else. Don't you think I'll have time for it?"

"You bet! And say, you ought to learn golf. It's the finest sport
going." West's hopes revived. A fellow that wanted sport, if only
football, could not be a bad sort. Besides, he would get over wanting to
study; that, to West, was a most unnatural desire. "There isn't half a
dozen really first-class players in school. You get some clubs and I'll
teach you the game."

"That's very good of you," answered the boy in the straw hat, "and I'm
very much obliged, but I don't think I'll have time. You see I'm in the
upper middle, and they say that it's awfully hard to keep up with.
Still, I should really like to try my hand at it, and if I have time
I'll ask you to show me a little about it. I expect you're the best
player here, aren't you?" West, extremely gratified, tried to conceal
his pleasure.

"Oh, I don't know. There's Wesley Blair--he's captain of the school
eleven, you know--he plays a very good game, only he has a way of
missing short puts. And then there's Louis Whipple. The only thing about
Whipple is that he tries to play with too few clubs. He says a fellow
can play just as well with a driver and a putter and a niblick as he can
with a dozen clubs. Of course, that's nonsense. If Whipple would use
some brains about his clubs he'd make a rather fair player. There are
one or two other fellows in school who are not so bad. But I believe,"
magnanimously, "that if Blair had more time for practicing he could beat
_me_." West allowed his hearer a moment in which to digest this. The
straw hat was tilted down over the eyes of its wearer, who was gazing
thoughtfully over the river.