tenth inches, being the smallest in the United States."

"It doesn't interest me a bit, Bruce !" laughed Sharwell. "And to
prevent you getting any more of those statistics out of your system,
come on over and we'll do a little precipitating on our own account.
I can stand another Bronx cocktail."

"I'm with you! But, speaking of statistics, did you know that from
the national forests of the United States in the last year there was
cut 840,612,030 board feet of lumber? What the thirty feet were for
I don't know, but - "

"And I don't care to know," interrupted Tom. "If you spring any more
of those beastly dry figures - Say, there comes something that does
interest me, though!" he broke in with. "Look at those cars take
that turn !"

"Some speed," murmured Garrigan. "It's Bartlett and Poland," he went
on, as a shift of wind blew the dust to one side and revealed the gray
roadster and the Spanish Omelet. "The rivals are at it again."

Bruce Garrigan, who had a name among the golf club members as a human
encyclopaedia, and who, at times, would inform his companions on almost
any subject that chanced to come uppermost, tossed away his cigarette
and, with Tom Sharwell, watched the oncoming automobile racers.

"They're rivals in more ways than one," remarked Sharwell. "And it
looks, now, as though the captain rather had the edge on Harry, in
spite of the fast color of Harry's car."