John Henry Smith

Ross and me two strokes,” proposed Thomas, “we will play you for the dinners.”

I felt sure it was a put-up job, but what could I say?

“I did not dare choose you for my partner, Mr. Smith,” interposed Miss Dangerfield. “I know it is tiresome for a good player to go pottering around the links with women at his heels, and only suggested a game if you had no other engagements.”

“Mr. Smith dare not plead another engagement,” asserted Miss Ross, her dark eyes flashing a challenge. She is a lovely girl, but digs up the turf terribly.

“Smith has no game on. He has been over there talking for an hour,” added Thomas, before I could say a word. I could have murdered him.

“I am delighted, and it is kind of you to ask me,” I lied most effusively. “It is an easy game for us, Miss Dangerfield.”

“Do not be too sure,” scornfully laughed Miss Rosa. “Mr. Thomas is a splendid player.”