with a promise of hot chocolate. They found
Outfield diligently poring over a Greek history. But he immediately
discarded it in favor of a new book on the Royal Game which lay in his
lap hidden under a note book.

"You see," he explained, "old Pratt has taken a shine to me, and I
expected him to call this evening. And I thought at first that you were
he--or him--which is it? And of course I didn't want to disappoint the
old gentleman; he has such a fine opinion of me, you know."

While Outfield boiled the water and laid bare the contents of the
larder, Joel told him of Remsen's offer. A box of biscuits went down
with a crash, and Outfield turned indignantly.

"That's all very fine," he exclaimed. "But where do I come in? How about
Mr. West? Where does he get his show in this arrangement? You promised
that if I studied law, too, Joel, you'd go into partnership with _me_.
Now, didn't you?"

"But it was all in fun," protested Joel, distressedly. "I didn't
suppose you meant it, you know."

"Meant it!" answered Outfield indignantly. "Of course I meant it. Don't
you expect I appreciate level-headedness and sharp-wittedness and
applicationousness just as much as Remsen? Why, I had it all fixed. We
were to have an office fitted with cherry railings and revolving
bookcases near--near--"

"A good links?" suggested Remsen smilingly.

"Well, yes," admitted Outfield, "that wouldn't be a half bad idea. But
now you two have gone and spoiled it all."

"Well, I tell you, West," suggested Remsen, "you come in with us and
supply the picturesque element of the business. You might look after the
golf cases, you know; injuries to bald-headed gentlemen by gutties;
trespassing by players; forfeiting of leases, and so forth. What do
you say?"

"All right," answered Outfield cheerfully. "But it must be understood
that the afternoons belong to the links and not to the law."

So Stephen Remsen and Joel March sealed their agreement by shaking
hands, and Outfield grinned approval.

One afternoon a few days later Outfield pranced into the room just as
dusk was falling brandishing aloft a silver-plated mug, and uttering a
series of loud cheers for "Me." Joel, who had returned but a moment
before from a hard afternoon's practice, and was now studying in the
window seat by the waning light, looked languidly curious.

"A trophy, Joel, a trophy from the links!" cried West. "Won by the great
Me by two holes from Jenkins, Jenkins the Previou