I like the old boy a lot," he concluded, firmly.

He wanted no misunderstanding about that, even if Merle should esteem him less for it.
They drove from the next tee.

One hundred and fifty yards ahead the fairway was intersected by a ditch.

It was deep, and its cruel maw yawned hungrily for golf balls.

These it was fed in abundance daily.
"Rottenly placed, that ditch!" complained Merle as he prepared to drive.
"Only because you think so," replied his brother.