Miss Amelia Harringport, seeing Dam with a croquet-mallet in his hand, observed that she _adored_ croquet. Dam stated in reply that Haddon Berners was a fearful dog at it, considered there should be a croquet Blue in fact, and would doubtless be charmed to make up a set with her and the curate, the Reverend William Williamson Williams (Holy Bill), and Another. Dam himself was cut off from the bliss of being the Other—did not know the game at all.
Miss Amelia quickly tired of her croquet with the Haddock, Holy Bill and the Vicar’s Wife’s Sister, who looked straitly after Holy Bill on this and all other occasions. Seeing Dam shepherding a flock of elders to the beautifully-mown putting-tracks radiating from the central circle of “holes” for the putting competition, she informed him that she _adored_ putting, so much so that she wanted lessons from him, the local amateur golf-champion.
“I just want a little _personal tuition_ from the Champion and I shall be quite a classy putter,” she gurgled.
“I will personally tuit,” replied Dam, “and when you are tuited we will proceed to win the prize.”
Carefully posing the maiden aspirant for putting excellence at the end of the yard-wide velvety strip leading to the green and “hole,” Dam gave his best advice, bade her smite with restraint, and then proceeded to the “hole” to retrieve the ball for his own turn. Other couples did “preliminary canters” somewhat similarly on the remaining spokes of the great wheel of the putting “clock”.
The canny and practised Amelia, who had designs upon the handsome silver prize as well as upon the handsome Damocles, smote straight and true with admirable judgment, and the ball sped steadily down the track direct for the “hole,” a somewhat large and deep one.
“By Jove! Magnificent!” cried Dam, with quick and generous appreciation of the really splendid putt. “You’ll hole out in one this time, anyhow.” As the slowing ball approached the “hole” he inserted his hand therein, laughing gaily, to anticipate the ball which with its last grain of momentum would surely reach it and topple in.
As he put his hand to the grass-encircled goal of the maiden’s hopes and ball, its gloomy depths appeared to move, swirl round, rise up, as a small green snake uncoiled in haste and darted beneath Dam’s approaching upturned hand, and swiftly undulated across the lawn.