You see there's the golf tournament next Saturday week, and I've got to put in a lot of hard practice between now and then.

But after that I'll try and buckle down.

You're right about it, March, I ought to do more studying, and I will _try_; although I don't believe I'll make much of a success as a 'grind.' And as to the--the--the rest that you said, why, I haven't been extraordinarily kind; I just sort of took to you that day on the campus because you looked to be such a plucky, go-ahead, long-legged chap, you know.

I thought I'd rescue you from the ranks of the lowly and teach you golf and make a man of you generally.

Instead of that"-- West gave one of his expressive whistles--"instead of that, why, here you are turning me into a regular 'Masters Hall grind.' Thus do our brightest dreams fade.