e hits is usually a dirty, hacked-up object, but when she
goes to look for it she imagines that by some miracle it has been
transformed into a clean, white, and unmarked sphere, which has been
driven for the first time.

Carter arrived at the club shortly after our "mixed foursome" had
started out. He took my place, he and Boyd playing Marshall and
Chilvers. Our orbits crossed several times.

Miss Dangerfield found three balls. One of them belonged to Chilvers,
and he saw her find it, but he is a perfect gentleman and did not say a
word. It was the one redeeming incident in the game.

Miss Dangerfield confided to me that she is making a collection of
balls.

"I am awfully lucky," she said, looking critically at Chilvers' ball.
"Whenever I find one I keep it as a memento of the game; that is, of
course, if it is nice and clean like this one."

"As a memento?" I inquired.

"Certainly," she declared. "I have a cute little brush and some water
colours. I paint the date of discovery on the ball and add it to my
collection. Sometimes I paint flowers on the ball, and sometimes birds
and other things. You should see my collection! Don't you think it's a
real cute idea?"

"It is startlingly original," I said, and her bright and innocent smile
showed her appreciation of the compliment. "How many have you in your
collection?"

[Illustration: "Fore there! hay there!!"]

"Oh, lots and lots of them," she said. "I am to have a portrait of
myself done in oil, showing me in a golfing costume just about to knock
the ball as far as I can, and the frame will be composed of golf balls I
have found. Oh, here's another lost ball!" and she started for one which
was lying on the fair green not many yards away. I knew to whom it
belonged.

"Fore! Fore! Hi, hay there; drop it; that's my ball!" yelled a club
member named Pepper, coming on a run from behind a bunker. Pepper is a
married man, near the fifty-year mark, and he is extremely nervous and
even irritable when any one approaches his ball.

"Don't touch it!" shouted Pepper, now on a dead run. "You'll make me
lose the hole! Don't you know the make of the ball you're playing? Mine
is a Kempshall remade."

"Oh, this is not my ball," frankly declared Miss Dangerfield. "My ball
is over there, but I thought this was one which had been lost."

"I pitched it out of that trap a moment ago," insisted Pepper, "and did
not take my eyes off it."

"I am sure I do not want it if it is yo