urs!" haughtily declared Miss
Dangerfield, turning indignantly away.

"Thank you," said Pepper, politely as he knows how, and we went on our
way leaving him to recover his composure as best he could. I looked back
and noted that he fumbled his next shot.

"If I thought as much as that of a mere golf ball I would never play
the game," pouted Miss Dangerfield. "I think he is horrid, and I shall
never speak to him again!"

"If he had lost the ball he would have lost the hole," I explained,
anxious to extenuate Pepper's offense as much as possible.

"Suppose he did lose the old hole!" exclaimed the wronged young lady.
"What does it amount to if you lose one insignificant hole when there
are eighteen in all?"

I could think of nothing else to say, and had the tact to change the
conversation to the unique frame for her portrait with its "lost ball"
border.

"You will save material and secure a more artistic effect," I suggested,
"by having an artisan cut the balls in halves. They will then lie flat
to the frame, and one ball will do the service of two."

Miss Dangerfield was so taken with this idea that she speedily forgot
that brute Pepper.

Coming in we were passed by Marshall, Chilvers, Carter, and Boyd. How I
envied them! We stood and silently watched while each made ripping long
drives. There is nothing which contributes more to a man's good opinion
of himself than to line a ball straight out two hundred yards when a
bevy of pretty girls is watching him.

The tendency of the woman golfer to frankly express her admiration for
the strength and skill of a man who can drive a clean and long ball is
her great redeeming trait when on the links.

The man who is careless of the praise of his male peers is prone to be
raised to the seventh heaven of golf bliss when listening to the
long-drawn chorus of "Oh!" "Wasn't that splendid!" "I could just die if
I could drive like that!" and similar expressions from dainty maidens
who do not know the difference between a follow through and a jigger.

An ideal golf course would be one where the members of the fair sex are
content to group themselves about the driving tees and award an honest
meed of praise and applause to their fathers, husbands, or sweethearts.

"You're up, Thomas," I said when the crack foursome was out of range.

Thomas basted out a screecher, and Miss Ross followed with the best shot
she ever made. Miss Dangerfield missed as usual.

"I'm awfully sorry,"