"Our young friend Hector," I said, "is becoming technical. Will you explain?" "Well, do you want a high or a low one?" "I want to hit this Colonel ball very hard in the direction of that flag. What do you recommend?" "Well, that's just as you----" "I think a medium one. Slow to medium." The preliminaries being arranged, I proceeded to address the ball. My own instinct was to take the address as read and get to business as soon as possible, but in the presence of an expert like Hector I did not dare to omit the trimmings. As it was, after every waggle I felt less and less like hitting the Colonel. When at last I did let fly it was with feelings of relief that I discovered, on returning an eye to the spot, that the tee was indeed empty. I shaded my eyes and gazed into the middle distance. "No," said Thomas, "it's more to the right." He indicated a spot in the foreground, about ten yards E.N.E. "There you are." "That isn't _my_ ball." "Yes, sir," said Hector, grinning. "May I have it back?" Thomas laughed and smote his own into the blue. "You go on from there," he said. "I'm still aiming at the same flag?" "Go on, you ass." I went on. The ball again rolled ten yards to the east. "I don't know why we're going in this direction," I said. "If I get much further east I shall have to send back Bartlett. You know, I don't believe the Colonel is taking this seriously. He doesn't seem to me to be trying at all. Has he ever been round the course before?" "Never. He's quite new to it." "There you are. He'll come down at the ditch for a certainty." I played my third. A third time we went ten yards to the east--well, perhaps with a touch of north in it again. And this time Hector gave a sudden snort of laughter. I leant upon my club, and stared him into gravity. Then I took Thomas by the coat and led him on one side. "There are, Thomas," I said, "other things than golf." "There are," he agreed. "A man may fail temporarily at the game and yet not be wholly despicable." "True." "He may, for instance, be able to dance the _pavane_ with grace and distinction." "Quite so." "Well then, _will_ you take this giggling child away and explain to him that I am not such an ass as I appear? Tell him that the intellectuals of Brook Green think highly of my mental powers. Assure him that in many of the best houses at Wandsworth Common I am held to be an amusing raconteur. Remind him of my _villanelle_ 'To Autumn.' For heaven's sake make him understand that my reputation does not stand or fall with my ability to use this brassy thing. I'm not a golf professional." Thomas allowed himself to smile. "I will tell him," he said, "that you are not a golf professional." We veered right round to the east with my fourth and then I became desperate.