* * * * * And so (concluded the Oldest Member) you see that in golf there is no such thing as a soft snap. You can never be certain of the finest player. Anything may happen to the greatest expert at any stage of the game. In a recent competition George Duncan took eleven shots over a hole which eighteen-handicap men generally do in five. No! Back horses or go down to Throgmorton Street and try to take it away from the Rothschilds, and I will applaud you as a shrewd and cautious financier. But to bet at golf is pure gambling. 9 _The Rough Stuff_ Into the basking warmth of the day there had crept, with the approach of evening, that heartening crispness which heralds the advent of autumn. Already, in the valley by the ninth tee, some of the trees had begun to try on strange colours, in tentative experiment against the coming of nature's annual fancy dress ball, when the soberest tree casts off its workaday suit of green and plunges into a riot of reds and yellows. On the terrace in front of the club-house an occasional withered leaf fluttered down on the table where the Oldest Member sat, sipping a thoughtful seltzer and lemon and listening with courteous gravity to a young man in a sweater and golf breeches who occupied the neighbouring chair. "She is a dear girl," said the young man a little moodily, "a dear girl in every respect. But somehow--I don't know--when I see her playing golf I can't help thinking that woman's place is in the home." The Oldest Member inclined his frosted head. "You think," he said, "that lovely woman loses in queenly dignity when she fails to slam the ball squarely on the meat?" "I don't mind her missing the pill," said the young man. "But I think her attitude toward the game is too light-hearted." "Perhaps it cloaks a deeper feeling. One of the noblest women I ever knew used to laugh merrily when she foozled a short putt. It was only later, when I learned that in the privacy of her home she would weep bitterly and bite holes in the sofa cushions, that I realized that she did but wear the mask. Continue to encourage your _fiancee_ to play the game, my boy. Much happiness will reward you. I could tell you a story----" A young woman of singular beauty and rather statuesque appearance came out of the club-house carrying a baby swaddled in flannel. As she drew near the table she said to the baby: "Chicketty wicketty wicketty wipsey pop!" In other respects her intelligence appeared to be above the ordinary. "Isn't he a darling!" she said, addressing the Oldest Member. The Sage cast a meditative eye upon the infant. Except to the eye of love, it looked like a skinned poached egg. "Unquestionably so," he replied. "Don't you think he looks more like his father every day?" For a brief instant the Oldest Member seemed to hesitate. "Assuredly!" he said. "Is your husband out on the links today?" "Not today. He had to see Wilberforce off on the train to Scotland."