"It is a vast hotel where
the rich spend much money. That place at the foot of the hills--do you
see?--it is there they play a foolish game with sticks and little
balls--"
"Golf? Is it possible!"
"There is no doubt of it, sir. I have seen the fools myself--men and
women. The place is called Storm Valley."
Armitage slapped his thigh sharply, so that his horse started.
"Yes; you are probably right, Oscar, I have heard of the place. And those
houses that lie beyond there in the valley belong to gentlemen of taste
and leisure who drink the waters and ride horses and play the foolish
game you describe with little white balls."
"I could not tell it better," responded Oscar, who had dismounted, like a
good trooper, to rest his horse.
"And our place--is it below there?" demanded Armitage.
"It is not, sir. It lies to the west. But a man may come here when he is
lonesome, and look at the people and the gentlemen's houses. At night it
is a pleasure to see the lights, and sometimes, when the wind is right,
there is music of bands."
"Poor Oscar!" laughed Armitage.
His mood had not often in his life been so high.
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