ENTRY NO. III

MR. HARDING WINS A BET


I have met Harding, the western railroad magnate, and he is a character.
His wife is in the city, but will be out here in a few days.

Harding--I call him Mister when addressing him, since he is worth thirty
millions or more, and he is old enough to be my father--Harding strolled
out to the first tee early this morning and stood with his hands in his
pockets watching some of the fellows drive off.

I should judge him to be a man of about fifty-five, or perhaps a year of
two older. He stands more than six feet, is broad of shoulder and
equally broad of waist, ruddy of complexion, clear of eye and quick of
motion. He is of the breezy, independent type peculiar to those who have
risen to fortune with the wonderful development of our western country,
and it is difficult to realise that he is a real live magnate.

His close-cropped beard shows few gray hairs, and does not entirely hide
the lines of a resolute chin. He looks like a prosperous farmer who has
been forced to become familiar with metropolitan conventionalities, but
whose rough edges have withstood the friction. His voice is heavy but
not unpleasant, and his laugh jovial but defiant. He reminds me of no
one I have seen, and I shall study him with much interest.

He was with Carter, who seemed well acquainted with him, and he greeted