A chap
doesn't get time for anything else." The other boy looked puzzled.
"Well, don't you want to study?"
West stared in amazement. "Study! Want to? Of course I don't! Do you?"
"Very much. That's what I came to school for."
"Oh!" West studied the strange youth dubiously. Plainly, he was not at
all the sort of boy one could teach golf to. "Then why were you trying
for the football team awhile ago?"
"Because next to studying I want to play football more than anything
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.
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