remarked a voice by his side, in familiar dialect. Mr. Sabin turned around to find himself confronted by a long, thin Scotchman, who had strolled out of a little shed close at hand. "I am very fond of the game," Mr. Sabin admitted. "You appear to me to have a magnificent course here." "It's none so bad," Mr. James Green admitted. "Maybe the gentleman would like a round." "There is nothing in this wide world," Mr. Sabin answered truthfully, "that I should like so well. But I have no clubs or any shoes." "Come this way, sir, come this way," was the prompt reply. "There's clubs here of all sorts such as none but Jimmy Green can make, ay, and shoes too. Mr. Wilson, will you be sending me two boys down from the house?" In less than ten minutes Mr. Sabin was standing upon the first tee, a freshly lit cigarette in his mouth, and a new gleam of enthusiasm in his eyes. He modestly declined the honour, and Mr. Green forthwith drove a ball which he watched approvingly. "That's no such a bad ball," he remarked. Mr. Sabin watched the construction of his tee, and swung his club lightly. "Just a little sliced, wasn't it?" he said. "That will do, thanks." He addressed his ball with a confidence which savoured almost of carelessness, swung easily back and drove a clean, hard hit ball full seventy yards further than the professional. The man for a moment was speechless with surprise, and he gave a little gasp. "Aye, mon," he exclaimed. "That was a fine drive. Might you be having a handicap, sir?" "I am scratch at three clubs," Mr. Sabin answered quietly, "and plus four at one." A gleam of delight mingled with respect at his opponent, shone in the Scotchman's face.