It was this vocal burriness that drew the facile notice of Wilbur.

He delighted to hear John McTavish talk, and hung about the new clubhouse, apparently without purpose, until John not only sanctioned but besought his presence, calling him Laddie and luring him with tales of the monstrous gains amassed by competent caddies.
The boy lingered, though from motives other than mercenary.

His cup was full when he could hear John's masterful voice addressed to Mrs.Rapp, Junior, or another aspirant.
"R-r-remember, mum, th' ar-r-r-um close, th' head down--and don't pr-r-r-ress th' ball." Yet he was presently allured by a charm even more imperious, the charm of the game itself.

For John at odd moments would teach him the use of those strange weapons, so that he had the double thrill of standing under the torrential r's addressed to himself and of feeling the sharp, clean impact of the club head upon a ball that flew a surprising distance.

His obedient young muscles soon conformed to the few master laws of the game.