grinned all the time. I certainly must have made an
impression on that lovely bride.

They compelled me to listen while they told of their marriage in London,
nearly a week before. She is an English girl, and Carter kept his word
that he would be married in London. Since she has never been in America,
and since this was my first visit to Great Britain, it was evident I had
not met her.

I do not know what Carter thought of my wild outburst. He has not
mentioned the subject, and I shall not bring it up.

"Where are the Hardings?" I asked, when I no longer could restrain my
impatience.

"They are stopping at the Caledonia," said Carter. "You probably will
find the Governor out on the links. He has struck up a great friendship
with 'Old Tom' Morris, and doubtless is playing with him right now."

"I think I will go and look him up," I said, as we came to a cross
street. "I have an important business matter in which he is interested.
I'll see you at dinner."

"The club house is yonder," said Carter, pointing down the hill. With a
bow and my uncontrollable grin, I parted from them and armed with a card
which Carter had given me, hastened toward the headquarters of the Royal
and Ancient Golf Club of St. Andrews.

The sedate gentlemen who were lounging about, waiting for the
prearranged times when they are privileged to drive from the first tee,
must have identified me as the typical American from the manner in which
I hastened from one room to another. I explored the locker rooms, the
cafes, reception hall, library, billiard room, the verandas, and every
nook and corner of the structure.

There is one sacred retreat called the "Room of Silence." Here are
displayed the famous relics and historical curios of the game, including
clubs used by King James, also strange irons once wielded by champions
whose bones have been mouldering for generations. In this awesome place
one must enter with sealed lips, and sit and silently ponder over his
golf and other crimes. It is sacrilege to utter a word, and not in good
form to breathe too rapidly.

An elderly gentleman who looked as if he might be a mine of information
was seated in a comfortable chair. He was the sole occupant of the room.
I had not asked a question since I had entered the building, and here
was my chance.

"Do you happen to know an American gentleman named Harding--Robert L.
Harding?" I asked, deferentially.

He did not move an eyelash. I pondered that it wa