"If I hadn't slipped," he declared, rising to a sitting posture, "I
could have belted it twice as far as that, but I guess that's enough to
win."

I heard the rustle of a woman's garment.

"Why, Papa Harding!" exclaimed a voice, musical as a silver bell. "You
said you never would play golf! You should see how you look!"

I turned and saw Grace Harding. She is the most beautiful creature I
ever met in my life.

Before any of us could reach him, Harding scrambled to his feet. He was
streaked with sand, but there was a merry twinkle in his eye.

"Did you see me soak it, Kid?" he asked, brushing the sand from his
trousers, and fumbling at a broken suspender.

"You are nothing but a great big boy," she declared. "Are you sure you
are not hurt, papa?"

"Hurt, nothing!" exclaimed Harding, "but I'll bet I hurt that ball. I've
lost my collar button," he said, pawing about the tee with his feet.
"Your eyes are sharper than mine, Kid, see if you can find it. It must
be around here somewhere."

"My friend, Mr. Smith," said Carter, presenting me to Miss Harding. She
did not bow coldly, as do most young ladies in our set, neither was
there anything bold in accepting this most informal introduction. She