dy must confess to her chauffeur? Do not forget
your place, Jacques Henri. Let's start for the club house; I see papa
and others on the lawn."

I have a theory of the truth, but it is too foolish to put in writing.
We made a speedy run to Woodvale after a most delightful afternoon.

ENTRY NO. XVII

THE PASSING OF PERCY

During the forenoon of the day following our visit to Oak Cliff Mr.
Harding, Carter and I were sitting under the big elm tree near the first
tee. We had our clubs with us, but the railroad magnate wished to finish
his cigar before starting to play.

A farm wagon drove up the circular roadway which surrounds the club
house, and the owner after glancing doubtfully about approached us. He
was tall, angular, and whiskered.

"Can any of you folks tell me if a man named Hardin' hangs out 'round
this here place?" he said, squinting at a card which I instantly
recognised.

"I'm Harding," said that gentleman, walking toward him. "I reckon you're
the man who owns the late deceased bull?"

"I shurely am," said the farmer, stroking his whiskers nervously.

"How much do you want for him?" demanded Harding, with characteristic
promptness.

"Stranger," began the man with the hoe, "if you'll tell me how in
thunder you broke the neck of that critter with one of them there
sticks," pointing to our golf clubs, "I won't charge you one doggoned
cent for doin' it."

We all roared, and then Harding briefly explained what had happened.

"I reckon you couldn't do nothin' else under what the stump speakers
call existin' sar-cumstances," slowly drawled the farmer, "but he was a
mighty fine young bull, an' I hated like all sin tew lose him."

"How much was he worth to you?" asked Harding.

"He was a Holstein, Mister, and I wouldn't er sold him for two hundred
and fifty the best day you ever saw. He took second prize as a yearlin'
at our county fair, and I was plumb sure he'd have the blue ribbon hung
on him this year, but instead of a ribbon I found this here on his
horns," he concluded sorrowfully, looking at the card with its string
still attached.

"I'll give you three hundred and fifty dollars and call it square," said
Harding.

"Dew you mean it, Mister?" his watery blue eyes opening wide, his thin
lips pursed and his leathery face curiously wrinkled. "Dew ye mean it?"

"Of course I mean it, but I want his head. I'm going to have it
mounted."

Mr. Harding opened his wallet, stripped off the bills