The only person he knew who had really worked hard to make something of himself was Spike Brennon.
* * * * * So he resorted to the golf links that summer, heedless and happy.
"Without ideals so far as one can read him," wrote Winona in her journal, underlining the indictment and closing it with three bold exclamation points.

He was welcomed effusively to the golf course by John Knox McTavish.
"Good!" said John on the morning of his appearance, which was effusive for any McTavish.
He liked the boy, not only because he drove a sweet ball, but because you could talk to him in a way you couldn't to par-r-r-rties you was teaching to hold a club proper-r-r-r and to quit callin' it a stick.
He caddied that summer only for golfers of the better sort, and for Sharon Whipple, choosing his employ with nice discrimination.

John had said golf was a grand game, because more than any other game it showed how many kinds of fool a man could be betwixt his mind and his muscles.
His apprentice was already sensitive to the grosser kinds.

In addition to caddying he taught the secrets of the game when pupils came too plenteously for John.

But he lacked John's tried patience, and for the ideal teacher was too likely to utter brutal truths instead of polite and meandering diplomacies.