We must certainly arrange a meeting," concluded the professor. "I
shall be interested to see how we stand with regard to one another. I
have improved my game considerably since I have been down
here--considerably."

"My only feat worthy of mention since I started the game," I said,
"has been to halve a round with Angus McLurkin at St. Andrew's."

"_The_ McLurkin?" asked the professor, impressed.

"Yes. But it was one of his very off days, I fancy. He must have had
gout, or something. And I have certainly never played so well since."

"Still--" said the professor. "Yes, we must really arrange to meet."

With Ukridge, who was in one of his less tactless moods, he became
very friendly.

Ukridge's ready agreement with his strictures on the erring Hawk had a
great deal to do with this. When a man has a grievance he feels drawn
to those who will hear him patiently and sympathize. Ukridge was all
sympathy.

"The man is an unprincipled scoundrel," he said, "and should be torn
limb from limb. Take my advice, Cholmondeley, and don't go out with
him again. Show him that you are not a man to be trifled with. The
spilled child dreads the water, what? Human life isn't safe with such
men as Hawk roaming about."

"You are perfectly right, sir. The man can have no defense. I shall
not employ him again."

I felt more than a little guilty while listening to this duet on the
subject of the man whom I had lured from the straight and narrow
path. But my attempts at excusing him were ill received. Indeed, the
professor showed such distinct signs of becoming heated that I
abandoned my fellow-conspirator to his fate with extreme promptness.
After all, an addition to the stipulated reward--one of these
days--would compensate him for any loss which he might sustain from
the withdrawal of the professor's custom. Mr. Harry Hawk was in good
enough case. I would see that he did not suffer.

Filled with these philanthropic feelings, I turned once more to talk
with the professor of niblicks and approach shots and holes done in
three without a brassy. We were a merry party at lunch--a lunch,
fortunately, in Mrs. Beale's best vein, consisting of a roast chicken
and sweets. Chicken had figured somewhat frequently of late on our
daily bill of fare.

We saw the professor off the premises in his dried clothes, and I
turned back to put the fowls to bed in a happier frame of mind than I
had known for a long time. I whistled rag-time airs as I wor